Reckless

  Once we were outside the venue, I flashed my credentials to security and headed inside. The crowd’s buzz was escalating as rapidly as I was sobering up. Having caught up on most of my work during the day, I had a bit more leisure time to enjoy the show.

  As I was about to peek out from behind the red crushed velvet curtain to look at the crowded auditorium, a soft tap on my shoulder surprised me. "Excuse me."

  I spun around and saw a squat bald man in a white button-up shirt and black tie with shiny badge on his chest. "Yes?"

  He cleared his throat. "Sorry to bother you, but are you Riley Hewitt?"

  I froze, the thought of weed raced through my mind before I remembered that it was legal in Colorado. "Yes, that’s me."

  "Hi, I’m Jim Rairden, Denver County Fire Marshal, nice to meet you," he said holding out his hand. "I was told by your pyrotechnician that you’re in charge of all band expenditures."

  "Yes, I am," I said as I shook his hand. "Can I help you with something?"

  "Well, I was just inspecting the pyrotechnics for tonight’s show and it looks like you’re going to have to sign up for an additional ballistics policy. I’m afraid it’s gonna run upwards of ten thousand dollars to cover the deductible."

  "Ten thousand?" I inhaled sharply. Holy shit! Even with the cuts Jax agreed to, we didn’t have an extra ten thousand dollars just lying around. "Wait a second, all the proper permits have been acquired. Plus, according to the pricing table I was reviewing earlier, none of the permits are priced at anything more than a few hundred dollars."

  The Fire Marshal flipped through a stack of papers on a clipboard. "This isn’t about permits. It’s about insurance for the ‘Monster Inferno Fountain.’ That’s still classified as an experimental pyro device and it requires a special ballistics policy."

  I eyed him skeptically. We didn’t have to deal with a Fire Marshal in Chicago, and this guy was pitching some expensive stuff. I wasn’t sure exactly which one was the "Monster Inferno Fountain," but I was sure that the band wasn’t introducing any new devices for this show.

  I raised an eyebrow and said, "We have an insurance policy and we just used this in Chicago the other day."

  "Unfortunately, a similar device caused a tragic high-profile incident here in Denver recently," he said somberly. "In response, the city council passed a strict fire safety ordinance to ensure that bands have the proper amount of fire insurance liability to cover pyro displays of that magnitude. And your policy doesn’t quite cover the full liability for that particular pyro."

  Great, just great. Jax had just told me that he didn’t want any interruptions while he prepped for tonight’s show. I checked my watch. We’d be cutting it super close even if I ran and asked him, which meant I had to make a decision. Since Jax had already agreed to trim some of the pyro, what was one more? He might not like the move, but we really didn’t have the cash to cover this expensive policy. And after all, this was a music concert not a fireworks display.

  I crossed my arms and said firmly, "That’s okay, we’ll cut it and not get the insurance."

  "Alright, please inform your pyrotechnician then. Have a good evening and enjoy your stay here in Denver." He shook my hand, smiled, and walked away.

  I exhaled, realizing it was a good thing I handled this issue. We really dodged a bullet. I could only imagine what would happen if he had talked to one of the other band members. Chances are Chewie would’ve ended up buying ghost insurance on top of the ballistics policy.

  I found and informed the pyrotechnician about the Inferno Fountain getting cut, and then I went back to the sidestage. I was actually eager to see the performance today. Things between Jax and me had progressed from adversarial to friendly since the last show, so I didn’t feel the need to avoid him by hiding in a maintenance room. Even though there weren’t any seats around, standing sure beat sitting on a propane tank.

  Once again, I peeked out to get a good look at the crowd. The people were now packed in tight, and the crowd’s size was more impressive than the one in Chicago. I immediately noticed that the majority of them were women. No big surprise there. Scanning the faces of the raver girls dressed in pure neon, the staid bespectacled librarians, the bubbly and tanned sorority sisters, and the businesswomen still wearing work clothes, I wondered with annoyance which one Jax might bring on stage in order to give her a mind-blowing, aural orgasm.

