To my surprise, everyone is there waiting for us.
“Took your time, Colt. You and Miss Prim and Proper go off for a quickie in the closet?” Dingo asks, and Sia smacks him across the chest.
I blush and sink into the seat.
My goodness, I so DO NOT belong in this world.
Colt rests his hand on my knee. “Shut up, dick.”
“You were on fire tonight, Colt,” Johnny says as one of the Slayettes cuddles into his side.
“Yeah, I mean… I always watch Johnny, but tonight, Colt, there was something different about you. Like you were showing off to the crowd how good you are, but in a totally non-arrogant way. You rocked it,” the girl with long brown hair like mine exclaims.
Colt simply smiles.
But I have to agree with her.
He was amazing.
She kind of reminds me of me, but in a more glamorous, rock-chick version.
“Thanks, Anna,” Colt replies and squeezes my knee.
I glance up at him, and he’s grinning at me like he’s on cloud nine.
It doesn’t take long before we wind through the streets and pull up in front of a club. The car rolls to a stop, and as I step out, Colt follows, his arm slipping around my shoulders in a protective hold. Without hesitation, he strides past the security guards and straight into the club.
Surprisingly, no one asks for ID. Even more surprising? The lack of paparazzi. Maybe one or two cameras click in the distance, but none of the usual chaos—the push and shove that follows this band everywhere.How did they manage that?
Colt leads me to the VIP section, a roped-off area guarded by security. A simple nod from him, and we’re let through, hisentourage trailing behind. At the bar, he signals the bartender, and the drinks start flowing—no waiting, no questions.
And it hits me.
I’ve never done this before. Not really. Never walked into a club without worry, never felt this kind of effortless freedom. A sudden, sobering realization washes over me—just how much I’ve missed out on. Just how much I’ve given up for my father’s so-called best interests.
My life has been finishing schools, high-society tea parties, and an endless string of pretentious obligations. So much bollocks, it’s ridiculous.
I’m twenty-six.
I’ve never drunk a beer.
Never went to college.
Never lived away from home.
Never went to parties and got so drunk I didn’t know where I was.
Never been to a rock concert—until today.
Never been attacked by crazy fangirl minions—until today.
With how this night is going, I will be breaking all Daddy’s rules, and my care factor about that is at an all-time low. I hate to disappoint him, but I am not sure I want this life he has planned out for me anymore.
As we approach the bar, Colt helps me to sit on one of the stools while keeping his arm firmly around my shoulders. He picks up a beer with his free hand, and I grab a glass. Turning my body to him, I angle closer, and we clink our glasses in a toast.
“To my muse.”
“To my rock god,” I reply and take my first sip of the frosty beer. It’s not too bad, definitely not as bad as my friend Jack. I could easily have a few of these, and for the first time in, well, since forever, I’m going to let my hair down.
