Page 14 of Backstage

How is it possible that I still feel like a rookie when dealing with him after all these years? Actually, he’s right, I love my job, but what bothers me is that I have to take the girl along. I don’t play with kids, even if they’re good. Damn it. I hate it when I feel indebted to our manager. When it’s not just work anymore, but when the whole personal sphere of feelings that’s been bonding us for years comes into play. He’s been like a father to us, even though he’s only a few years older. He was our guide from the streets to world success, he kicked our butts when we deserved it, and rewarded us when we did well; I’m screwed.

“You guys realize we’re not a boy band, right? We don’t do intimate, acoustic gigs.” I cling to any handhold to get out alive.

Thomas bursts out laughing, and I give him an incinerating look but he doesn’t seem to care.

“You’re just pissed off because she’s a straight shooter even in front of us. I saw you fucking her with your eyes, and don’t tell me you didn’t get a hard-on when you heard her standing up to you,” he says, amused amid the laughter of the other two traitors.

I didn’t think my attraction to her was so obvious. It destabilized me and fucked up my proverbial coldness.

“And you want to give me an ‘intimate’ tour with someone I’d like to fuck? How would that be a good idea? On what planet?”

Thomas bursts out laughing, throwing his head back, and making my blood boil. “Trust me, you’re gonna have to sweat it out to get between her legs. She’s not gonna open them just because she’s looking at Damian the rock star.”

“How the hell do you know that?” The annoyance in my voice makes me angrier than before. This day started off badly, and it’s getting worse.

“Because in the five minutes that I’ve talked to her face to face, I realized she can easily grab you by the balls and bring you to your knees if you piss her off.” He raises an eyebrow, challenging me to answer back.

I have nothing to say about that. She seemed like someone who doesn’t let herself be too intimidated by others, but I don’t know her well enough to confirm or deny what Thomas said. I breathe deeply and try to calm myself down because I cannot escape what seems to be my death sentence. The fuckboy reputation I have contradicts the weak excuse I found to argue against the idea of concerts around the city.

“Another reason why we have to do this winter mini-tour is that they have never left the clubs in Brooklyn. We can’t put them on arena or stadium stages without first preparing them, letting them get used to it. They’d be overwhelmed at the first concert,” Evan admits. It’s obvious he’s got it all figured out from here to the end of the summer tour.

“This is a bad, bad idea, and I’m sure we’ll all regret it,” I say as the others look at me with a half-smile and I give up. Bastards. “Have you even told them? The girl didn’t seem very keen on the tour. What if she just quits, out of the blue?”

“Of course we told them, and they’re thrilled. There’s a lot more positive than negative comments about Lilly, and a lot of your fans have been commenting under that asshole Brad’s post. They’ve been slaughtering him, defending Lilly. She was relieved when I pointed it out.”

“Good,” I grumble since it was my last attempt to get out of it.

“By the way, you and Lilly have some songs to prepare acoustically while the rest of you come to the studio and rehearse the songs you’re gonna do together.”

“Awesome.” A desperate sigh passes from me as I run my hand over my face. Not that I have a lot of options at this point.

*

I park under the building at the address Evan gave me and look around, taking off my helmet and putting up the hood of my sweatshirt to try and keep a low profile. If we’re gonna do this thing, I want it done on my own terms, without cars with tinted windows attracting paparazzi attention in Brooklyn. I sent Max in my car a half hour earlier so I could sneak past the ones staked out at my house, and then I grabbed my bike from the garage a block away.

I look at the building in front of me, six stories high and impersonal as most buildings in this neighborhood. I approach the front door and find myself in front of twenty-four different buzzers.

“It’s a rat trap,” I observe. There are four apartments per floor, while I have a private elevator that goes directly into my penthouse in Tribeca. Immediately I see the difference between Manhattan and Brooklyn, the former with its manicured buildings, doorman, and security who opens doors before you even make a gesture, the renovated, clean apartments. And here, with the plasterwork coming off the outside walls, moldy stains under the cornices, and fewer people walking on the sidewalks. Paradoxically, I feel more related to this neighborhood than to the one I live in.

I ring the buzzer but get no answer. I’m almost about to do it again when the metallic noise of the door lock clicking makes me move sideways. I see Lilly coming out, tucked into a jacket bigger than her, the hood of the sweatshirt covering her head, glasses on her nose, and a classical guitar case on her shoulders. She looks at me with those big green eyes and seems almost pouty. What the hell did I do to deserve such a pain in the ass on a Monday morning?

A middle-aged woman walking on the sidewalk across from us checks me out head to toe and keeps on walking, ignoring Lilly. She smiles and winks at me. I respond with my classic conquering smile, she passes us and turns once more while I appreciate her gorgeous ass, then continues on her way. It’s something that often happens. I respond to peculiar attitudes as if on autopilot. It comes naturally to me after years of having women blatantly appreciate my physical appearance. It’s part of my character.

When I look at Lilly again, she rolls her eyes, pissed off. I admit that my behavior wasn’t classy, but I didn’t kill anyone. She doesn’t have to act so disgusted.

“Let’s go,” I say without even saying hello since she doesn’t seem too happy to see me.

I approach my bike and grab the second helmet.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m gonna ride off with you on that hunk of junk.”

I turn around, annoyed, and find her with her arms crossed over her chest, and a face halfway between pouty and disbelief. She’d be hot as hell if it weren’t for the fact that she is a pain in the ass every time she opens her mouth. I had no idea a woman could get on my nerves like that.

“What is wrong with you? Are you always this sour, or is this special treatment only for me?”

“You’re the one who picked me up with this infernal contraption. You could have used a car or the subway like all mortals do. Do you always have to be a diva?”

I inhale deeply to ease my anger. You can tell me anything, but not that I’m a diva. She doesn’t even know me. “Have you thought about what would happen if I took the subway here? How long do you think it would be before I’d be recognized and swarmed for a selfie or an autograph?” I try to be mature instead of sarcastic.

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