  The thought of Jax making women orgasm caused me to unexpectedly relive the passionate kiss I’d had with him. The thought that I’d have to give him another one after this show sent goosebumps across my skin. It was getting frustrating—thinking about him, having these feelings for him. I had to constantly remind myself of the professional as well as emotional risks involved with sleeping with Jax. But my god, would it finally ease the near-constant ache between my thighs since I’d started the tour.

  A palpable intensity filled the room. Every person in the auditorium was fully attuned to the stage, all of them in fervent anticipation to see the Hitchcocks. To see Jax. And I couldn’t blame them. When I checked earlier today, the band’s album had already crashed into the top twenty reaching number nineteen. The Hitchcocks were rising stars with Jax at the center.

  All of a sudden, Chewie, Kev, and Sky hurried past me onto the stage as the crowd started clapping. I watched them with keen interest, loving this up-close view of the band gearing up to start the show.

  "Trying to keep an eye on me, Pepper?" I nearly leapt out of my shoes as Jax’s familiar voice whispered in my ear. I’d been so intent on watching the band set-up that I’d let him get the jump on me.

  Knowing who it was, I didn’t bother turning to face him, but I also didn’t move away. "Somebody needs to make sure you stay out of trouble."

  "And you think you’re up to the task?" he said, his warm breath tickling my ear.

  His mischievous tone was a far cry from his earlier mood, and I wondered if the conversation I had with him had anything to do with his change.

  I turned my head slightly, looking at his searing grin through the corner of my eye. "How hard can it be?"

  "It can be very hard," he said, his voice a velvety rasp. "But I trust you." He shot me a quick wink that made my heart flutter.

  As he left me to take the stage, I got a whiff of his raw, earthy scent, and my brained scrambled. It seemed like no matter what I did, we were continuing to grow closer. The sexual tension building between us was starting to drive me crazy, and I wondered if he felt the same way.

  The lights dimmed as Jax sauntered out onto the stage and the audience erupted into crazed cheers and hoarse hollers. Those lucky enough to be in the front row were frantically grasping at his leather-clad legs. The fans were screaming their faces off.

  Jax positioned himself in the center-stage spotlight and The Hitchcocks exploded into a sonic surge that echoed off the far walls and reverberated through the concert hall. A rumbling bassline poured from Sky’s fingers and Chewie’s rapidfire snare drove a steady beat as Kev’s guitar riffs built an intricate melody on top of it all.

  But it was Jax that stole the show as he growled into the mic and prowled the stage like a predator stalking his prey. His fluid movements and mesmerizing lyrics hypnotized the audience and they collectively followed his every step, gesture, and word. I couldn’t even begin to fathom what it must’ve felt like to have thousands of reverent fans idolizing me and worshiping my every word, but Jax drank it all up and thrived on it.

  Not much changed from the previous show, but the band gave the audience exactly what they came to see: a wild rock ‘n’ roll spectacle. This time I was more familiar with the set list and the show’s overall arc, so I was almost able to anticipate what song was going to come next. My eyes never left Jax’s writhing torso and gyrating hips. Without realizing I had been doing it, I found myself moving my hips in unison to his seductive movements, and I quickly stopped it. Thankfully no one was around to see my momentary lapse of self-control.

  After cycling throug
h more songs, the band launched into a catchy one that got me all riled up. It was quickly becoming my favorite one. I sang along to the parts I knew and tapped my hand against my hip to keep the beat. Trying to learn all the song’s words, I focused in on Jax’s lips curving and twisting as he sang the lyrics. I had the sudden desire to run my tongue over his lips, and I licked my own, anticipating our scheduled kiss after this show.

  Jax turned his head my way as the song moved into the bridge. When he noticed me singing along, he locked eyes with me and we synced our singing.

  I won’t bend my knees

  and I won’t beg you please

  ‘Cuz I know we can’t ever be together.

