Angel (Fallen Angel, #3)(44)
Levi led us down the row to the next raised platform to interview with one of the cable entertainment shows, and as I followed the guys up the stairs, my eyes caught on Trent, who was looking in our direction with an unreadable expression. It was easy to see why fans had been in such an uproar about him leaving the band—he was definitely an attractive guy. Chin-length chestnut hair, piercing hazel eyes, and a confidence you couldn’t mimic.
For a moment, it looked like Trent wanted to head in our direction, but then a woman who looked every bit a PR maven whispered something to him, and he seemed to change his mind, following her the opposite way toward the theater.
“Don’t worry. He won’t say anything,” Killian whispered to me before putting on a charming smile for the host.
I found Killian’s reassurances interesting, because I didn’t care one way or another about Trent saying anything to me. I did, however, care about Viper clearing the air with his old friend, but whether Viper would be open to that, I couldn’t exactly ask right now.
“Congratulations on your nominations tonight, guys,” the host, a woman in a blood-red one-shoulder dress, said, as the team behind the scenes handed us microphones. “You’re up for Best New Artist, Best Rock Band, Best Song, and Best Album. Which of those four are you most hoping to win?”
“This feels like a trick question, Robin,” Jagger said, turning his megawatt smile in the host’s direction, and I almost felt a little sorry for her when she blushed. “We’re hoping to win all four.”
“Of course you are,” she said with a laugh. “You’re up against your old bandmate, Trent Knox, for Best New Artist. How are you feeling about that?”
“I wasn’t aware we were up against anyone,” Viper said smoothly, and then he gave a cheeky wink at the camera.
“That’s probably because you guys have been so busy on tour. I’ve got my tickets ready for your L.A. stop, but for those at home who haven’t grabbed tickets, can you tell us a bit about what you can expect from the show?”
Slade lifted the mic and looked straight at the camera as he said, “A melt-your-panties fucking hot time.”
The eyes of every crew member behind the scenes went wide, and even Robin was thrown off her game for a couple of seconds. She recovered fast, though, and to the camera said, “Thank God we’re on a ten-second delay.”
“Oh. Whoops,” Slade said, not looking sorry at all and handing his microphone to Killian, most likely so he could resist the urge to say anything more.
“Um. Okay,” Robin said, overly brightly, plastering on a big smile that didn’t look sincere. “It was good to see you guys, and good luck tonight.” She looked eager for us to get off the platform, and after we handed our mics back and headed back down to the red carpet, I chuckled and slapped Slade on the back.
“I think that might’ve sold anyone at home who was on the fence about coming to one of our gigs,” I joked.
“Nah, they probably bleeped the whole thing,” Jagger said, before coming to an abrupt stop as Levi stepped in front of us with his hands out.
“Did you guys really say ‘panty-melting’ and ‘fucking’ on camera?” he said, his usually calm demeanor looking a little shot.
Our heads all turned in Slade’s direction, who looked surprised that we’d put him on blast, but then he shrugged. “I forgot we couldn’t say that. And if you want specifics, I said, ‘melt-your-panties fucking hot,’ not ‘panty-melting.’” When Levi stared at him blankly, Slade said, “What?”
Levi rubbed a hand over his face and groaned. When he dropped his arm, he said, “Forget the interviews. Let’s just get you inside before the show realizes they need to censor any possible acceptance speeches.”
Not for the first time tonight, I thought, Poor Levi. I definitely wouldn’t want the job of having to manage a bunch of assholes who went off script all the time.
As we made our way into the theater, Viper reached for my hand, like the walk down the red carpet had been torture and he couldn’t wait another second to touch me.
“I missed you too,” I murmured, interlacing our fingers as we followed the rest of the band straight to the bar. The line was long, full of all the other musicians who had the same idea we did, and after waiting for ten minutes without moving, Viper brought our hands up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to my fingers.
“Be right back. Gonna hit the men’s.”
“You want me to order for you?”
Viper looked at the line and then smirked. “If you’ve moved an inch before I get back, I’ll be fuckin’ shocked.”
Thirty-One
Viper
I WAS WASHING my hands in one of the semi-private restrooms when Trent finally made his appearance. I’d known it was coming at some point tonight, but I’d been hoping to at least get a drink in my hand before it happened.
I caught his eyes in the mirror where he stood behind me, and then I reached for a paper towel to dry my hands as I turned to face him.
It’d been over a year since I’d seen him, and though he looked the same, something about him was different. I let my gaze roam over him, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was. His hair was a bit longer, and he’d gone casual like he always did, wearing a pair of black jeans, a printed black T-shirt, and an open suit jacket.