Page 12 of Drum Me Away
Great. We were supposed to be breaking up, except this plan was going to make everyone love us together even more.
Focus, Faith.
Lucas tapped on the drums, a quick warning, and then Craig’s guitar wailed and my body, my brain, reacted automatically, belting out the words to our most popular song. Matt stepped up next to me and flung his arm over my shoulder as we sang the refrain into the same mic, and finally, I was able to shake off Lucas’s little stunt and focus on our set.
We played for forty minutes and two quick wardrobe changes for me, mixing the new stuff with fan favorites. By the time we did our final encore, I was reasonably confident the vast majority of the audience would have sore throats from screaming.
Exactly as it should be.
We were still relevant, still on top. Still killing it.
I should have been walking on air as we exited the stage for the last time tonight. Except the memory of that kiss was back, with a vengeance.
Lucas was striding in front of me, heading toward the dressing rooms, but I couldn’t wait that long to deal with this, so I hooked my fingers through the belt loop of his jeans to pull him to a stop.
He turned around to face me. His chest was bare, slick with sweat, which only accentuated all that bronze skin and sleek muscles. I’d always been attracted to the guy; hell, any heterosexual woman would be hard-pressed not to be. But I’d been able to keep it in check. We were friends. This relationship was all make-believe.
I squeezed my hand into a fist to keep from splaying it on his chest as I croaked out, “What the hell was that?”
“A pretty fucking amazing set, I’d say. Although in a few weeks, I think we should stop leading with ‘This Is It’ and start the set with ‘Drum Me Away.’ That’s our next number one single, mark my words.”
“That isn’t what I’m talking about,” I said through gritted teeth.
Although he wasn’t wrong. But then again, Lucas had always been on point when it came to guessing where we were going to go next, which song to release, when to start the tour and where—he was as good at the business side as Gabe was. Which made sense, considering he came from a family of successful entertainers.
His dad had been a big-time guitarist in his day and now ran his own recording studio. Hell, thirty years after he quit touring, people still got jacked if you mentioned his name.
Lucas’s mom had been a Broadway star in her prime and now taught acting at a local college, and a few years ago, his sister had been living in New York City, trying to follow in Mom’s footsteps. For whatever reason, she’d decided to forego that dream and move back to Missouri to act in one of those seasonal shows in Branson.
“You need to warn me next time so I’m prepared,” I said.
Lucas arched his brows. “Dahlia’s description of her plan wasn’t enough warning?”
“Yeah, but—”
Somebody bumped into me in their haste to get to wherever they were going, paused, and turned around—probably to apologize—and then realized who she’d run into.
“Ohmigod,” she said, practically wheezing. Her hair was hot pink like mine had been on our last tour, and she wore the same tank I had on, with a pair of body-hugging jeans and the same black-and-white low-top Vans I usually wore on stage. “I love you two together. Almost as much as I love your music. Or maybe it’s equal. Oh God, can I have your autographs? No, no, a picture. A selfie? Please?”
My smile probably looked pained, while Lucas was grinning like the world was his fucking oyster.
“Yeah, of course,” he said, smooth as honey. “Here, I’ll hold the phone. I have the longest arms.”
She unlocked her phone and handed it to him, her eyes all glassy in that way people got when they were face-to-face with someone they revered. Lucas pulled us both into him, and our fan stumbled forward, not the least distracted by how sweaty we both were. Tucking us under his arms, Lucas held the phone up and out, capturing all three of us at an angle that was guaranteed to make us look good.
And then he turned toward me, puckered his lips, and pressed them to my cheek before snapping a series of pics.
The fan squealed, hugged him and then me, grabbing her phone and pressing it to her chest as she wandered away in a daze.
“You can’t keep doing that without giving me a heads up,” I hissed as we followed her at a slower pace down the hall.
“Seems like I’m getting exactly the reaction Dahlia wanted by doing it this way.”
I smacked his arm. “This isn’t going to make fans hate our relationship. And you’re the one who wants out of this—” I swallowed back the word “fake” in case anyone was within hearing distance.
“Are you saying you don’t want out?”
“Are you saying you don’t?” I snapped right back.
