Staged (Exodus End 3)

“These are the kinds of things we’ll have to figure out when we go it on our own,” Max said.

“Do we have time to make all these decisions?” Dare asked.

That was the reason Sam had been hired in the first place; they hadn’t wanted to make all those decisions. They’d wanted an expert to do that for them, and the label had insisted that they’d scored a coup by bringing in Sam Baily. But now that they’d been in this game for over a decade, they had developed opinions. What was surprising to Steve was that those opinions were more in line with each other’s than he expected them to be.

Halfway through their VIP lunch, he got a text from Roux. He excused himself from the table so he could read it with relative privacy.

Hope you’re having a great day. Every guy in the band Scurvy Gums got food poisoning, so we’re filling in their slot at seven. I won’t be able to see you backstage before your show, but I will watch you perform tonight. Can’t wait to see you after.

He was sure she realized what a big deal it was to be asked to fill in for another band, so he didn’t comment on that. Wish I had time to come see you perform again tonight. You know I’m your biggest fan. We have tomorrow off. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a single second.

Now he was the stalker.

London. Can’t wait. Love you.

A fan was standing uncomfortably close and staring at him with camera in hand wanting a picture, so he sent Roux a quick thumbs-up and tucked his phone back into his pocket. He spent his entire afternoon interacting with fans—one of his favorite pastimes—so the time flew by. Zach showed up in the backstage area and kept the party going, but by the time Steve had to change clothes to get ready for their set, he was really missing Roux. He hadn’t even heard from her about how their second show had gone. Had Sam kept them busy all day the way he had Exodus End? It seemed likely, and since Baroquen wasn’t well-known, he was sure it took a lot of work to get events lined up for them. Exodus End had to turn people down now, but it hadn’t always been that way.

Dressed and waiting in the wings with drumsticks twirling and excitement coursing through his veins, he jumped when a woman pressed up against his back and wrapped her arms around his waist. He was about to politely tell her to get lost when she whispered in his ear, “I got here as fast as I could. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you.”

He covered Roux’s hands with his and pressed them more firmly into his belly. “It’s not possible for anyone to forget about me.”

She laughed and pressed her elbows into his sides, making him jump again. “Ego check, Aimes.”

“Checked and fully functional.”

He took her arm and pulled her around to face him. He wasn’t sure why he was disappointed that she was in full costume. She was sexy as sin in her corset and petticoats. Her face was flawless in her heavy makeup with every freckle concealed, and the wig flattered her beauty, the vivid red strands within the black drawing out the green flecks in her hazel eyes. Her black lipstick made her complexion glow like porcelain, but still, he preferred her natural look. Not that he’d kick this rock star sex kitten out of his bed.

“How’d your show go?”

“Perfect. And fans remembered us. They still have our band name on their forearms. I bet they can’t wait to have proper showers and wash it off.” She laughed.

“Is that lipstick kissproof?” he asked, cupping her face.

“No.” She rubbed it off on the back of her hand, leaving a wide black smudge. “I think you’re safe now.”

He didn’t much care if he went on stage with black lips—he couldn’t not kiss her. And he didn’t particularly relish all the camera flashes going off around them as he claimed her lips. He wasn’t ashamed. He just wished people would have a little respect for their privacy.

Someone called places, and he released her, wishing he had a few more minutes to let her know how much he’d missed her today.

“Love you,” he whispered into her ear, and she surprised him by shouting in front of everyone.

“I’m completely in love with you, Steve! Do you hear me, Steve Aimes? I love you!”

He laughed and saluted her with his drumstick before hurrying out on stage and settling onto the stool behind his drum kit. For the first night since the tour started, because they were using the same stage as every opening act, his kit didn’t rise out of the stage. But he didn’t need the grand entrance to feel like he was on top of the world. That wonderful woman waiting for him in the wings was all he needed to elevate his game.

He let the rhythm consume him, scarcely aware of the rest of the band and their typical theatrics. They followed the beat, not the other way around, and could always count on him to deliver the tempo with precision, enthusiasm, and every piece of his soul. His muscles strained with each downbeat, his breath heaved, and sweat began to flow down his neck, back and chest. Soon it was dripping off his elbows and made his hair so wet, it stuck to his face and throat. The only time he paused during the set was to chug water between songs before diving into the next rhythm. Each drum progression was unique and familiar and fun. Steve lived for this shit. He didn’t care about the cameras being on him, what Max was saying to the crowd, or that there even was a crowd. When he was playing, his ego took a back seat to his need to produce a perfect cadence.

