A guy with a clipboard and a headset stopped me. “Name?”
“Mary Porter.”
He scanned his list, then his eyebrows shot up. “Oh. You’retheMary.” He stepped aside immediately, practically tripping over himself.
I smiled at him. “Just Mary, babe.”
“Cross said to send you straight to the dressing room when you get here.”
“And that is where…?”
“Just follow the arrows.” He pointed to the printed signs taped on the walls.
The hallways backstage were pure chaos — crew members rushing around with equipment, the opening band’s manager arguing with someone about monitor levels, the smell of sweat and beer and electrical equipment warping around everything.
I tried not to get in anyone’s way as I maneuvered the corridors. The music from the stage was so loud it felt like it was rattling every little boney bit of my body — I could only imagine what it felt like standing on that stage, surrounded by all those speakers and amps.
The arrows took me to a chipped green door withBlack Psalmscribbled on a piece of paper and taped over a hole that looked suspiciously fist-shaped. I heard voices inside, and not all male.
Bold, I thought, and then — as long as he kept buying his guilt out with solid currency that held up in the global market, I could play the jealous girlfriend.
I opened the door without knocking and saw the dressing room turned into party central. Bottles littered every surface, and the air was half cigarette smoke, half cologne. Milo was mid-conversation with Brett, gesturing with his cigarette and shaking his head when I walked in. Hedidhave an arm candy running her hand down his back, which made me feel a particular way I didn’t care to examine too closely at the moment.
Milo didn’t see me, but Killian did. Dahlia was sitting on the armrest of his chair.
“Look who the cat dragged in,” he said, both of them grinning.
Milo’s head snapped toward the door. The second his eyes landed on me, his whole body went still. The cigarette froze halfway to his lips, and whatever he’d been saying to Brett died in his throat.
The girl’s hand was still on his back.
I cocked my hip, letting my gaze slide over her slowly before returning to Milo. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. Y’all look just fine as wine.”
“Mary—” He was already moving, shaking off the girl’s hand. She stumbled back slightly, looking confused.
“Who’s this?” she asked, voice pitched high.
“His girlfriend,” Owen supplied from a couch, emptying a bottle of Coors Light.
“He has a girlfriend?” Another girl asked.
I smiled, genuinely amused. “Looks like it's news to him too, hun,” I said, holding Milo’s gaze.
“Babe.” Milo crossed the room in three strides, his hand reaching for my waist. I stepped back, just out of reach.
“Uh-uh.” I held up one finger. “You don’t get to touch me yet, rockstar.”
Brett let out a low whistle. Owen was grinning like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week. Killian sighed.
Dahlia slid off the armrest and came over, kissing my cheek. “You look fucking incredible.”
“Thanks, babe.” I kept my eyes on Milo. “Figured I should dress up for the occasion.”
The room went silent except for the muffled bass that was picking up on the stage behind the wall.
Milo’s jaw tightened. “Can we talk? Alone?”
“Why? You seemed pretty comfortable having an audience five seconds ago.” I gestured to the two girls who were now whispering to each other near the makeup counter.
