Brek shook his head because Brek would know. One of the many tasks he’d taken on as the manager of Dimefront—not because the boys asked, but because Brek was good people—was to keep a tally of the hookups that took place. All of them. Which was cumbersome, at times. The guys were careful, mostly. But mostly didn’t cut it when a demand for child support came in from someone they’d never met, heard of, or slept with. So Brek had kept that score during the craziest days of their touring.
As they’d aged, they’d matured. Well, Linx had, and he didn’t need a manager to keep a little black book for him anymore. He had a system that worked fabulously.
“Well, this is interesting.” Brek looked to where Becca and her friends had mingled, and then his gaze traced a path to the stage where the band paused between songs.
Linx looked.
Becca chatted with Mr. Rolled-Up Sleeves. He grinned like he’d won the lottery, nodding along to whatever she said. Then he handed Becca his microphone, and she radiated pure bliss. Becca grabbed the mic and took the guy’s hand to get up on stage.
Every part of Linx perked to attention.What…?
Back molars gritted, Linx watched as Becca said something to the keyboard kid. Mr. Suit lingered a touch too close for Linx’s preference.Move it along, buddy.
Content with whatever they’d decided, she turned her attention to the audience. He knew that feeling. Loved that feeling.
The stage was worn from use, but functional. The sound system Brek had installed, however, was brand new and top of the line. Becca held the mic up to her lips and said, “There’s been a dare.”
Linx choked on his ginger ale.
The women she’d been hanging with went crazed at this statement, whistling and shouting like they were at one of his concerts.
“Unfortunately,” Becca continued. “That means you have to suffer along with me.”
He couldn’t help it—a smile tickled the edges of his lips. Watching this beauty on stage was not a hardship.
The first bars of the Spice Girl’s anthem “Wannabe” started, and the bar went crazy. Becca jumped right in with no regard for pitch. What she lacked in ability to carry a tune she made up for with commitment and dance choreography.
The woman’s body moved like it was made to conquer that space—and any space she chose. His blood thumped louder in his ears, matching the beat of her song.
He even found the perpetual bounce of his knee turning into a full groove. Best part of the whole thing? He wasn’t the least bit bored. The woman couldn’t tackle the true metrics of the melody, but somehow, she carried the parts for all five of the Spice Girls.
Her friends lost their minds when her dance moves involved a non-existent pole. They rushed to form a makeshift mosh pit at the front of the stage. Bouncers inched closer to the stage. That’s how a rocker knew shit was getting serious and might skip out of hand.
Meanwhile, the band did not mind the fresh change of events. They ate up the attention. Thrived on it.
There it was… His stomach did a pitch and dive, he felt a little lightheaded, and he was ready for the stage.
He ached to be up there with them. Feeling the rush, the ache of entertaining, the pure bliss that Becca elicited from the room.
Becca’s enthusiasm? It was infectious. In the best way.
“You want up there.” Brek didn’t phrase the statement as a question.
Linx nodded.
“Then you should take the next set.”
Linx glanced over his shoulder at his former manager, now babysitter.
Brek was right. He should. But he shouldn’t wait until the next set.
“Think there’s room up there for Becca and me, both?”
Brek grinned a half-smile. “As long as you don’t let her use you for a pole, that’d be fine.”
And that was all the push that Linx needed. He stepped from the barstool and sauntered into the fray.
He made eye contact with Mr. Suit and pointed to his chest then the stage. The guy had that blank look on his face that fans sometimes got around Linx. Points for suit guy: he managed to shake it off and waved Linx up.
