Suddenly, he moved one palm to the back of my head and buried his fingers in my hair. “Look at me,” he said, pulling firmly on the strands to make me lift my face back up to his. I felt a prickle of pain, and for a moment, the differences between us flickered through my mind—his age, his fame, his experience…
“Maybe I can teach you some other things as well,” he murmured, his eyes hooded and dark.
I gave him a shaky smile. If he wanted to teach me things, I could be an eager student.
Oliver let go of my hair and twined his fingers with mine. “I need to head back to the venue,” he said. “Sound check. Are you going to be watching the show tonight?”
“Yeah, from backstage,” I told him as we started to walk.
“That’s not the right way to watch a show,” he said in a chastising tone. “I want to see you down there in the audience.”
“I’m not great with crowds,” I admitted. “It’s probably going to be crazy down in the pit when you guys come on.”
We turned down the street that led back to the venue. “I have an idea,” Oliver said. “There’s a way for you to watch us without being in the crowd.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I’ll show you when we get back.”
It was only when we got in sight of the venue that he slipped his hand out of mine. “Let’s keep what happened at the lake between us for now,” he said. “I want to keep getting to know you but I’m afraid that after what happened with Jamie, your brother might not think it’s a good idea. It wouldn’t be the first time someone assumed I’m as bad as my bandmate by association. Our secret?”
Irritation at Jamie prickled the back of my neck. He almost ruined this tour for me, and I wouldn’t let him ruin this. “Of course. I understand.”
Oliver’s lips pulled back into a smile, the one that made my knees weak. “You’re a good girl, Ivy. I like you a lot.”
My cheeks warmed at his heady admission. “I like you, too.”
He worried the ring on his lip with his teeth and nudged his head in the direction of the venue. “C’mon. Let me show you where you’ll be able to watch us from tonight.”
We walked past the parked busses, some of the roadies nodding at Oliver when they saw him approach. I was pulling out my all-access pass when the shouts erupted. A group of fans had spotted Oliver from behind a fenced-in waiting area.
“Oliver!”
“Olly!”
“Can I get a picture?”
“Where’s Jamie?”
“Shit,” Oliver said under his breath. “Go on in. I’ll sign a few things and meet you inside.”
I was so stunned by the sudden commotion that all I could do was nod and rush through the doors.
Inside, roadies and venue staff were rapidly passing through the lobby, talking over walkie-talkies and lugging equipment around. I didn’t see anyone from Bleeding Moonlight. The guys must be back stage or back on the bus if their soundcheck was over. I walked toward a few sofas in the corner, away from the thorough traffic, and sat down to wait for Oliver.
Five minutes went by. Ten. At around the fifteen-minute mark, a door on the right opened with a loud sound, and I jumped in my seat.
It was Jamie. He saw me at the same time as I saw him.
Shit.
He looked tired, but there was a clarity to his eyes that hadn’t been there the last two times we’d encountered each other. His hair was still wet from what I presumed must be a recent shower. I couldn’t say that he looked much better than before, but when he angled his jaw toward me, for just a moment, I saw a clear resemblance to one of the photos of him I’d seen.
He’s wasting himself away.
I felt a twinge of sadness at the thought. It was a sad situation, but after everything Oliver had told me about Jamie, I knew the singer wasn’t the victim. His addiction was hurting the people around him, and if he truly wanted to get better, he would’ve checked himself into a facility. I pitied him, sure, but I also knew that he must be an enormously selfish person to do the things he was doing.
Jamie didn’t move for a long moment. He stared at me like he had last night at the club, and goosebumps erupted across my flesh. I wasn’t scared of him, but he made me uneasy.
