Maybe I was drooling a little when I saw all the different kinds of food laid out buffet-style in their dressing room. I loaded up on glazed carrots, buttery garlic green beans, and heaps of chicken fried rice. After the workout we had half the night and all damn day, I wasfamished—and deserved it.
The hitch in my step is maybe a bit more pronounced now, but I’m not about to complain.
“Is it always like this?” I asked Jace when we sat down on some old red velvet chairs. Of course he had a plate of fries next to his regular food.
He scooted closer, pressed our thighs together while we ate—never not touching—and explained everything about thecatering on tour. How they’re fed at every venue before the show, how they save leftovers to nuke on the bus while traveling, how they do regular grocery runs for the essentials.
Never thought about all the planning and logistics that go into a tour this size. Even playing the sport I do, I never really considered how much effort it takes to organize events like this. Games like mine. Maybe I should give the team’s staff more credit. Or send them a gift or something if I get drafted—to thank them for four years of hard work.
Mom would be proud. She could bust out her precious gift wrap and everything.
“Here.” Jodie pulls me out of my musings. Her hair’s a mess, and she’s squinting at something on her iPad before offering me an earpiece.
I raise my brows.
She rolls her eyes and focuses back on the screen, typing something. “It’s so you can hear everything that’s going on. Don’t worry—it’s not an open line like mine. Yours is muted, so no one hears you. Thought you’d want to experience the whole shebang.”
I smile as I look at the small device before stuffing it in my ear and am greeted with a distant buzz of voices right away.
“I can hear Jace this way?” I ask, nodding to the stage.
The concert’s about to start—well, at least the opening act.Jace’sact. He’s huddled to the side with his band, their arms slung around each other, heads close together, hyping each other up.
It’s a privilege to see them like this.
Of course, I’ve seen their live performances countless times—but that was always back home at Yetties. I’ve never seen them live in astadium. On YouTube and various livestreams?Fuck yeah.I’ve probably fallen asleep one too many times with their music droning in the background. But seeing them in person,standing right next to them as they prepare to play their hearts out? That’s a whole different ball game.
“Yes. Well, partially. You’re on the crew’s channel,” Jodie answers as she snaps her iPad’s protective cover shut. “They switch back and forth with the band’s frequency. There’s a lot of talk and instructions backstage during a show, and we don’t want to distract them from their performance. But when we need to communicate something to them—or vice versa—we can.”
“That’s cool,” I say, just as I hear someone comment on the left-center lighting that’s not shutting off, immediately followed by chatter from crew members trying to fix it. “So… I guess only a couple more minutes, right?”
As the last words leave my mouth, the entire stadium gets swallowed by darkness—and my heart rate spikes with excitement. I guess they fixed the issue and they’re startingnow.
The crowd is screaming their hearts out, and I can’t stop smiling. But before my eyes can adjust to the sudden dark, a pair of arms wrap around my shoulders and lips press against mine in a swift kiss.
I don’t need light to know who it is. It’s Jace. His scent, his presence, his all-consuming energy—everything that makes himhim—speaks to me in a way nothing else ever could. Right here, in my arms, is exactly where he belongs.
I kiss him back, but before I can deepen it, he pulls away—and in the dim lighting of the wings, I catch the manic grin already spread across his face. He’s buzzing on adrenaline.
“Wish me luck?” he asks, squeezing me close one last time before his arms drop.
“Nah, that’s bad luck. Break a leg, baby.”
“I will.”
He winks and salutes before turning around to go to his designated spot, expertly maneuvering around the snares andequipment scattered around the area. Quite impressive in the dark.
I think he just made it when I hear aGoin my ear, followed by Asher’s drumsticks clicking together in a sharp countdown—and then the stadiumeruptsin a frenzy of screams and lights.
“Oh shit,” I mumble, throwing up a hand to shield my eyes from the glare, squinting at my boyfriend—now front and fucking center, dead in the middle of the spotlight, belting out the opening notes of one of their more popular songs, pink and purple strobes flickering around the dome.
The lighting and stage setup areun-fucking-real. There’s so much flashing neon, I can barely believe the label did all this for anopeningact. I know, rationally, that Encore is already way past that stage—that they’ve exceeded the whole “up-and-coming” phase—but seeing it for real? That’s something else.
Somewhere in the background, I know Jodie is talking to me, but none of it registers.
Because I’m enraptured, enthralled, fuckingenchantedby my man who’s owning that damn stage, who’s feeding off the crowd’s energy like it fuels him, fills him, and hurls that excitement andmoreright back at them.
It’s pure, undilutedmagic.
