“Personal stuff is personal,” Tanner clarified since Courtney had told them all that they had to be extra nice toRolling Rockso the magazine would be extra nice to them.
“Sam?” Greg called Sam’s name, ignoring everything that Tanner had laid out.
Tanner pursed his lips.
Sam paused, turned.
“It’s all good,” Greg assured. “I wanted to meet you. Sam? Sam, right? I’ve heard a lot about Tanx’s new girl.”
Sam looked to Tanner. He gave her the go-ahead to come over. She grinned, stepped up to them and shook Greg’s hand. “Super great to meet you, too.”
“Shoulda worn a hoodie,” Ashley said under her breath. “Babushka suggested the hoodie today. She’s usually right.”
“She lets you call her Babushka?” Sam asked, her eyebrows falling together. “Already?”
“Right.” Greg adjusted his press badge. “I understand you also have celebrity status. Sami Jo? Isn’t it? I’m hoping I can ask you a few questions about that.”
Fucking hell, he did not.
“Dude, what are you talking about?” Tanner asked, stepping a little in front of Sam so she could take off if she needed.
Sam had sucked in a breath and reached for his arm, gripping it tight, her fingernails breaking through the numb and reminding him this wasn’t a dream. This was reality. A reality raising his blood pressure.
“I’m just Sam. Samantha if you want. That’s all I am,” Sam said as though she’d been rehearsing this very moment.
The words flowed so smooth, even if her grip got tighter.
A photographer stepped beside Greg and started snapping pics of Sam. Not like the paparazzi with all the flashes. No, this guy took the pictures like he had a right to do it. He probably did, with having an all-access invitation to anything that went on backstage. That’s why Hans told them not to pull any shit once they came out of the busses.
“You ask first before you take someone’s picture. She doesn’t like her picture taken, asshat,” Ashley said, putting her hand up in front of the lens. “Stop being a douche canoe paddling down the river of fuck you.”
Tanner blinked extra hard because Ashley called the photographer fromRolling Rocka douche canoe. And the reporter knew this was Sami Jo. And Tanner had a concert to put on for tens of thousands in fifteen minutes.
Everything was fucked.
“Hey, guys.” Courtney hustled over to them. “What’s going on? Greg, you need another beer?”
“Nope.” Greg kept his entire focus on Sam like he was eye-fucking her and he better damn well not be doing that.
Tanner wanted to punch him in the face.
Courtney, not being dense, must’ve sensed this because she stepped right in the middle of everyone.
“What’d I miss?” Bax asked, draping an arm over Sam.
“We’ve been talking about Sami Jo here,” Greg said, clearly intrigued by the dynamics of everything happening around him. He wasn’t a dick about it. He was a professional asking about a lead.
“How the hell did he find out?” Bax asked, staring at Courtney.
Courtney who let out a breath like she was a balloon losing all her air.
“I got a tip. Did a little recon. Put it all together and realized my source is correct,” Greg said. “This is my job. It’s only my job.”
That didn’t mean Tanner wasn’t aching to slug him. Tell him off at least. Fuck it. He was gonna do it. “Sam and Ashley here? They’re my guests—”
He didn’t get any further in that statement because Ashley flung herself to the ground a la Babushka. Really, she went for it. He could’ve sworn he heard something crack.
“Ashley?” Sam dropped to her knees beside her friend. “Oh my God.”
