Page 14 of Too Little Too Soon
They’d reached the venue’s parking lot. Maria flashed an important-looking badge hanging around her neck, and the burly security guy waved them through. As they approached the building, Ava spotted the sign for will call. Travis had promised to leave her two front row tickets. He’d taken off before she could tell him that her sister worked for both of the bands, so she was pretty sure she already had the hookup.
“How good are our seats?” she asked Maria.
“We’re going to watch from the wings. We’ll practically be on stage. Your sister has connections,” Maria said with a laugh.
“This is going to sound crazy, but I managed to secure front row seats.”
“What? Are you kidding? You were planning to come before I invited you?”
Ava shook her head. “I met someone who works here. He told me he’d leave them at will call.”
Suddenly, she was nervous. Travis was here, somewhere. What were the chances that they’d bump into each other? He had implied they’d be pretty good.
She hoped so.
“Okay, I’m going to needallthose details, but first, let’s get those tickets, and we’ll go up to the nosebleed section and find some seriously rabid fan to give them to,” Maria said. She headed toward the ticket booth.
Ava couldn’t wait to get inside.
She couldn’t wait to see Travis again.
ChapterFive
Travis’s smart-assfriend provided him with a pair of jeans and a concert T-shirt two sizes too small, with Pink’s face on it. He managed to get it over his biceps and chest, and even though it was practically painted on, he planned to wear the hell out of it tonight if only to spite Parker.
“Whose shirt is this, anyway?” he asked, twirling a drumstick through his fingers while they waited in the backstage lounge area until it was time to go on stage.
“I don’t know,” Parker replied, his eyes dancing over the pink shirt. “Maybe Maria’s.”
At thirty-three, Maria had only just discovered the glory that was collecting concert T-shirts.
“Where is Maria?” She was usually backstage with them before shows. As this was the kickoff for their first official North American tour, it seemed like she’d definitely be here.
“She finally convinced her and Holly’s other sister to come to one of our shows,” Oz replied. “Dragged her along while she picked someone in the nosebleeds and presented them with front row tickets.”
“I hope she videoed it,” Lacey said. “It’s always fun to watch the expression on their faces when they realize it’s not a joke.”
Ava had said she was coming to the concert with her sister. Travis was admittedly nervous about how this was all going to play out. As much fun as they’d had earlier this afternoon, and despite the tiny apartment with almost no personal touches, he knew he wasn’t wrong about her type. So there was a reasonable chance she’d thrust her nose up at the idea of carrying on an affair with a musician.
He should have thought of this before he’d offered her tickets and not told her who he really was.
Ah well, too late now. Nothing he could do but hope. And if it didn’t work out, well, he’d had one hell of a fantastic day, and he’d have to be content with the memories.
“Showtime, folks,” the show runner called out.
The band rose as a unit. Travis checked them out, one by one. Lots of fidgeting, which was to be expected—this was the largest venue they’d ever played—but no one was high or inebriated. Not that he expected everyone to be teetotalers before shows, but yeah, he was still jaded from his experience with Dog Daze.
For practically every show at the end there, he hadn’t known if they’d be able to go on. It always hinged on how trashed Suzie was. They’d taken to assigning a lackey to be her shadow on the day of shows, to report back to the band manager if she was popping pills, how many, and how close to showtime.
There was none of that here. He didn’t have to worry about these guys. They all wanted this as badly as he did.
Which was exactly why he’d do whatever it took not to fuck this up. Because they were gonna be stars. Demigoddess Revival was opening for Panic Station on this tour, but one day soon, they could be co-headliners.
Wouldn’t that be something?
Their sophomore album, which was their first full-length, had debuted at forty-nine on the Billboard 200, which was really fucking impressive for a brand-new rock band. Since then, every single they’d released had landed in the top ten of the Billboard Hot 100.
The sexy-as-fuck ballad, “Desire,” Oz had penned when he’d been lusting after Maria last spring had debuted at number one and was still there, three months later. If it hung around for another few weeks, they’d start breaking records.
