He distracted me. Turned me on. Made me forget all the rest. I leaned my head back against his shoulder, letting him touch me in the dark. Only for a few seconds—just enough to ground me—to bring me back to the present and away from that year of hiding and lies.
“Me too. I’m sorry you had to see me flustered around another guy.”
It would be a dagger to my heart to see Santiago have any kind of big reaction to a former girlfriend, so I hated that I couldn’t shrug off my emotions over Drew in front of him.
“Maeve…” he spun me around, tipped my chin with his knuckle, “don’t worry about me. That guy, though? That guy you might want to worry about.”
“I’m not worryin’ about any of it now. You got me back to myself and out of that old, sad place. I’m ready to go out there and kill it.”
He gave my ass a final squeeze, then we both joined Mo and Murray at the side of the stage. Murray slung an arm around one shoulder, Mo around the other, and Santiago stood steady at my back. This had become our unofficial position over the tour. At the beginning and end of each show, we’d come together for a minute or two as a unit, a newly cemented family, and ground each other in much the same way Santiago had grounded me—only with a whole lot less groping.
“All good?” Murray asked.
I smiled at him and winked my eye with the heart beside it. “All good, kind sir.”
The lights started rising. It was time to put on a show.
Clark met us when we walked off stage. I needed a drink and a shower, but I knew it’d be a while before I got the latter. Hopefully there was an icy cold beer waiting for me in the dressing room. One of the coolest parts of touring with a successful band was getting to put what I needed on the rider—the set of requests our team gave to each venue we performed at. The only thing I could think to ask for was a beer waiting for me when I got offstage, and so far, I’d had one at every venue. I was getting a little spoiled from it.
“You killed it out there,” Clark said. “The four of you are really meshing. Your sound is tight as hell.”
He continued to lay the praise on thick as we wound our way backstage. It made me suspicious. What the hell kind of bomb was he about the drop?
“We’ve got some press waiting,” he continued. “The kids from earlier want to come back, get some more pictures. It’ll be a good press opportunity to see them mingling with you.”
Kids? Funny. Drew was five years older than me, and I was no kid. Then again, maybe that title did fit him. Hewaspretty stunted.
“I don’t mingle,” Santiago deadpanned as his palm pressed against my lower back.
Clark let out the fakest laugh I’d ever heard. “Yeah, well, I was thinking it’d be cool if Maeve mingled with Drew, her old buddy. If the press happened to snap some pictures and there happened to be some speculation…”
“No,” Santiago barked.
“Did you ask Drew his opinion on this little idea?” I reached behind me to twine my fingers with Santiago’s hand on my back.
“No. But I can’t see why he wouldn’t be into it. ‘Maeve the drummer’ is the talk of the internet. It wouldn’t hurt Drew Rossi to be linked to you.” Clark sounded so sure, I almost told him how completely wrong he was.
“It’s a stupid idea, Clark. Maeve’s not a show pony,” Mo said.
“Yeah, Mae-Mae is a princess,” Murray agreed.
We’d arrived at our dressing room, but Clark blocked us from going inside. “All I’m talking about is a couple pictures. You don’t have to make out with the guy, although you could do worse.” His eyes flicked over me, derisive and judgey.
I sighed, tired, wanting that beer. “I’m not goin’ out of my way to stand next to Drew Rossi. If we happen to be beside each other and a photo gets snapped, fine. But that’s all you’re gettin’ from me.”
Santiago’s hand tensed around mine, almost painfully, but he kept quiet and followed everyone else into the room. Only a few members of the press were inside. Drew and his cast mates were probably still winding their way back here. With any luck, I’d have my beer half-gone before I had to lay eyes on him again.
Murray bowed in front of me, beer bottle resting on the palm of his hand. “Your beverage, my lady.”
I took it from him, then tapped each of his shoulder. “I dub thee Sir Alex of the Murrays. Stand, brave knight.”
Mo laughed and shook his head, wandering off with Clark to talk to a reporter. Santiago hovered behind me still, and I could almost hear his eyes rolling.
“I’m going to go get a drink, since I don’t have servants of my own.” His hand moved from the small of my back to cup my neck. “You good here for a minute?”
I turned my head to give him a smile. “I’m good, promise.”
When Santiago headed to the small bar across the room, Murray edged up next to me. “What’s happening?”