Diamond in the Dust (Lost Kings MC 18)

Normally I’d tell Greg to fuck off at this point. But people expect to see her at this after-party.

“Miranda went to a lot of trouble to set this interview up. Shelby has to do it,” he pleads with me. “The CMA votes will happen soon and we need her smiling face to be shown all over town.”

“I’ll get her there,” I promise. Everything in me wants to protect Shelby and let her rest but she’ll be furious with herself later if she misses this interview.

Greg shoots one last begging face my way before backing out the door.

Jiggy glances at the bed. “What do you wanna do? Carry her?”

“No!” Shelby shouts.

Laughing and shaking my head, I approach and consider my options. While the show was great, she’s been pushed to exhaustion. I sit on the edge of the bed and lift her leg, sliding off one of her boots.

“I don’t think fucking’s gonna help,” Jiggy says.

“Shut up.”

“It’s bad enough you listen.” Shelby raises her hand without lifting her face from the pillows and points in Jiggy’s general direction. “You ain’t watchin’.”

I glance at the ceiling.

“Is she drunk?” Jigsaw asks.

“She’s just tired.”

I slip off her other boot.

“This is why all the great rock stars were cokeheads,” Jiggy mutters.

“How is that helpful?” I ask.

“My body is a temple,” Shelby shouts into her pillow.

“Yes, a temple only Rooster is free to come inside.” Jiggy cackles at his stupid joke. “We know, songbird.”

Shelby giggles and rolls over, grinning at him. “Good one.”

I cock my head and stare at both of them. “Was it though?”

She sits up and blows out a breath. “Okay. Got my second wind.” She turns her reddened eyes on me. “I feel so bad. You guys must be tired too.”

“Nah,” Jiggy answers. “I’m going to find my own temple to worship at for the night.”

“Lordy.” She flicks her hands toward the ceiling. “They sure invited enough groupies back to the hotel. You’ll have your pick.”

“Steer’s already there—” Jiggy’s gaze slides toward the door.

“Are we holding you up from perving on Dawson’s leftovers?” she asks.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Sorry.” Shelby giggles some more. Best sound in the world. “This skirt’s scratching my legs to hell.”

She grabs some clothes and heads into the bathroom.

When she closes the door, I turn to Jiggy. “You really don’t have to stay.”

“I was worried about her.” He waves his hand toward the bathroom. “Might as well wait and go with you two now.”

“Let’s do this!” Shelby flings the door open and marches out, scooping her boots off the floor.

“That’s the spirit.”

The three of us find the elevator that leads to the rooftop bar. Dawson rented the whole thing for the night. Party sounds are already filtering to our floor.

“Should’ve stayed somewhere else,” I grumble, hitting the elevator button.

“They gotta pass out sometime.” Shelby yawns and leans against me, resting her head on my chest while the elevator rockets to the top floor.

One of Dawson’s guards blocks the entrance to the roof. He recognizes us and steps aside. “Evening, Shelby. Great job tonight.”

“Aw, thank you.”

He nods to Jiggy and me as we pass.

Greg’s seated at the bar, talking to a slim blonde with long legs.

“No way she’s with Greg,” Jiggy mutters to me.

“Never mind,” I growl.

“That’s the reporter, I think,” Shelby adds.

I clutch Jiggy’s shoulder. “Don’t you fucking dare,” I warn him.

“But—”

“No.”

I swear to fuck he actually whines.

“There must be a hundred other women here.” I gesture toward the pool where Steer and Pants are chatting up two groupies I recognize from previous shows.

“Fine.” He huffs and stomps off toward the pool. I wave to the other guys.

“Why’d you chase him away?” Shelby whispers. “What if I say something dumb and need Jiggy to sleep with her to fix it?”

“Trust me, that would not fix it.”

She laughs and slides her arm through mine.

The lines in Greg’s tense face relax as we approach. “Here she is.” He slides off the barstool and motions us to move faster.

“Hi, sorry I’m late,” Shelby gushes, shaking the woman’s hand. “I needed a minute.”

“No problem. After that show and then the encore with Dawson, I don’t know how you’re standing at all.” They sit at the bar, already chatting like old friends.

I lean in to Shelby. “I’ll be right there.” I nod to a collection of low, overstuffed chairs arranged around a fake outdoor fire pit about five feet away.

She kisses my cheek. “Thank you.”

Satisfied she’s got it handled, I pick a chair and signal the waitress.

Greg follows me. We order drinks. His nervous gaze constantly on Shelby is starting to irritate me. I sit up and snap my fingers in front of his face. “She’s fine. Chill.”

“She needs this to go well.”

“It will. She knows what she’s doing.”

He casts one more anxious glance their way before focusing on me. “We have a problem.”

“Do we now?”

He ignores my sarcasm. “Trent going back to Texas is a problem for Shelby.”