Excitement flips Griff’s stomach as he finishes his encore. For the last two hours, his mind’s been on Alabama. And now that his song and dance routine is over and done with, he’s got nothing else on his mind except finding her.
He leans into the mic, tipping his beer to the crowd. Then he’s exiting the stage. Brian’s there to meet him, a bottle of water in his hands.
Coop claps him on the back as he passes him. “Damn, Greyson. You were on fire tonight!”
On fire is right. On fire to get the hell offstage and get to Alabama.
Brian swings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him away from the exit. “We’re goin’ out.”
Griff scowls. Ever since Alabama’s set foot on the bus, Brian’s been trying to herd him in a different direction. Usually he’d be all in. Not tonight. Not anymore.
“So go,” Griff says, his eyes scanning backstage, wondering if Alabama stayed for his set—hoping she did.
As if he can read his mind, Brian frowns. “She ain’t here, man. She’s on the bus and that’s where she should stay because we got plans.”
Griff follows Brian’s eyes. Two giggling blondes wait in the shadows, the angling of their bodies telling him they’re ready to boost his ego and then some.
“You got plans,” Griff shoots back. “Take ’em and have yourself a grand ol’ time, Bri.”
Brian makes a little huff of annoyance and Griff can’t help but bark out a laugh. He knows he’s acting like a horny teenage boy, but goddamn. The look Alabama gave him as she was leaving the stage—that dangerous, flirty smile.
He lets out an internal groan. Thinking about it has him hardening. He doesn’t know what the hell it means, but he’s damn sure gonna find out.
With that, he thunders down the stairs and exits into the alleyway. The bus, parked feet away, shines like a beacon.
Tonight, he saw the real Alabama. Confident, wild, free. A fucking powerhouse. He’s never been so proud of her.
She’s been ignoring him for a week straight, giving him the runaround like no woman ever has. The more she pulls away, the further over the edge he goes. He’s never been so frustrated and simultaneously turned on in his entire life. But he ain’t giving up. He ain’t backing down. If he has his way, he’s bringing that woman back to his bed tonight. The sex wrecked him. He hasn’t been able to sleep with her next door to him, to breathe with her scent floating through the hallway of the bus. His dick, his sanity, his heart needs her.
Tonight, he’s finding out the reason for her cold shoulder.
On the bus, he quickly scans the living room. “Al?” he calls to radio silence. He checks her room and for good measure checks his. Then he heads to the writing room. A tug in his soul tells him she’s there.
He’s right.
When he swings the door open, he sees the outline of Alabama sitting on the long black couch in the dim light.
“What’re you doin’ sittin’ in the dark, sweetheart?”
“I’m not in the dark.” Her light voice floats. The room’s lit up as she flicks on a lamp. Her strawberry-red lips part. “Not anymore.”
He steps into the room, shuts the door. “You know, I just had the best damn set of my life,” he says, twisting the signet ring on his finger. “Because of you.”
Her eyes gleam. “I had a pretty good set too.”
“I know. I heard.” He raises a brow. “I know where you got that song too.”
“I used your line,” she says, glancing down at her notebook. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“It’s good, Al,” he says, his heart damn near busting out of his chest. “Fuckin’ great. They loved you.”
She smiles, absorbing his words, her long lashes dark against her cheek.
Griff moves to the couch and sits beside her. Then, risking life and limb, he reaches out to take the notebook from her lap. Though her body tenses, she lets him. Lets him read what she’s been working on.
“I just started it,” she offers when his eyes light on one song in particular. “It’s not much, just a scribblin’.”
“You’re right,” he says, having to push the words past the rock in his throat. He doesn’t even have to ask, he knows it in his bones. Her song—it’s about them. “But it’s somethin’. I see where you’re going with it.”