Call On Me

She shoved his shoulder. “You’re such a tramp. I’m so telling Hunter when he gets back in town.”

“Tell him. He’d agree. But seriously, is the guy a jerk? He looks like he has high potential to be an egomaniac. I don’t want that kind of guy around my baby sister and niece.”

She frowned and dragged her eyes away from the picture. “Oh, he’s got an ego, all right. He’s entirely inappropriate most of the time and a shameless flirt. But I wouldn’t say he’s a jerk. He’s kind of, I don’t know, weird and manic and … funny.”

Devon tipped up the bill of his hat, eyeing her with a sly smile. “Oh, so we have a mad crush then?”

“What? No.”

“Oak, you’re here in the Texas heat at a hard rock festival. You don’t even know these bands. And a few weeks ago, when I asked if you wanted to take Reagan to see that eighties cover band, you told me she was too young for concerts.”

Oakley crossed her arms. “Rae has since proven her maturity.”

He smirked. “Bull. Shit. You’ve got the hots for this guy.”

“He’s not my type.”

Dev shook his head and draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close so the kids couldn’t hear. “Come on, don’t freak out about it. You work too hard and spend too much time alone. This could be good for you.”

“An ill-advised hookup with a drummer who will drop me as soon as he gets bored could be good for me?”

“Exactly. Look, I know I’m your brother and shouldn’t be saying this, but there’s nothing wrong with finding yourself a hot, temporary fuck buddy.”

“Dev!”

He laughed. “Oh, don’t be such a prude. I mean, yes, you’re right. The guy’s probably not boyfriend material. But you’re a grown woman and deserve some fun. You know we’re always happy to have Rae over if you need a date night.”

“I think you just flunked big-brother school.”

He gave her shoulder a pat. “Okay, fine, want responsible brotherly advice? Use a condom. And don’t let him take video.”

She poked him in the ribs. But before she could respond to his comment, the lights on stage began to flash and the crowd surged forward, excitement like a contagion moving through them.

“Come on, Mom! Let’s get closer.” Reagan grabbed her hand and dragged her with the flow of the crowd.

They’d already been pretty close to the stage, thanks to the special passes Pike had sent, but now they were only ten or twelve rows of people back on the far left side of the stage. Bodies pressed close to them and she couldn’t help but get caught up in the fervor of the crowd.

She pushed onto her toes, knowing the drummer was almost always the first one to come out.

“Is that him?” Dev asked.

“Where?”

Devon pointed to the other end of the stage, and Oakley froze up the moment her eyes landed on Pike. Tight gray jeans, combat boots, and a black sleeveless T-shirt that showed off his ink. All swagger and sex and guyliner. Pike waltzed onto the stage like it’d been built just for him. He lifted his hand in greeting, earning screams from the audience, then hopped behind his drum kit. He put in his earpiece, raised his drumstick, and leaned over to his mic with a cocky smile. “Y’all ready for us, Dallas?”

The crowd erupted. Sound exploded from his drums.

And Oakley forgot to breathe.

Good. God.

The rest of the band ran onto the stage, adding guitars and vocals to Pike’s heavy rhythm, but Oakley barely heard the words.

All she could do was stare. Pike took command of the drums like he had a personal vendetta against them, banging hard and violent but with a sharp-edged grace that made it look like moving art. Every part of his body worked in perfect rhythm—muscles flexing, tattoos dancing, sweat flying—and the expression on his face wasn’t far from what she’d imagined he looked like in the throes of sex. He was taking the songs in his fists and making them his with every swing of his drumsticks.

Oakley swayed on her feet, the pounding beat taking on an erotic edge, vibrating through her and invading her like a drug.

He looked possessed.

He sounded amazing.

And she was toast.

She felt the urge ride up her throat and she couldn’t stop it. Her hands went up with the rest of the crowd and she screamed Pike’s name like a goddamned groupie.

Fucking. Toast.

ELEVEN (#ulink_6a238150-4137-5592-a350-109a71f67348)

Pike tugged off his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. His heart was still pounding and the adrenaline pumping hard after the set. Boom. Boom. Boom. His body felt ready to fight or fuck. They hadn’t played for that big of a crowd in a while, and the effect was potent. He’d missed that kind of energy blasting his way; made him feel like he could fly.

He snagged a bottle of water off one of the tables backstage, trying to cool down, and exchanged high fives with the guys along the way. Then he thumped Braxton, Darkfall’s lead singer, on the back. “You fucking killed today, man.”

Brax tapped his throat. “Felt good. Almost like the old days.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Braxton had gone through vocal cord surgery after their second album, which had screwed up a major tour and the publicity for the record. Nobody’s fault, but it had halted their ride to the top they’d been on after the first album. Then Geoffrey, their lead guitarist, had fallen off the wagon and ended up back in rehab, which had delayed things further. Now they were on the hunt for a big-time band to pick them up for an opening act—something that would give them a shot at arenas again. The local shows and festival circuit were cool, but if they wanted to break through to the next level, they needed more exposure than what they were getting here.

They had a few feelers out and their manager was hopeful. But if nothing else, at least all the guys were getting back into some sort of groove on stage. Things were gelling together again.

Pike moved through the crowded backstage tent, letting his eyes scan over the area. They had the usual suspects milling around—other bands who’d performed today, crew, spouses and girlfriends, promoters, and of course, the women they’d let backstage. Well, women and dudes. One of the other groups performing this afternoon was The Boys Club, which was an all-female band. They had their own groupies.

But Pike wasn’t looking for any of the people he saw. He’d given Oakley backstage passes with her tickets and was hoping she’d use them, but he had no idea if she’d made it to the show at all. After last night, he may have scared her off with the gift. The only hope he held on to was that Oakley would want to give her daughter a fun night, so would come even if she hadn’t wanted to see him.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” a redhead said, putting her hand on his arm as he passed through the crowd. “Where are you off to so fast? I wanted to tell you how much I liked the show.”

An automatic smile jumped to his lips—the politician face, the face for fans. His eyes flicked over her. Model pretty. Enhanced rack. Edgy look. Vaguely familiar.

“Hey, thanks. Glad you liked it …”

“Holly,” she provided, conspiratorial smile touching her glossed lips. “We met at a Houston show a few years ago. I hung out with you and Eddie Duff.”

By hung out, she probably meant slept with. He scanned his memory bank. Eddie was the lead guitarist in Crucial Madness and they’d done a show out there together. But memories of what had happened afterward were vague. Back then, Pike and pretty much everyone he surrounded himself with had been on a rotation of trying out every illegal substance known to man.

“Right, yeah. Good to see you. You look great.”

She gave him an of-course-I-do smile and gave his arm a squeeze. “So do you.”