Page 40 of Behind the Lyrics
Ignoring my lapdog, I settled in my seat and pushed in some wireless earbuds. The plane had Wi-Fi, and I pulled up the K-ROC website on my phone. “Song #3” by Stone Sour blasted, and I grinned, knowing Angel would be whispering her silky voice into my ears soon.
Oh, Love. You have no idea what’s coming for you.
My smile grew larger, and I tapped my fingers in time to the music.Perfect song selection, too. Were you thinking about me when you programmed it?
Chapter 35
Angela Morales
“Oh my God, I’m so excited I’m about to pee.” It was true. I had a strong urge even though I’d just used the bathroom.
Terri and I stood in line with the rest of the VIP fans. The Macabre Maniacs sat fifteen feet down the line, signing autographs, taking selfies, and chatting.
“Girl, look at Rodney. That man isbuilt.” She let out a low whistle and adjusted her cleavage.
I laughed, unable to stop grinning, happy to be just another starstruck fan waiting in line with everyone else.
For the first—and probably only—time in her life, Terri’s clothing actually matched. She wore a short black leather miniskirt, fishnet hose, and silver high heels that looked closer to a weapon than footwear. Her shirt was an exposed-shoulder charcoal blouse with a slash of stylish red lines bleeding across and ending at her waist. Big silver hoops dangled from her ears, and her curly black hair was twisted into a frizzy, high ponytail.
“I just can’t wait to get them to signthis.” I pulled an old CD from my purse and wiggled it in front of her face. “I bought this thing when I was fourteen and listened to it nonstop. Never thought I’d get the chance to meet them thirteen years later.”
She gave me a high-five. “Make sure you get a selfie, too.”
“I will.” The line moved forward, and I glanced down at my new, ripped jeans and faux leather boots with thick heels. Terri might’ve been willing to take her life into her hands with those sword-looking stilts, but I wasn’t.
Nervously, I smoothed my shirt. Gold threads weaved through the thin black knitting, creating tiny sparkles when the overhead lights hit. The material fit tightly, maybe a bit too snug, but I loved the simple—yet elegant—cut, exposing a deep dip down my back, yet covering my chest completely. A little daring, but not enough to offer an eyeful.
Finally, we made it to the signing area, and I stalled. All four guys smiled, and the drummer, Kyle, waved me over. “Hey, is that ourNever EnoughCD?”
I became an animal caught in headlights, frozen and dumb. I swallowed, hardly daring to believe my childhood idols were sitting in front of me…talkingto me.
Terri gave me a small shove, causing me to stumble into the table. With a glare her way, I straightened and took a deep breath.
She snickered and gave an impish grin.
“Y-yes.”Snap out of it. Good Lord, you talk to musicians all the time.Yet, these guys were different. They helped me get through my rough teenage years and, later, my divorce.
“Cool. Want us to sign it?” Kyle smiled politely.
I nodded and handed the disc to him, my vocal cords refusing to obey.
“What’s your name?” His Sharpie hovered over the CD’s jacket.
“Angela.” There. My tone sounded steadier, more like my radio voice. I could relate somewhat to the women who threw themselves at Viktor because, at this moment, stars shone in my eyes, too.
He leaned back into his chair and focused on me again, the stare moving from my face, down my body, then back to my eyes. His gaze sparkled with mirth. “You must betheAngela.” He moved the pen across the paper and wrote. “Angela Morales.”
How does he know my last name?
“I am…” Some of my stupor dissipated. “How’d you know?”
He slid the CD to the lead singer then snorted. “Oh, I’ve heard about you.” He shook his head and chewed on the end of the marker. “You’re that DJ chick who got Farrow all hot and bothered.”
My face combusted.This is not how I imagined a conversation with my favorite band in the world.Actually, staring at the self-satisfied smirk twisting his lips and the knowing glint in his stare, they really weren’tthatgood.
Mumbling thanks, I plucked the CD from the table before the last guy signed it and stomped toward the pit, foregoing the coveted selfie. Security held out a hand, and I waved my VIP identification hanging from the lanyard around my neck until he let me through.
Being one of the first to arrive, I scouted a place in the middle, right in front of the mic stand, and waited for Terri.
