Oh no.
Slowly, I turn to look over my shoulder and find myself faced with a familiar black leather mask and a pair of golden yellow eyes locked on me. He’s wearing aglimmering navy suit, perfectly tailored to his muscular body.
Of course, Tobias would show up right now.
Somehow, even with his entire face covered, he still looks like a cocky bastard.
The security guards move aside, but before I can thank them and step inside, Tobias shoves past me and disappears through the door. Heat prickling over my skin, I scowl and follow him, wondering if I should risk asking him where I can find the band or just follow along without a word.
Should I thank him for getting me past the security guards?
As I stare at the back of his mask, watching him saunter to the end of the hall, I know my answer. I’m not thanking him for shit.
He hangs a left, and I follow, my eyes roaming as I go. There isn’t anything special indicating this as an exclusive backstage area. Just plain white walls and unadorned doors. Pretty boring for a venue, but I guess they host things aside from concerts. It’d be hard to book a ballet or orchestra if the walls were graffiti’d and it smelled like sweat, tobacco, and piss.
“Are you following me?” Tobias asks without looking back.
Fuck. I was trying to be quiet. Maybe he heard the squeak of my boots after all.
“It’s better than asking you for directions,” I answer, keeping my tone tight and sharp. I refuse to let this man know how much he gets under my skin, even as it's crawling.
He doesn’t reply, and I consider turning the other direction and finding my own way. But despite my pride, I have to admit that Tobias knows more about this venue than I do. Following him, as much as I hate the thought, is better than getting lost.
Or running into more weird security guards…
“I was going to take some pre-show shots,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear. “It would help if you all were together.”
Again he doesn’t reply, and the heat burning under my skin surges, my annoyance flaring. He has to be ignoring me, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of repeating myself or demanding an answer. I just bite my tongue, clench my hands into fists, and suppress the urge to call him everything but his name while he leads me through the backstage labyrinth.
Finally, when I’ve almost talked myself into giving up, he pauses next to a closed door. A simple gold plaque says DRESSING ROOM in black letters, and I stop short. Is this his personal dressing room? Is he leading me here on purpose, or does he expect me to keep walking? Is this his way of ditching me?
I blanch, stumped on what I should do next. If I follow him alone into his dressing room, that’s going to be awkward as hell. That is, if I get that far, and he doesn’t slam the door in my face… again.
He pushes the door open and voices spill out into the hallway.
We aren’t alone.Gracias a Dios.
I linger for a second to see if he welcomes me inside or shuts the door, but he doesn’t do either. He leaves thedoor gaping open in invitation and disappears inside without a backward glance. Assuming I’m not being sent away, and that this isn’t some sacred band space, I step in and close the door behind me.
My eyes race around the room taking it all in, trying to keep my professional composure. There are three couches situated around the room, all aimed at a flatscreen in the corner. On the screen is a perfect image of an empty stage—I’m assuming the one they’ll be performing on in a couple of hours.
Tobias plops onto one end of a couch, draping his arm over the back of the sofa, and my attention moves to the three other band members sitting on the furniture with him. I know them well—at least, I’ve seen them before and heard a ton about them from Niki, so it feels like I know them.
The twin guitarists, Steele and Daire, are dressed in matching teal outfits and glittering silver masks. They’re sitting together on the couch to the right. The keyboard player, Emrys, is wearing a shiny metallic suit and a steampunk-style mask, sitting alone on the third couch. All of their eyes shift in my direction.
“Hello?” Emrys says, his tone warm and gentle. That makes sense; Niki’s mentioned him being super sweet and nurturing several times. Like the band’s own little mother hen. His head tilts to the side as his green eyes linger on me.
“Uhm, hi…” I force a smile and offer a little wave. “I’m Joseline, your new social media manager.”
“Oh, you’re the new photographer, aren’t you?” One of the twins leaps to his feet and crosses the room in afew steps, his hand outstretched. “I’m Daire. It’s nice to meet you in person. Niki’s told us a lot. Just a head’s up, I’m naturally the most photogenic, so you’ll probably have to work a little harder when it comes to everyone else?—”
“Don’t listen to him.” Steele, his twin, is on his feet, shoving the first guitarist out of the way. “He’s full of shit. Ask literally anyone. I’m actually the photogenic one?—”
“The word you’re thinking of is fucking annoying, brother. Don’t worry. It’s a simple mistake.”
“Can you buffoons please not scare her off?” Emrys groans as he shoves off the couch, making his way over and cutting in front of the twins as they bicker. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joseline.”
I shake Emrys’ gloved hand and he gives a polite little bow. The corners of my mouth tug upward at how adorable he is. After meeting Sebastian and Tobias, I was worried they would all be rough and gruff, but obviously that isn’t the case.
