Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(40)

Okay, so the ramps that they’d had built were kinda cool. He had complete access to the stage from back to front, and around Jazz.

They were going to look at a set-up at the end of the week and then they’d have a week to rehearse and figure out the setlist, what worked, what didn’t, lights, and all that happy horse shit.

Singing to an empty amphitheater wasn’t his idea of a good time, but he’d do it. The fact that he didn’t have much choice was only part of it. With each successive mini-show they did, he was learning that he couldn’t just scream out a song and bounce back.

It was f*cking annoying.

He glugged down another bottle of water and watched the people wander into the street. The bar across the street was either taking the overflow or creating it, he wasn’t quite sure.

He wanted to be out there. They were in freaking Boston, for f*ck’s sake. The bar capital of the damn world and he was stuck here.

He had an early radio show to rest up for. Between the shows and the interviews, he was constantly talking or singing. He hadn’t been able to just chill out and drink a beer.

Or sing a cover song.

He loved singing their stuff, but man…there was something about the way a room lit up with an old tried and true song.

He’d been mostly singing to ugly carpeting and soundproof glass. The inspiration factor had been about minus five hundred. The little shows were good, but they were rushed through five or six songs then pushed on to the next city.

Right there, with those people down on the street is where he wanted to be. He uncapped another bottle of water and tipped his head back.

“Fuck it.”

He grabbed his leather duffle that he’d been living out of and dug through to find a shirt. He grinned when he found the burgundy rolled up T-shirt. Not one that he could wear to the radio shows Lila had set up for them.

But damn well fun for a night out. He unrolled the once black pants that had faded to a charcoal gray with a million washings. His favorite non-stage gear. Before he could talk himself out of it, he stripped off the ratty sweatshorts he wore around the hotel and dressed.

He scooped his hair back and grabbed a condom, his wallet, and his phone. Maybe the * fairy would like his shirt and get him laid. He paused before he went through the door. Maybe a little bit of a disguise to at least get outside.

Or at least through the lobby.

He snagged the Fedora off the desk, thought better of it and went to grab his suspenders. No one would recognize him.

Maybe.

Fuck it. Who cared if they did? He needed to get out of his room.

He snuck out. On the way down the hall, he heard the low murmurings of Deacon and Harper talking, Nick’s music, and Lila on the phone as always.

He just might make it to the elevator without anyone paying attention. The doors opened and he slid inside. Just as they were closing, Nick stuck his head out of his room and gave him a “what the f*ck” look.

Simon waved and grinned.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.

Where the f*ck are you going?

Simon grinned and typed back.

Escape. If you don’t see me by dawn, send a search party.

Before he could even send back his text, he saw the reply coming through.

And I’m not invited?

Sure you want to incur the wrath of Dragon Lady?

She’s not my keeper.

Simon grinned. Nick so wished Lila was his keeper. At least of his dick. The boy had a serious case of blue balls over her.

Not that he was one to talk.

He hadn’t been able to seal the deal with a chick since he’d gotten his hands on Margo again. Maybe tonight would finally turn that around.

A bar, too much vodka or beer to be smart, and the streets of Boston might be just what he needed.

I’m headed to the bar across the street. If you dare to wade through the groupies, meet me there.

You couldn’t wait?

Right, so both of them could try to hide who they were? Was he high?

Your disguises suck.

And yours don’t? The hat doesn’t work for anyone, jackass.

Simon grinned and typed back.

Just has to get me out the door, son.

He jammed his phone in his pocket and hurried through the lobby. He stopped at the desk. “Hi. Is there a side door out of here that won’t set off the crowd?”

The girl behind the counter’s eyes went wide. “Um. Hi, Sim—Mr. Kagan.”

“Simon is fine, sweetheart.”

She cleared her throat. “Right. Um, sure. If you go down that hallway to where the pool is, there’s a side door. You’ll have to go around the building, but at least there’s no one back there. At least last time we did a walk-through.”

He drummed his fingers on the counter and waggled his eyebrows at her. “Awesome.” He looked down at her tag. “Thanks, Ashley.”

Before she could stammer out a reply, Simon moved down the hallway to the scent of chlorine and the unnatural humidity of the indoor pool area. He might just take a dip on his way back in.

Sure enough, there was a side entrance at the end of the hall. If he was stalking someone famous, he’d go for the side door, but private property practices were probably enforced. And that was where he cashed in.

Ca-ching. Empty of screaming fans.

He skirted the edges of the parking lot and snuck across the street. There was a shit ton of people out. And on this side of the street, it definitely wasn’t for Oblivion.