For the next hour, music was his only love, his life, his entire reason for existing. He broke a stick during “Bite,”—not unusual since he hit the snare with uncompromising force the entire chorus—but it wasn’t his usual tech, who handed him a fresh stick. It was Roux. When she smiled at him, he stumbled over the beat. That had never happened to him before. Not in the studio. Not during a jam session. And certainly not during a live show.

He found his rhythm easily again, muscle memory guiding him through the rest of the song as thoughts spun chaotically through his head. He didn’t want to tell Roux she was a distraction during the show—even though she obviously was. He liked that she was there, was watching him closely enough to hand him a stick when he needed one, but if her presence resulted in his making mistakes, he’d have to ask her to keep her distance. Would she understand or be hurt? He chugged down another liter of water, wiped his face on a towel, and while Max was yammering on about who the hell knew what, he beckoned Roux over with a crooked finger.

She kept low as she creeped up behind his drum kit. He removed one of his earplugs so he could hear.

“Sorry I messed you up,” she whispered. “I won’t bother you again.”

“You didn’t bother me. I was just surprised. But maybe my tech should hand me new sticks.”

She nodded and blotted his lower back with a towel. “And I can be your towel girl?”

He chuckled. “You have to stay out of sight, love. You’re a total distraction.”

She nodded, and he was glad there were none of the hurt feelings in her gaze that he’d expected. “But after the show?”

“You can water me, towel me, and stick me as much as you please.”

She grinned. “I’d kiss you, but I can see you need to concentrate.” She nodded in the direction beyond the front of his drum kit where the entire band and a good portion of the UK were all staring at him, waiting for him to begin the next song.

Roux scrambled out of sight. He shoved his earplug back into place, pounding out the intro to “Rebel in You” before Max could tease him about failing at his job. After three encores and a lengthy set of bows, Steve dashed off the stage, only one thing on his mind now that the show was over. He found his one thing surrounded by her sisters, all fangirling over Reagan.

“Oh my God, that cello piece is superb,” Iona said. “I wonder if Cecelia would consider joining our band and adding in some cello.”

Steve had no idea who Cecelia was—another sister, perhaps. He couldn’t keep them all straight. He also couldn’t keep his head on straight when Roux was near. He stepped up beside her and slipped his arm around her lower back. She started and then graced him with a beautiful smile before turning against his chest and pull

ing his head down for a lengthy kiss.

When she pulled away, she used her fingertips to trace paths through the sweat still wetting his throat. “Raven is going to kill me for getting Aimes sweat all over my costume.”

“There’s only one solution,” he said, nibbling on her ear as he inhaled her scent. Performing always made him hornier than a triceratops. “Take it off.”

“We have an after-party to attend. Mandatory. Your band invited us, if you were wondering.”

And by his band, he was sure she meant Sam.

Typically the only thing he loved more than performing was celebrating at a wild party, consuming whatever mind-altering substance was readily available, and finding some interesting female to assuage his lust. But tonight he would much rather sneak away and celebrate in private with Roux. She was the only interesting female he cared to fuck, and he liked to keep his wits about himself when she was near. She made him think, made him laugh, made him feel more alive than any drug he’d tried—and he’d tried them all. He should probably consider marrying the woman. He smiled at the thought. Now there was an idea he never thought he’d sport again after the way Bianca had destroyed the beauty of love for him. And then Roux had happened. Not only had she rebuilt his desire to love and be loved, but had advanced those needs until he knew he couldn’t live without them—without her—in his life.

“How long do we have to stay?” he asked. “I want you bare from head to toe. I haven’t seen you out of your costume since this morning.”

“Are you complaining about how hot I look in this corset?” She tried to give him a stern look, but her mouth twisted into a smile.

“I know for a fact that you look even hotter out of it.” He kissed her nose. “And I miss your freckles when you’re wearing all this makeup.”

“And I suppose you prefer pink lips over black.”

His thoughts immediately turned south. “I’m sure the lips I’m thinking of tasting are always pink, but yeah, I prefer your mouth pink too.”

She leaned close and whispered into his ear. “Are you sure you don’t want to see what my black mouth looks like circling your cock?”