Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(33)

“Good thinking.”

Simon squashed the minor tickle that had been following him around since rehearsals. The half-dozen interviews hadn’t helped calm it down either. When the club got near capacity, he escaped to the VIP bathroom section and turned all the hot taps on.

Twenty minutes before curtain meant he really needed to warm up. The problem with being the lead singer was that most people wanted to talk to him more than the rest of the band. Which meant he taxed his voice.

When they were doing regular shows, he was able to do the morning radio calls and then rest for the remainder of the day. This week had been nothing but talking.

He needed to kill it tonight. This was his home turf and people were watching, but not just because Oblivion was from the Los Angeles area. An equal number of people were waiting for them to fail.

And failure wasn’t an option. Not now. Not when they were this close to making something of themselves. If they rocked out enough, they could write their own ticket.

They didn’t have to worry about venue insurance. And a quarter of a million bonus would look like chump change if they continued on the path they were on.

Pushing it all out of his mind, he went through a few of the scales that worked for him and kept an eye on the clock.

Deacon opened the door and slipped in. “Hey, Pretty Boy. How’s the warm-up? Sounds good from outside.”

Simon turned off the taps as he made his way down to the last sink. “Between the cover song we’re doing and the one from the Twitter contest, I need all the help I can get.”

Deacon took care of the purpose for his visit and met him at the sinks to wash. “You can sing ‘Jet City Woman’ in your sleep.”

“Lyrics are easy. Hitting Geoff Tate’s lower registers then quick highs...yeah. I’ll have some of Harper’s famous tea on stage tonight, that’s for sure.”

Deacon slapped him on the back. “I’ll take care of it.”

Simon turned off his tap. “Ready to do this shit?”

“Hell yes.”

He followed Deacon out and they circumvented the crush of people to find the stairs to the backstage area. Deacon swapped out his dress shirt for a Doors T-shirt.

“Hey, there you are.”

Simon turned to Jazz’s voice. “Hey Pinky.” He flicked the peek-a-boo locks of hair she’d deftly arranged in her dark hair. Since she’d gotten pregnant, she’d been having a little too much fun with the fake hair since she couldn’t dye her own.

“I got a present from a fan for you.”

“Oh yeah? Is it sexy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Is that all you care about?”

He chewed on his bottom lip and paused. And because she got even more exasperated, he nodded. “Mostly.”

“Normally it just goes in the crazy box, but man, this was way too cool. Especially with the song we picked for the cover.” She snapped out a ripped out T-shirt. The fan had even torn out the sides like he preferred.

“Jesus. You’d think she...she?”

Jazz nodded. “Yeah, it was a woman.”

Simon wiggled out of his shirt and tossed it on a guitar trunk.

“Geeze, Simon.”

He took the shirt from her and arched one eyebrow then the other until they danced. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, Pix.”

“I see your chest almost as much as my husband’s.”

“Clothing is restrictive,” he said with a shrug.

He tossed the shirt over his head. “This, however, is not. Awesome.” He looked up and Margo stood in the sidelines, her dark eyes heavy-lidded as they skimmed down his body.

Jesus f*ck.

Thankful that the shirt was a little long in the front, he tugged it over his buckle to hide his instant reaction to Margo. “Like the show, Violin Girl?”

Instead of the embarrassment he was going for, he saw only interest in her eyes. “Creative use of Michael Hutchence’s face,” she said.

He grinned and turned around. “Even better from the back.”

Jazz ticked her nails down the sliced back. “I need to do that to some of my shirts. It’s hot under these lights and the tadpole definitely kicks up my temperature gauge.”

“Not sure you can call it a tadpole when you’re carrying around the equivalent of a soccer ball.”

Jazz socked him in the arm. “Rude.”

Simon reached over and patted her little Buddha belly. “Adorable.”

She slapped his hand.

He laughed. A much better state of affairs than the mood he’d been in during his warm-up.

“On in five.”

Simon ushered Jazz into the backstage area and let Margo go ahead of him as well.

“Last minute change to the setlist.”

Simon groaned. “If I have to try and remember lyrics again, I’m gonna kill ya, Nicky.”

“Nah, just rearranging.”

“Thank f*ck.”

Simon scanned the page. “Starting with ‘Sugar Kiss’. That’s different. Why?”

“Kim got us on iHeart Radio’s live broadcast.”

Simon’s eyebrows shot up.

Nick blew out a nervous breath. “Yeah. My sentiments exactly.”

“That’s a little more than the live feed we were doing from our website.”