The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(6)

What hurt more was watching how the news had set Elliot back. The leaks were coming faster, their content cutting closer and closer to home. Each one felt like a personal attack that was getting harder to bounce back from. Fortunately Sam was all over that shit. Had retractions written within hours, but once the rumor was out there, there was no erasing it.

Dred started to cough again. “Sorry.”

“No worries, man. One sec. Pix?” Trent shouted over his shoulder.

“What’s up?” She walked toward them, her hips swinging in sexy black leggings. She rocked purple kicks on her feet that matched her hair.

“Dred needs one of your magic potions. Can you hook him up?”

Pixie felt Dred’s forehead. Such a motherly thing to do; it reminded him of Ellen. He used to push her away, but he secretly loved the fact she showed concern.

“You don’t have a fever. Okay. Gimme ten minutes. It needs to steep.”

He watched Pixie walk away, the view from the rear almost as compelling as the view from the front.

“Right, I need you to move yourself around like this.” Trent repositioned Dred’s arm on the rest. “And I think you should stop talking, seeing we’re coming to see your show later.”

Dred leaned back and closed his eyes. A couple of hours here at the studio, then a cab over to the venue. Sound check was a formality, thankfully. They were using their regular crew led by Stan, a concert veteran who worked hard to ensure a flawless set up. Even so, Dred never considered skipping it.

It felt like sixty seconds had passed when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“I have your tea.”

Pixie. He rubbed his eyes to shake the drowsy feeling.

He took the cup from her and sniffed it. “What’s in it?”

“Try it first, then I’ll tell you.”

Dred eyed Trent. “This is safe, right?”

Trent laughed and Pixie cuffed the back of his ear. “Just try it. There’s nothing illegal, mood altering, or sleep enhancing.”

Dred nervously took a sip. It felt like heaven going down his sore throat. “Oh my God.”

“I know, right?” Trent said. “It’s a special recipe Pixie makes for all of us when we’re ill. Works like a charm.”

Dred drank some more. “What’s in this?”

“Sliced lemons, ginger, and marshmallow root steeped in hot water and honey.” Pixie placed a small glass bottle with a spray top next to him. “Echinacea and sage throat spray. Try it when you’ve finished your drink.”

She placed her hand on his forehead again. “Do you have something for a fever, in case you feel worse later on?”

“No, but I have a shitload of duty free whiskey, which’ll do the same thing.” Dred frowned when Pixie removed her hand and hurried to the desk to retrieve something.

“Here,” she said, holding out a strip of pills. “Take two of those if you have a fever before the show. They have caffeine to help you stay awake.”

He slid the strip into his jeans pocket, praying he wouldn’t need them. Please let me get through tonight.

“Thanks, Pixie. So now, we’ve held hands, you’ve saved me from hypervigilant fans, fixed my throat, and checked my temperature like you care. Before your boss, and everyone listening in on this private conversation,” he said, eyeballing Bill from Boise, “when are you going to go out on a date with me?”

He wasn’t holding his breath. Not really. Well, maybe a little. There was something between them, something she was obviously nervous about exploring. Sure, her words screamed no way in hell. But the look from those eyes, which were the same color as a bottle of Jack, was a very definite maybe.

She looked at him as if she were figuring out a complex jigsaw.

“When there’s world peace.”

Damn it.

Every time he asked, yes was getting a little closer. Every time, her response was a little slower. And it was a long time since he’d enjoyed the chase. But it would end. Tonight at the show, he’d find out if that perfect little pout tasted as good as it looked.

*

Pixie was grateful for the VIP pass she wore around her neck. It magically opened doors, eliminated the need to queue with the masses, and provided drinks. Lia stood next to her sipping on a mint julep.

Raging vocals, screaming guitars, and the shouts of twenty thousand fans filled the American Airlines Arena with energy so powerful, it reverberated in Pixie’s chest. Testimony, the first of three acts, was in the middle of their set. Pixie took a sip of her beer and leaned against the table. She looked at Lia in her pretty black-and-white polka-dot dress with layers of tulle and felt the sharp bite of envy. Lia was always unapologetically herself in spite of what was going on around her. Pixie wished she could be the same instead of wanting to fade into the floor like Elphaba at the end of Wicked. That was why she’d dyed her hair purple. It kept her present, visible, even when she felt the need to disappear.

She fixed the hem of her black dress. The short number with only one sleeve was her favorite. Perhaps she’d made a bit more effort than usual, and the heels she wore were going to kill her feet before the night was over. While she wanted to believe she’d gone to the trouble to feel good about herself, it was pointless trying to pretend it wasn’t for Dred’s benefit.

Pixie adjusted the shoulder of her dress.