Manaconda (Hammered #1)(15)
Please.
Bats threw an arm around Hunter’s neck and whispered something into his ear. Hunter’s deep roar of laughter hit me low. Instead of taking it out on the next person, he smiled winningly at the next girl. She was clutching a copy of their album to her chest. “Who should I make it out to, sweetheart?”
Blinded by that smile and his direct look, she just stood there with wide, disbelieving eyes. I know how you feel, girlfriend. I scooped up the magazine and dropped it on the table against the wall with all the extra merchandise.
“Can I have that?”
I turned to a male voice.
“It’s ripped.”
He nodded, his very obvious Adam’s apple bobbing along his skinny neck. “I only care about page one-oh-eight.”
I thumbed through to find the picture of Hunter crouched in front of a half dozen antique guitars. Battered cases and an amp that looked like it was from the Beatles era filled the picture. His smile was full-on with crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his wide hands were linked loosely. Everything spelled out happiness and relaxation.
He was even wearing the same jeans from the front cover, so it was obviously the same photoshoot. Instead of a bare chest, he was wearing a faded Foo Fighters shirt.
“He’s got a vintage Rickenbacker. I’ve been saving up for ten years to get that guitar.”
Music. Instinctively, I nodded and handed him the folded magazine. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Show him that page, not the cover.” I winked at the kid that couldn’t be older than seventeen.
“I’d rip off the freaking cover.”
I patted his shoulder. “I think the inside page will be enough.” I stepped back into the shadows and watched as the lanky man-boy moved down the row of musicians. He had everyone else sign the inside record sleeve for the album. Finally he got to Hunter and slid the magazine out from under the album.
Hunter’s face went blank for a moment, before the same smile from the photo bloomed across his face. They talked animatedly about the guitar and the hero worship shining from the kid’s face was perfect. Even Bats jumped into the conversation, explaining why his favorite guitar was far more superior.
I’d taken great pains to be up to date on the band, and the people who ran Hammered’s operation, but I hadn’t taken the time to actually read the article. I sat down and opened one of the magazines. The interview was actually very thoughtful and well done. There was actually very little sexual spin inside the magazine.
PR at its finest.
As the hours bled away and the pictures were taken, I took notes on how the band members reacted to each other. There was only so much research I could do online. Most of the band looked to Hunter for leadership. All save two of the members—Bats and Wyatt.
The more attention Hunter got, the more ostentatious Bats became. Wyatt was definitely far more watchful and quiet. Each time Wyatt’s eyes tracked me back to Hunter there was a smirk. Not exactly a friendly one, either. It felt far more calculating.
Finally, the last of the fans were ushered back downstairs. There was another secret door at the back of the balcony and everyone was shuffled down the stairs. Indie and Keys escaped first, so I hung back to return Lila’s call.
Now that everyone was gone, I dropped into one of the red velvet chairs. I’d learned that Lila preferred a FaceTime chat above anything. Since I’d now dodged three of her calls, I bit the bullet and flipped open my iPad. When the call connected, it wasn’t Lila’s China blue eyes that met mine, but a far different wintery blue under heavy brows.
“Hello, Donovan.”
7
Hunter
I was the last though the door to the hidden passageway to backstage. I expected Kenny to follow me, but she lowered herself into a seat. Her shoulders were ramrod straight. I was used to her prim poses already. She used them more like a cloak. I preferred the woman that had stolen my dish, and moaned with buttery garlic pasta in her mouth.
She smoothed her hair over her shoulders before holding up her iPad.
I caught a glimpse of a suit on her screen. I recognized the angular face that had graced more covers of magazines than my own. His cultured, accented voice carried over to me. Donovan Lewis. Every woman’s wet dream, and the man who gave Hammered a chance at something new and different.
It was rare for me to be jealous, but that guy could make the President of the United States secondguess his manhood. I’d only met the guy a few times, but he was the definition of successful and charismatic. Kenny’s voice held an undertone I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Too friendly?
Intimate.
I didn’t like it.
At all.
A throat was cleared behind me. Loudly.
“If you’re done spying on the PR chick, we might just be able to get you on stage on time.”
Indie had her mom voice on. And perhaps I should have felt guilty for watching Kenny. I really needed to warm up. Too much talking had left my voice raw. People were here to see us play—and if we were lucky, they’d want to hear the new stuff.
Distractions like Kennedy McManus, PR princess, were the last thing I needed, but her scent was living in my head. Orange blossoms and silk sheets with a side of sweet, soft lips. Having her tiptoeing around behind me through the signing had me even more worked up than our little moment in the tunnels.