Beat (Life on Stage 2)

His thumb and forefinger tip my chin up so our eyes meet. “It will give you a chance to see if our future is what you envisioned.”

It suddenly dawns on me for the first time—I’ve never envisioned our future together.

As if dinner with the lead singer of Easy Ryder didn’t attract enough attention, the full band all sitting around one large round table is the paparazzi’s dream come true. And the guys certainly don’t attempt to keep under the radar. Duff, the keyboard player, is in a heated exchange with Mick, the drummer, when Dylan and I approach the table. We’re a bit late, but then I had a lot of things to do today since I’ll be heading to Miami tomorrow with a bus full of men, rather than back home as expected.

“No fucking way. I had to listen to months of this guy’s snoring.” Duff jabs his thumb in Linc’s direction. “I am not listening to your sorry ass boning every night over my head.”

“Maybe if you could find a piece of ass who wanted to bone your little dick, you wouldn’t notice the sound coming from my bunk.”

“Accommodations dispute,” Dylan leans in and whispers to me as we take our seats. The next part he says louder. “I swear to God, if they aren’t fighting over which chair to sit in, it’s which bunk they get.”

“Fuck off, Ryder. If you didn’t take the only bedroom, you’d be in these fights too, asswipe.”

“That’s why I’m glad I’m the king.” Dylan stretches back in his chair. Duff, Linc and Mick hurl bread at his head. Dylan catches the second piece and takes a bite. “Just give the kid the bottom bunk. Duff can move to the top bunk and you can stay where you are.”

“I don’t want to room with the kid. What is he, like twenty-four? Dude, think of what we were like ten years ago going on our first tour.” Mick looks at me apologetically. “No offense, Lucky.” Then he continues with his rant to Dylan. “And that kid’s prettier than you were. I’ll never get any sleep with all the babes that are gonna be fuckstruck with that one.”

“Fuckstruck?”

“He’s gonna be a pussy machine.”

“Have some manners around my girl, asswipe.”

Listening to the way the guys describe the activity on the bus starts to make me think I was right for feeling unsure about things earlier. Dylan and I spent all afternoon together. His attentiveness and the simplicity of the day—shopping, walking around Atlanta incognito—had started to mollify the anxiousness I felt when Dylan first surprised me with my temporary job assignment. But now, apprehension is starting to creep up again.

“Why don’t you declare the bus a guest-free zone? That’s what my Dad always did.”

Every mouth silences and every head turns in my direction.

“What’s the point of being in a band if you don’t get laid?” Duff says, aghast at the notion.

“How about for the music?” a voice I recognize says from behind me.

It couldn’t be.

I turn.

Holy shit.

But how?

And Why?

Then the pieces of the puzzle all click into place and I’m able to see the whole picture. The kid. Voice issues.

I stare up at Flynn.

He stares back at me.

And I realize. I’m totally fuckstruck.

Chapter Thirteen

Flynn

Now this is going to be interesting.

The label told me they were setting me up with a voice coach. Even though I feel fine, the insurance company wouldn’t insure the tour unless I finished the mandated voice rest period my doctor had suggested on the physical he completed. He’d cleared me for In Like Flynn to open for Easy Ryder starting in two months, but filling in for Linc is much earlier than the doctor was comfortable signing off on. The coaching was how the label convinced my doctor and the insurance company I wasn’t a risk. I must be an idiot. It never once crossed my mind that they’d assign me Lucky.

Damn, she’s beautiful. It shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve been reminded a lot of that lately with how often I find my thoughts wandering back to her.

“Only a dude that’s as pretty as you can say you do it for the music.” Duff snorts. “Damn. I’m glad I’m behind a drum set. I wouldn’t want to stand next to you.”

Dylan’s jaw tenses. He nods in my general direction. “Take a seat, Flynn. You remember my girlfriend, Lucky?”

“I do. Nice to see you.” I smile and tilt my head, curious about how we’re going to play this.

She looks up at me, squints, assessing, and then smiles. “Nice to see you, too.”

There are two open seats, one between Duff and Mick and one next to Lucky. I choose the latter. Who wouldn’t?

“So, Flynn, ya snore?” Linc asks.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“What’s your fucking style?” Mick says, as if he’s just asked the time.

“My what?”

“You know, your fucking style? Are you loud? A slammer? Reverse cowboy? Ménage?”

“Cut the shit, Mick,” Dylan snaps.

“What? I’m gonna find out soon enough anyway. It’s a small sleeping area.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. I’ve had a dry spell of late.”

“The way you look? You must have been hanging out in a seminary.”

“Nah. Just haven’t found anyone interesting who’s available.” Lucky and I exchange fleeting glances.

“Well, one night on stage with Easy Ryder and my guess is your single ass finds someone interesting enough to help you ride the post-show high.”

Throughout dinner, I watch the interactions between Dylan and Lucky. He’s into her, there’s no doubt about it. The unmistakable possessive gestures are there; a part of his body always seems to be touching hers. An arm loosely around the back of her chair, his hand on the table brushing up against hers, the way he leans into her when even the waiter comes around to fill water glasses. A lion with a soundless roar.

But after two hours, I’m still not sure what to make of how Lucky is with him. It’s nothing out of the ordinary that makes me think she may not return the same level of worship…it’s just that what I see is…ordinary.

After dinner, the maître d’ comes to the table to tell us a crowd has formed outside. He offers the back door, but the band manager had already suggested the guys sign autographs outside before they leave. We’re pulling out of Atlanta right after the last show, so tonight is a local photo op. Dylan reminds me I’m not part of the band yet, and security escorts Lucky and me to the back door. We slip outside into a dark SUV undetected.

Alone in the car, neither of us says anything for a minute. Then we both start speaking at the same time. “Did you—” We laugh.

“You had no idea either?” Lucky says.

“Nope.”

“Why does our hanging out last week feel wrong to admit now?”

I know the answer—it’s a simple one. “Because it felt right.”

Our eyes lock, and I feel it. The shit that stirs through the air when I’m near her. Damn. And fucking A if she doesn’t smell incredible too. The oversized SUV suddenly feels pretty small.

I’m actually grateful when security pulls the SUV around to the front of the restaurant and Dylan and Duff hop inside. I’m not sure how much longer I could sit next to her and not touch. I think about it the whole ride back to the hotel. And I wonder, what would she have done if I had touched?