But it all paid off. Phoenix found us a gig at a bowling alley in San Pedro. At first, I thought she was nuts setting us up to play a gig three thousand miles from home, in a bowling alley of all places, but she said the owner knew Kade Tennick of LP-45 and had it on good authority he’d be there. He was, and was so impressed that he spoke to the producers of Breakout—the reality TV show he was a judge on—and the next thing we knew, we were signing with DMW.
It’s been a rollercoaster ever since, and I was just beginning to believe things were looking up when the letters started arriving. The first was when we announced our tour. The next came a couple of months after that, and for the last two weeks, they’ve been arriving in a steady stream.
Dale runs across the stage and scoops me up in his arms. Twirling me around, he narrowly misses knocking my legs into my drum kit, but his hazel eyes are shining so bright my protests die on my lips.
“Holy fucking saints, Raine! You gave me goosebumps with that last drum solo.”
Shiloh looks back at me from her position on the stage—front and center where she deserves to be. Her voice always gives me chills. “Yeah, and damn, girl. When you changed up the harmony on the last chorus, I felt tears sting the back of my throat. You shouldn’t be hidden behind those drums like that.”
I laugh. “I’m fine right where I am, thank you very much.”
And I am. As much as I love the attention, being behind my drums is where I belong.
“Can we just talk about how sizzling Dale and Shiloh were?” Cat slips her guitar off her shoulder, her red tresses getting caught in the strap, and she tugs them loose. “Holy fuck, you two, I’m more than a little wet over here.” The dancers all start clapping and whistling at Cat’s references to the bit in the middle of the last song where Dale and Shiloh do a really provocative dance. She lets out a throaty laugh. “See? They all agree.”
Dale places me back on my feet and laughing, shoots Cat a wink. “Yeah? Exactly how wet are we talking?”
“Enough, you two,” I tease, but the pang of jealousy I get whenever these two kid around hits so hard this time the laugh sounds weird. “Remember the ‘no fraternization’ clause.” I poke him in the ribs with one of the sticks I’m still holding.
Dale yelps in mock-protest and takes a step back.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve already taken a ride on that rodeo.” Cat’s eyes rove over Dale’s shirtless body, gleaming with sweat, and she bites her lip. Dale is ripped in that lean way that comes from physical activity more than hitting the gym for two hours a day. His shoulders are broad, arms defined from hours and hours of dancing and lifting performers onstage. His rock-hard six-pack trails down to his tapered waist, and his sweats hide a cock that at times I still ache for, as well as an ass you can bounce a racquetball off.
I still love him. Always will, but he isn’t safe.
Well, that’s not entirely true. No one is more safe with anybody than they are with Dale—I trust him with my life. But I can’t love him the way I do.
I can’t give into that.
“Yeah, what she said,” Dale smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and I don’t want to contemplate why.
“That was long before we worked together.” I try to keep my tone light.
The dancers start stretching out, and Phoenix places her bass guitar on the stand to the side of the stage before sweeping her long curly hair into a ponytail. I notice Anton, our security guy, taking her in from the side of the stage, and cover a smile with my tattooed hand. With her mocha-colored skin and green eyes, Phoenix is a lethal combination, but the poor guy doesn’t stand a chance. Phoenix is more into playing with fire, and as cute as Anton is, he doesn’t come close to being on her radar.
“I’m off to meditate before hair and makeup. Good show, guys,” Phoenix says.
Everyone starts dispersing as Dale turns to me, pulling on his shirt and covering his sweat-soaked torso. “I meant what I said earlier, Raine. You killed it during the rehearsal. I mean you’re always incredible, but it was like something was different today. What’s your secret?”
Death threats. They’ll do that to you. The fear fuels many fires…
“The luck of the draw, I guess.” I shrug off his compliment. “You, on the other hand, cracked a nod from Cat. That’s a definite feather in your cap.” I wink, even though the green-eyed monster is back with a bang.
“Shiloh is great fun.”
Not what I wanna hear, but hey.
“You thinking of hitting that?” Please say no. Please say no.
I know this train of thought isn’t fair. After all, I’m fucking Asher. But I love Dale, even if I shouldn’t, and the idea of him with any one of my bandmates eats at me. I know Dale isn’t celibate, I just don’t want it rubbed in my face.
Yeah, I’m a hypocrite, I know.
Dale smirks. “Nah, I’m not one to shit on my doorstep.”
Relief washes over me as I nod.
“Special delivery,” Asher’s voice calls from one of the side entrances, and Dale and I both turn in his direction.
He’s carrying a giant black gift basket wrapped in cellophane with a turquoise bow—my two favorite colors. He’s dressed in black jeans and a combat jacket over a red tee, his smile is wide, and there’s no indication he’s feeling frustrated over last night.
I place my sticks on the drum and make my way to the edge of the stage. He places the basket on the floor and holds
