“Yeah, let me change, and I’ll be right behind you.”
Mickey nodded before he let the door to the room close behind him.
I swapped out my T-shirt for one with the band’s name scrawled across the front. It was time to put on my rock face, time to summon that tiny part of me that could roll with the attention.
3
BRITT
“Do you have any idea who that was?” Abby held the tickets in her hand, her gaze ping-ponging from me to the tickets and back again.
“I think he just works security at the arena.” I shrugged, more worried about getting another batch of cupcakes decorated and set out before the afternoon rush descended upon us.
“He introduced himself as Shane?” Abby scrolled through her phone. “Shane Weston, I bet.”
“How do you know who he is?” I tucked the tickets back into the envelope. So, the guy had good connections. Still didn’t impress me. I’d drop off his honey buns in thanks for standing up to Tad and be on my way.
Abby held her phone up, her screen practically hitting my face. “Shane Weston, lead singer for the country-rock band Tumbleweed Crossing. They won two Grammys last year and just picked up Artist of the Year.”
Shane Weston… the name did ring a bell. But I wasn’t into music. Wasn’t into celebrity news. Wasn’t into anything that didn’t have to do with muffins or danishes or bakeries or honey buns. “So, he’s a singer?”
Abby put a hand on each of my shoulders like she wanted to shake some sense into me. “Shane Weston. He doesn’t work security, his band is playing in the arena. Those backstage passes are to hang out with the band. To hang out with him.”
I shook my head, trying to keep my cool. But inside, my pulse spiked. He must have thought I was a complete idiot. “Not going to happen. I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you find a friend, and you can make the delivery?”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Abby snagged the tickets out of my hand. “We’re going to that concert tonight, and you’re going to wear something sexy.”
Pfft. I blew out a breath. “Unless sexy means a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt long enough to cover up my ass, I’m out.”
“Britt”—Abby grabbed hold of my arms—”he likes you. He wouldn’t have invited you to his concert and given you VIP tickets if he didn’t. And before you go getting ideas about giving those tickets away, I’m telling you, you’re going.”
“Why don’t you take the tickets and invite a friend? You seem to know who he is, and I don’t give a rat’s ass.” Though now that she mentioned it, I had heard a few of their songs on the radio station lately. Shane had the kind of voice that made me want to close my eyes and believe in the type of love he sang about, a love I’d never had the joy of experiencing. I couldn’t subject myself to that.
“I am going with a friend.” She gave my arms a squeeze, then let her hands fall away. “With you.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“You’re not allowed to think about this.” Her lips pursed, and she clamped a hand to her hip. “Don’t you owe me one?”
I waved my hand in front of my face. Yes, I did owe her. She’d covered for me a few weeks ago when I went out to LA to visit my mom. “You want to waste it on delivering buns to the band? Fine. But first, we need to bake up a few batches of honey buns. How many do you think we need?”
Abby rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t care about the honey buns, silly. It’s just an excuse to get you over there.”
“I’m not going without buns.” My hand went to my waist, and I cocked a hip to show her how serious I was.
“Okay, we’ll take buns. But you’d better make ‘em good. These buns need to blow him away.”
At precisely seven o’clock,Abby and I stood behind a security guard while he tapped on the backstage door. A bald guy dressed all in black answered. His tight black t-shirt barely contained his bulging muscles. His biceps appeared to be the same diameter as my thighs. And I didn’t have small thighs.
He looked us over, then glanced at the passes the security guard held out. “What’s in the boxes?”
My mouth seemed to go dryer than the Sahara Desert under his scrutiny. I cleared my throat and tried to speak. “Buns.”
“Honey buns.” Abby piped up from behind me. “Best buns in Texas.”
The guy’s lips curved up, just barely. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Abby popped open the lid. “Nothing like some sweet honey buns on a special night like tonight. Am I right?”