Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

“Fantastic. I’m not an expert, but it sounds much better than it did at the Tipsy Saddle.”

She gives me a thin smile in return. “Trent said it’s a little tinny. But I don’t know if we can do much to fix it.” Her nervous gaze darts to the side. “And we’re out of time, anyway.”

“I didn’t notice.” I cock my head. “Your fans seemed to love it.”

A more genuine expression of happiness flashes over her flushed cheeks. “Do you know where Greg ran off to?”

I tap the pass around my neck. “He gave me this and told me where to stand but I haven’t seen him since.”

“I need to find my dressing room.” She waves me along, and I fall into step beside her.

We’re not walking down the wide, straight hallway long before we find a white door with a poster of her face and her name tacked on it.

Greg flies up to her and opens the door. “You’re in here.” He flicks his gaze my way. “Dawson wants to come by to talk to you in a bit. And Cindy got tied up, but she’ll be down to do your hair later.”

I guess that’s his way of saying “don’t fuck in here” or something.

“Your stuff’s already unloaded,” Greg says, following us inside.

It’s a small room. Clean and neat. A large mirror and long white counter take up most of one wall. A nubby green couch sits across from the door—I’m already starting to feel about as useful as a cactus in a rainforest, so I’m planning to park my ass on the couch to stay out of her way.

“Wear your flowered dress to the meet and greet,” Greg says. “Keep it simple.”

Who knew he acted as Shelby’s wardrobe adviser too?

“Save the peacock dress for the show.” He presses his palms against her cheeks. “Okay?”

The vibe of the gesture is more fatherly than flirtatious, so I don’t fantasize about beating him to death—not too much, anyway.

“Did my trunk make it?” she asks, searching the room. By the frantic look in her eyes, it must be important. Again, I’m struck with the urge to do something to help her out. But what?

Before Greg has a chance to answer, her gaze lands on a huge black and brass trunk resting on the floor at the foot of the couch. She rushes over and squats down. With two crisp snaps, she flips open the locks. “Perfect!”

“I’ll be back to check on you later,” Greg promises, throwing me another dirty scowl.

“Yup,” Shelby mutters, barely acknowledging Greg’s departure as she tosses clothes out of the trunk and onto the couch.

Awkward isn’t something I’m used to experiencing or ever allow to dictate my actions. But now that we’re alone again, a distance between us that I’m not sure how to close creeps into the room.

“Do you want me to go, Shelby?” I offer, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. “I don’t want to be in your way. Or make you nervous.”

She stops her frantic searching and peers up at me. “Not at all.” The corner of her mouth twists downward. “Are you bored, though? Do you want to hang—”

“No. I’m just happy being around you. Do your thing. I’ll keep my big ass out of the way.”

“You don’t have a big ass.” A bit of tension melts from her expression. She lifts her chin. “Is that a bathroom behind you?”

I reach over and tug the door open. “Looks like it.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Is it clean?”

“Mostly.”

She growls this cute little annoyed noise as she hurries past me with an armful of clothes.

“You know I’ve seen you naked, right?” I call after her.

She pauses outside the bathroom. “Trust me, I remember.” She nods to the door leading to the concert venue. “But I never know who’s going to pop in to check up on me.”

“I can always stand guard.”

“Nah.” She leaves the bathroom door open, and naturally, I can’t help watching her strip her sweatshirt off and shimmy out of her jeans. “I hope Heidi doesn’t mind me keeping this for later,” she says, tossing the sweatshirt my way.

“Doubt it.” I catch the sweatshirt in my outstretched hand and can’t resist a quick, furtive sniff of Shelby’s scent. Fuck, this woman’s reduced me to a damn foxhound.

I glance at the clock above the door. “Do you need me to grab you something to eat or drink?”

She returns, dressed in tight little yoga shorts and a tank top. “I can’t eat before a show. Or after.”

“You need to eat sometime.”

“I ate breakfast.” Her lashes flutter as she peers up at me. “I’m really happy you’re here. Sorry if I’m all over the place.”

“Shelby.” I curl my hand over her hip—almost forgot how perfectly she fits in my grip. “I get how important all of this is. Told you, I don’t want to be in your way or make you lose focus.”