  But it’s times like these,

  I just can’t feed my needs

  And I don’t know if I can last forever.

  Only time will tell

  If we can end this hell,

  Oh the hell with time

  I wanna make you mine.

  Only time will tell

  When we can end this hell,

  Oh the hell with time

  I’m gonna make you mine.

  Singing those words together as we gazed into each others eyes sent a chill coursing through my body. He turned back to face the crowd, swung his boot up on an amp, and continued belting out the lyrics, reaching out to his fans reaching out to him, his fingers just inches from theirs.

  I felt a momentary concern. Had he been singing those words with me or to me? And did he think I was singing them back to him?

  Toward the end of the set, the entire room was riding close to a musical pinnacle. The band had been building up the whole show to the final climactic crescendo, getting the audience—including myself—more and more amped up with song after song of euphonic foreplay. Cymbals crashed in thundering metallic clangs and the guitars hurled harmonies in cascading waves of reverb. Strobelights flickered wildly while bright white flashes detonated and sent sparks flying across the stage. The intensity of the show had me so excited that my pounding heart felt like the kick pedal from the bass drum was smashing directly into my chest.

  Jax moved his hands from his guitar to grip the microphone on its stand as he howled out the verses, his left foot stomping along to Chewie’s drumming and his guitar hanging around his neck. Still gripping the microphone with one hand, Jax’s other hand shot up above his head signaling for the band to immediately pause the high-octane song as he belted out a sustained note. His rich baritone voice reverberated in my ears sending tingles through me.

  Standing in the spotlight maintaining the deep note, Jax kept his hand up above his head as beads of sweat dripped down his cheekbones. He was holding the note so long, I swear he must’ve had an extra set of lungs buried under all those muscles and tattoos.

  Sustaining the note, he glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes darting around the stage. The rest of the band exchanged baffled looks with him, shrugging and shaking their heads. With his arm still awkwardly held above his head, I could hear the note start to strain against his vocal chords. His face turned red, then dark red, and then a deep shade of purple. It looked like his head was about to explode, but he kept singing.

  Something was very off.

  I held my breath in suspense. The faces in the crowd slowly shifted from wide-eyed euphoria to scrunched confusion as second after tense second passed.

  All of a sudden, the pyrotechnician sprinted out onto the stage. Jax mercifully cut off the note and covered the mic with his hand. The two exchanged a few quick words, both of them pointing at all the pyrotech devices strategically strapped down around the stage. Jax shook his head and took a deep breath as the pyrotech ran off the stage.

  "Sorry," Jax said into the microphone. "Our dumbass pyrotech fucked up the show. But don’t worry, Denver, a little fuck-up won’t stop us from rocking you!"

  Shit, the pyros! My hand flew to cover my gaping mouth as queasiness filled my stomach. He must’ve been waiting on the Monster Inferno Fountain as a cue the entire time.

  The band collected themselves and broke into the next song. The crowd went berserk, seemingly unaffected by the mishap.

  I wiped my forehead, relieved that my decision to cut the pyro didn’t ruin the show. But as I did so, I caught a look at Jax. He had an unmistakable scowl on his face that told me he was seething about the communication breakdown.

  ***

  Wringing my fingers, I paced anxiously up and down the long, narrow hallway that led to the green rooms. The show had ended a half hour ago to a roaring applause, but Jax’s expression hadn’t changed since the pyro mishap. In fact, he looked even more pissed when I saw him leave the stage.

  I knew I had to talk to him to take responsibility for the accident, but I was procrastinating, uncertain of the best timing to do it. Exhaling deeply, I finally decided it would be better to talk to him now and clear up any misunderstandings instead of waiting for him to cool down and risk the issue festering.

  I rapped my knuckles against the door.

  "I’m not talking to anybody right now." Jax’s voice boomed through the door, brusque and guttural, confirming my worry that he was still in a bad mood.

  Nervous, I cleared my throat. "Jax, it’s me."

