Page 48 of Kind of Famous
What else? Dude’s sweet and loyal (sounds like a dog, sorry). The only thing she should watch for is Noah who’s on the war path. Don’t let your friend get into their dog fight. Yes, that’s twice now I’ve reduced them to animals. I love these guys, but they can turn into cave trolls when they get all up in their feels.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to parse out her meaning. What the hell was going on with Noah? And what did that have to do with me? Did Jaclyn think Noah would try to hit on me out of some strange competition? Or did she think Noah would be mad at me for stealing Shane away? Neither situation seemed remotely plausible.
Instead of writing Jaclyn back with questions I couldn’t formulate, I went to check out my own forum, scanning through my private messages to clear out any personal requests.
Di$a$ter had sent me a link to some concert video, adding:Just in case you haven’t seen this.
I opened the YouTube link. Concert video loaded and started auto-playing. Shit, it was loud.
“Hello, Boston!” yelled a sweaty, scruffy Adam. “This one’s for you!” Then the very recognizable opening chords to “Light My Way” rang out. I hit the X again and again until finally the window closed.
It was too late; I heard footsteps above me. Shane’s bare feet and legs appeared on the spiral staircase, followed by his boxer-clad self. Every inch of him was solid as a rock. He wouldn’t pass as a body builder, but I’d bet he’d sink in a pool full of saltwater. I bit my lip, hoping he’d come straight over so I could put my hands on that body. He did cross to the sofa, but after leaning in for a kiss, he straightened his back and stretched. The waistband on his boxers edged down, revealing his hip bones.
I gaped at the line of auburn hair inviting me like a trail of breadcrumbs. I remembered my way back there.
He caught me ogling him, and his yawn broke into a laugh. “Morning, Star Shine. Hungry?”
“Star Shine?”
“Yup.” No further explanation. “Do you like cinnamon? I have these amazing pastries.” He didn’t wait for an answer and went into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open, then a clattering of pans. He hollered, “Do you drink coffee?”
“Of course,” I yelled back.
A few minutes later, he was back empty handed, pushing in next to me on the sofa. “Did you sleep well?”
“Mmm-hmm. You?”
“The best night I can ever remember.” I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about sleep.
On a sudden urge, I climbed across his lap and straddled him, twisting my fingers in that mop of cinnamon hair.
“Oh, hey,” he said. “This is shaping up to be a pretty great morning.” His hands slipped under my shirt, up around my shoulder blades, and he drew me into him. Those lips. They were everything.
I broke away from his kiss. “What are you doing today?”
“Rehearsal mostly. You?”
“Work. All day.”
His fingers never quit moving, working their way down my sides, to my thighs, then up to my stomach and across my breasts, where he lingered. “Do you think you can get the day off? You should call in sick and come with me.”
Oh, the temptation.
As much time as I’d spent supporting Walking Disaster, I’d never once scored so much as a meet and greet.
Way back when they first started out, Adam played pretty small venues, and back then, I could have met the band members by hanging out at the merch table after the show, or even volunteering to work it for free. Since I started running the fan site and they blew up so huge, I’d never gotten closer than tenth row at Bankers Life Fieldhouse, and those tickets had cost me a couple hundred dollars on a scalper site.
For the second time, Shane was offering me something way more valuable than a meet and greet. Experiencing a real rock band’s rehearsal—not my dad’s band—would be, as they say, priceless.
It would kill me to decline. And yet . . .
“It’s my first week. They might frown on that.”
“Can’t you take vacation?”
I shook my head. “Haven’t accrued any yet.”
“Can you work remote?”
