Page 58 of Just Wait

By the time Liminal was called to the stage, Theo was already with the rest of his band in the greenroom, or maybe he was already at the meet and greet.

Either way, I didn’t have to see him.

Liminal has put on a killer show that’s hard to look away from.

Kincaid sounds like he’s fucking on stage when he lets his Telecaster hang around his neck as he grips the microphone in his tattooed hand, leaning toward the crowd and singing his heart out.

Malcolm’s abs, obliques, and arms flex as he plays his guitar. The ripped tank top they have him in even shows off the veins on his arms, but I’m guessing only the first few rows of the audience can see that much.

He’s a flirt, for sure, and the ladies in the crowd love it.

Tennyson and Parish feed off each other, playing back-to-back.

No matter where I look, there’s something else to appreciate.

Riser spins his sticks through his fingers, doing crazy tricks as he pounds away on the drums, and all I can think about is how talented he must be with his hands.

He has a completely different energy compared to Kincaid or Mal.

I still haven’t seen the man in short sleeves, which is crazy, considering how hot it is on stage, but the wardrobe department knows exactly how to style him to fit his energy.

His head tilts, and he winks, tossing his right stick up and catching it before landing the next beat perfectly.

Could he feel me watching him?

That would be crazy, considering the number of eyes on him.

The other fans with backstage access scream and squeal, and my stomach flip-flops.

They might have thought that wink was for them, but I know better.

Or I might be delusional.

It’s hard to tell.

Riser is easy to be around. That chamomile scent of his is like taking a double dose of anxiety meds. If I breathe it in for too long, I end up warm and fuzzy.

He made it a point to tell me I didn’t need to rush off when we make it to Columbia tomorrow. Part of me wants to be irresponsible and ride this train for as long as it lasts. The logical side of my brain says I have to go home to Florida and beg for my old bartending job back.

I worked my way from hostess to server to bartender, and I have a bad feeling my old boss will start me at the bottom all over again just to teach me a lesson. The only reason I could afford my apartment at all was because I made way more bartending than I had waitressing.

Either way, I’m going to have to make a decision soon. The smart thing to do would be to go back to Florida to start rebuilding, but that also sounds depressing as fuck.

Who wouldn’t want to travel with sexy rock stars for as long as it lasts?

There’s an interior hallway that connects the room that houses the wardrobe setup and the guys’ greenroom. Bathrooms with showers line one of the walls of said hallway, and while I take a quick trip down it to pee, I don’t risk going into the wardrobe area. It also connects to Tangled Desires’ greenroom on the other side, past their hallway of bathrooms.

It’s convenient for the artists, so they don’t have to brave the main corridor with fans, but I keep my ass firmly planted away from the danger zone.

Running into Theo is the last thing I need, and my head is the enemy.

Is he going to hook up with another groupie tonight?

He would have every right to, and if he does, I don’t want to know.

I wander around the greenroom, studying the pictures hanging on the wall to pass the time. They go all the way back to the eighties or nineties, and it’s crazy to see the bands that were playing here long before I was born.

Someone comes down the hallway, and I turn to find Kincaid.