“I mean they want to buy the design. Manufacture it. Sell it.”
Tag pushes off the wall, eyebrows lifting. “For real?”
I nod, still feeling like I’m dreaming. “Yeah. Carter said…half a million to start.”
For a second, no one moves. No one breathes. Four pairs of wide eyes stare in my direction, all of them blurring. I swallow hard. Wait for the phone to ring, for Carter to laugh and say, “Gotcha.” No one believes me. I don’t believe me.
But then Annie lets out a shriek that cuts through the silence like a blade.
Kenna does the same.
Tag, Zach, and Rock leap off the ground, whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs as beer sloshes from spouts and fists punch the air and lights streak across my vision.
I don’t even see her coming.
A black leather blur flies at me, arms and legs winding around my body as tears drench my neck and hair whips around me in a vibrant curtain. I teeter backward before catching my balance, spinning Annie in a circle, and pressing her up against the wall.
She grips my face, teeth glowing white, lipstick smeared. “Oh my God. Oh myGod.”
“Holy fuck. This isn’t real. It can’t be real.”
“It’s real, Chase. It’s so real.”
My forehead falls to hers.
I cling to her. Hold her.
And this time, I kiss her.
I crash my mouth to hers. Hot, wet, voracious. My hand plants against the wall, the other holding her up by the thigh. Our tongues twist, aching, starving, and I don’t care who’s watching, don’t care about my head, or the show, or even the goddamn guitar.
My blood is singing. The beast is howling.
I need her. Have to have her.
I don’t want to talk.
I pull away, drawing in a breath, watching as her lashes flutter with want. Then I drop her to the floor and take her by the hand, dragging her away. “Come on.”
The guys call out to me. Want details. Want to know everything.
I hardly hear them.
The only thing pounding louder than my head is the sound of my boots scuffing the concrete as I haul her through the back hallway.
Past the green room.
Past the vending machines and flickering fluorescent lights.
I find a door marked “Storage” and yank it open. It’s nothing but a dark, narrow closet stacked with amps and road cases, reeking of dust and rubber.
I shove us inside and kick the door shut, flipping the lock with a click.
Before she can say a word, my mouth finds hers again, rougher this time. Annie gasps into the kiss, grabbing at my shirt, fisting the fabric like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I lift her, not gently, not slowly, planting her on top of an empty amp case. Her legs part instinctively, wrapping around my hips, yanking me closer.
She tastes like citrus beer and salt, and when I grind against her, she moans into my mouth, the sound ripping the last shred of restraint out of me.