  There was a shuffle and the door pulled inward. Jax’s statuesque silhouette filled the doorway. He was shirtless but still wore his patented leather pants; they fit so well that they looked like they were made for him. A hard expression on his face softened when our eyes met.

  "Riley," he said with a gentler tone. "Sorry about that. I didn’t know it was you." He sighed, looking worn from agitation. "What’s up?"

  I caught a glance behind him and saw that the room was a mess. Concert outfits were strewn along the floor and there was a broken guitar among them, the strings flexed in curls. It wasn’t the typical neatness Jax preferred. Had he done all of that?

  "Jax, I . . . um, wanted to talk to you about something."

  He studied my expression, his face becoming concerned. He touched his warm hand to my cheek. "What’s wrong?"

  I took a deep breath. "I wanted to apologize for what happened with the pyro . . . I’m the one who cut it."

  His hand brushing my cheek stilled. His brows turned to steep lines. "What did you say?"

  "I cut the pyro, Jax. I’m sorry."

  He pulled away as if I’d burned him. He then closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You need to leave."

  "Jax, I—"

  "Stop." Pointing down the hallway, he looked me directly in the eyes. "Go wait for me on the bus. We’re going to talk about this," he said, his voice barely concealing his anger. Then he slammed the door in my face.

  I stood there in disbelief. I had the urge to bang on the door and scream at him for treating me like a child, but I resisted the urge. Just barely. His tone shocked me and hurt me, making my throat constrict and my eyes sting.

  Blinking rapidly, I backed away from the door and hurried out of the venue, trying to make sense of what just happened. As I hurried back to the bus, I thought about how in just a few hours we went from being closer than we’d ever been to being infuriated with each other.

  Chapter Thirteen

  HEATED

  I sat on the first floor couch with my arms folded across my chest and my flats tapping the ground impatiently. I was the only one on the bus, while everyone else was probably out partying. I felt ridiculous, stupid even, like I was back in kindergarten and Mrs. Elswick put me into timeout for jumping on the other kids during naptime. It’d been well over an hour since Jax slammed a door in my face. How long was he going to make me wait for him? If anything, he was the one acting like a kid.

  Groaning in frustration, I went upstairs to get some air on the sundeck. I took a seat at the bar and poured myself a glass of whiskey, hoping to calm my nerves.

  It was midway through my second round when Jax suddenly appeared from the stairwell, his expression serious. He’d put on a shirt that matched his black leather pants since I las
t saw him. As always, he looked too gorgeous. No matter how much I wanted to avoid him, push him away, or be mad at him, I couldn’t help the part of me that was attracted to him.

  I set my glass down and felt the welling of emotions rise to the surface. I stood and pointed angrily at him. "You made me wait almost two hours for you! I told you, I was sorry. I thought we were past these petty games!"

  "Sit down," he commanded, pointing to the barstool I’d risen from. "The time for games is fucking over. You crossed the line messing up my goddamn show! I knew I shouldn't have trusted you."

  His voice shook me. I was scared at first but then I realized he was yelling at me for something that wasn’t entirely my fault. I remained standing. "I did what I had to do! You're the one who's acting like a damn princess!"

  He approached me, shaking his head as if I didn’t get it. "You asked me to make cuts, and I did. Now you're making cuts behind my back . . ." He snatched my drink from the counter and pounded away the remaining contents. "All for that fucking bonus," he said, slamming the glass down so that the ice cubes rattled.

  "What are you talking about?" I asked, taken aback. "That's not the way it is—"

  His eyes blazed. "I let you sleep in my bed. I let you talk me into trusting you. You said you wanted to keep things professional between us, but here you've been fucking with me this whole time."

  Oh god, that’s what he thinks? I could hear it simmering beneath the surface, in his voice and in his words—the tension between us that had been building over the past couple of days as we’d gotten closer.

  He grabbed my arm, firmly enough to be intimidating. "Tell me, what was going through your head when you made the cut, huh? Did you trick the pyrotech too?"