But they don’t have girlfriends. At least none that I know of. That thought grants me some absolution for my lust-filled thoughts. I was raised better. I shake my head and try again, this time fully intending to only admire their musical talent.
Rough. Hard hitting. Sensual.So, so good.Austin turns, swiping his fingers across the strings and lifts his chin as he walks to this side of the stage. For one measly second his stare meets mine and that’s all it takes for my body to react.
How am I going to survive an entire summer of this? I need more than a PA job to keep me distracted.
In fact, that’s a great idea. I unbuckle the snap to the leather bag hanging across my chest and retrieve my phone. Now’s a perfect time to work. For the next hour I clean, sort, and organize the emails in Trent’s inbox. I don’t look up once. Okay, so I steal glances whenever my resolve wanes, but I’d dare anyone in my place to do better.
The lights fade at the conclusion of their final number and I suck in a breath as they all strut off stage—in my direction. I shove my cell into my bag and brace myself for the wall of sweaty sexy men. Seriously? Could one of them be ugly? I feel wrong looking at Trent, especially with his shirt missing, but his is the safest set of eyes to focus on so I do that.
“You like the show?” He grins, his lips pulling up more on one side as he catches a towel from one of the stage assistants and wipes his face.
“Y’all were great.”
“Just great? Come on, Opal, you’re breaking my heart.” Austin squeezes by Trent and drops a kiss on the top of my head.
Trent’s eye ticks with irritation, but he doesn’t say anything.
Bedo garners Trent’s attention, turning so that I can’t read either of their lips.
“Y’all were more exciting than a night of cow tippin’.” I raise my brow and meet Austin’s gaze, careful not to drag my eyes over his chest and all the ink that trails his skin.
He bursts into laughter—my intent. “You’re too much, you know that?”
Before I respond with a clever comeback, his attention is stolen by a group of fans. I never once looked up from my phone or away from the stage during the show, but there must be over a dozen other people gathered to this side of the stage. Everyone wears a special badge, some labeled press, and every single woman is dressed to impress. High heels, perfect hair, curves on display and lots of exposed skin.
I glance down at my boots, feeling awkward and out of place. The crowd continues to chant from offstage, demanding an encore, while the guys chat it up with people I should probably know or get to know as Trent’s assistant.
“Hey.” The nudge of a leather jacket against my arm lifts my gaze. Leighton, the transformed rock god who looks sexy and sinful and straight from the devil’s lair parts his lips, lifting the edges with the hint of a smirk.
“Hey.” It’s the only response I can manage. I’ve never been one to find a guy with eyeliner attractive, but it’s working for Leighton, especially with the way his hair twists forward over his brow in a mess. I clench my hands together at the impulse to brush it back with my fingers.
“Fuck, it’s hot.” He swears and stretches the collar of his jacket and shirt combo away from his neck. The lights on stage must be worse than the sun. I glance at the other guys who all ditched their shirts a few songs into the show and are sweating all the same.
“Maybe you should take off your shirt?” I shout above the blur of chanting fans.
His lips quirk up with his grin. “Yeah? You’d like that?”
Um, yeah I would. My mouth drops open but nothing coherent comes out. I’m embarrassed, not just from the heat that travels over my skin, but also by how uncool I am. “I mean, sure, but only if you’re comfortable with partial nudity.”Lord, could I sound more idiotic?
He lifts his brow expectantly.
“Not that you shouldn’t.” I shake my head to clear my thoughts, but his full attention only jumbles my nerves. He’s so handsome. “I mean, I wouldn’t go topless in front of thousands of people . . .”
His eyes light with something more than humor and I swear the look goes straight between my thighs.
I want to look away; I need to unless I’m prepared to melt into a puddle of goo. But I can’t. He’s beautiful. Seriously beautiful, and the way he’s looking at me, with total and complete attention as if I’m the most desirable woman in this crowd of thousands, as if I’m someone special, it does something to my heart. The parts of myself I hide and keep safe splinter under his stare and I swear in this moment I’d do anything he asks.
“Encore, kid.” Sean breaks our connection with a slap to Leighton’s back, and he swaggers back on stage. The crowd erupts in a frenzy as Sean picks up his bass and fastens the strap across his chest.
Austin’s next, his strut lazy and sensual all the way over to his guitar.
I expect Leighton to follow suit, especially when Trent calls him over to the edge of the stage, but instead he glances around, a line of worry etched into his brow. “Fuck it,” he mutters under his breath and meets my stare as he shrugs out of his jacket. “Can you hold this?”
“Sure,” I say but I’m already gripping the leather in my hands as I get an up close and personal view of Leighton stripping out of his sweat-soaked T-shirt.
Sweet Jesus.
His abs are a religious experience. All smooth skin over ridges of muscle, and the way his bones protrude at his hips? They’re practically begging to be followed past where they disappear into his jeans and straight for the bulge straining against the fabric at the front.
