Page 13 of Drum Me Away
He shrugged. “Unless I’m mistaken, we are following Dahlia’s plan to a T.”
CHAPTER5
Lucas
That picture went viral.
Of course it did.
No idea how Dahlia thought me publicly fawning over Faith was going to ensure fans accepted our breakup and didn’t hate the band for it, but Dahlia had never steered us wrong before, so I wasn’t about to question her motives.
It was too much fun.
Well, it was until the concert in Denver.
Everything had been, er, going according to plan up to that point. By now, that smacking kiss at the beginning of our set had become part of the intro. We’d all jog out onto the stage and welcome the crowd before ostentatiously heading to our respective equipment. I’d grab Faith around the waist, pull her to me, and drop a big one on her now anticipatory lips.
I probably shouldn’t read too much into it, but it sure seemed like she was starting to enjoy the routine. I’d even go so far as to suspect she was enjoying the kisses themselves.
Some nights, she’s throw her arms around my neck and grin before closing her eyes and puckering up. Then she’d dramatically twist out of my grip and point at my drum set, giving the audience an exaggerated eye roll while she pretended to blush and fight a smile.
Those were the nights when it felt the most real, and I imagined after the concert we’d forego the afterparty and head back to our hotel and get naked while laughing at how ridiculous it was to ever believe we were pretending.
Ticket sales were through the roof. Nearly every show was sold out, and more were added to the list each day. Our social media accounts were going gangbusters. Some days it was hard to tell whether our latest single or Faith’s and my latest PDA was more popular. Not that it mattered; both translated into song downloads and concert ticket sales.
Lots and lots of sales.
I should be questioning Dahlia’s theory by now—two weeks have passed and Faith and I weren’t any closer to officially fake breaking up—but honestly, I wasn’t in a rush, much as I knew I should be.
Craig’s guitar whined out the final notes of our third encore of the night, and I stood up behind my drum set, lifting my arms above my head, prepared rush up to the edge of the stage to hand my sticks to some lucky fan before wrapping up for the night. I was ready to drink about a gallon of water, take a shower, and chase it all with a few fingers of really excellent whiskey. And then I’d head down to the afterparty, do a little more public flirting with Faith.
Because it was fun.
Faith and Matt were standing at the front of the stage, arms raised, hands clasped, while the crowd chanted, “More DarkHeaven, more DarkHeaven, more DarkHeaven!”
I fucking loved it. We all did.
Faith leaned toward Matt, said something close to his ear. He nodded, and she turned around and jogged up to my drum set. Tonight she wore a pair of white shorts with frayed edges—definitely short, that was for damn sure. I’d almost missed a few cues because I kept staring at her ass, waiting for a cheek to make an appearance. Her top half was encased in a see-through white cropped tee with a white bra underneath. She had black fishnet stocking and, of course, her signature Vans. Her colorful hair was twisted into two braids draping over each shoulder.
She was so fucking hot that had our set-opening kiss not been a part of the show now, I’d probably have made a play for her anyway. Even though she was now drenched in sweat, with raccoon eyes because her makeup had run, my gut still did that familiar twist; clearly, my crush was not based purely on her looks.
“That song you wrote,” she yelled at me over the crowd’s chanting, her hand covering my microphone, “the one we’ve been messing around with on the tour bus.”
“What of it?” For some reason, ever since we started this new charade, my creative juices were working overtime. I hardly ever wrote songs for the band, yet I’d now put together four possibilities that Matt and Faith both said would very likely end up on our next album.
“Let’s play it. Now. To end the show.”
I stared at her. “Are you serious? It’s not even complete. We haven’t practiced. It’s—”
“It’s exactly what this crowd wants. And it’s good. Great. Amazing. And it’s ready.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You’re beginning to sound like I did when we first started the band. Always doubting myself. And do you remember what you used to tell me?”
“That you’re fucking awesome and to start believing it already?”
She laughed and pointed at me with both hands. “Exactly. Now, let’s do this.”
