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Morgan swallowed and looked down at her feet, wiping at her eyes with her hand. “Sorry.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry. Not even that time you cut your arm open on that fence when we were trying to sneak into the soccer game.”
Morgan held up her arm and he could see the long, thin white scar line. She laughed, then wiped her eyes. “Why were we trying to sneak in, anyway? I think tickets were like five dollars.”
“And we didn’t even like soccer.”
“That we did not. I think you were hoping to see Emma Farrell.”
Sterling groaned. “Man, I haven’t thought about that sad crush in years. Thanks for the reminder.”
“Your first big heartbreak. Probably the last girl who ever told you no.”
Though she probably didn’t mean for them to, her words took Sterling on a fast-forward tour through years of women not telling him no. He cleared his throat and pulled at his collar, realizing that they were still standing in the center of the stage while the crew worked around them. David and Chuck were over to the side with Moby, talking to Mike, who had emerged from behind the mixer. Sterling needed to get over there and talk through the set. Reese had disappeared.
“So, you’re okay? I need to get over there and finish set-up.”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course. I’m fine. Not sad—I’m actually just really happy to see you doing well. That truly was something else. And you know I see a lot of bands play, so I’m not just saying that.”
“Thanks,” Sterling said, grinning, still feeling the giddy electric rush moving through him.
Morgan touched his arm. “I’m glad to be back with you. I’ve missed you. And it’s really nice to see you doing well.”
“I’m glad to have you on my team,” Sterling said, starting to edge away. “I think it’s the start of good things.”
She gave him a goofy grin as he turned and walked over to the guys, who all slapped him on the back and congratulated him like he had won something.
“It was just a sound check,” Sterling said, shuffling his feet. But he couldn’t hide his grin.
Moby bounced up and down on his feet. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You’re on. We’re on. Now let’s keep you moving so you don’t lose whatever it is that set you on fire.”
They started back to the green rooms where they could shower and finish getting ready and wait until the show started. Sterling tried to look for Reese as they went, but wherever she disappeared to, she was gone for now. He tried to tell himself that having her close by had nothing to do with the way he had fallen into the music, but he had never been a good liar. To anyone else or to himself.
Chapter Nine
It took Reese a good forty-five minutes to calm her heart after the sound check. Which was insane because it wasn’t even the concert. Just a sound check. Was Sterling always that amazing? The last and only time she had seen him perform had been when she was a teenager. She had been totally giddy, filled with teenage hormones that kept her screaming until she was hoarse.
Reese assumed that sound checks were low-key affairs where the band didn’t even go through a whole song. Maybe it was because Sterling knew she was taking a video, but they had played through one of her favorite songs, completely killing it.
Nothing could have prepared her for the way it felt to stand on the same stage with Sterling James as he gave what amounted to the best performance she had ever seen in her life. She thought maybe it was just her or just the proximity—being right there. Feeling the bass thumping through her chest and hearing the sound up close. But the energy had shifted in the empty amphitheater. The crew and band members clapped him on the back and congratulating him after. It was definitely something special.
He was something special.
If someone had designed a personal torture training regimen just for her, they could not have done anything more perfect than putting her on tour with Sterling. Because as soon as the song was over, it seemed like Sterling looked for her. And then lit up with a rare smile so compelling that Reese had been frozen to the spot. Until Morgan ran over and jumped in his arms. Jealousy had pinned her heart to the wall with one flaming arrow. Reese had to walk away, hiding backstage. She couldn’t risk anyone seeing the look on her face, which was probably somewhere between just-about-to-vomit and crushing disappointment.
Had she imagined the moment between them? She kept playing over what had happened. At first, she thought that Morgan had stepped in and intercepted the moment. But when Sterling spun Morgan around, Reese realized that maybe he had been looking at Morgan the whole time.
Reese found a quiet corner backstage to hide in and worked on responding to comments on the video. She meant to post a short Facebook live video and then move over to Instagram stories, but she couldn’t stop filming that song. The video had blown up. Comments flew in during the filming, which she ignored, and now, after, she could respond from his page. She and Sterling hadn’t talked about whether he wanted her to post as him, or post as someone managing his page.
Often celebs had people talk in the third person on their social accounts, making it clear that a manager or someone was handling it. Smart people who understood the ways of social media and culture hired someone to write in the first-person. That was Reese’s preference. But it took a certain degree of nuance and understanding with that person. Did they use emojis? Gifs? Complete sentences and correct grammar? Did they respond to every comment? What kind of tone—playful, sarcastic, confident, flirty?
Reese needed to finish up the brand audit they had started. She hadn’t looked yet to see if he had completed the Google form she sent him with some of these questions. For now, she answered as Sterling, knowing that it was taking a risk, but with a video poised to go viral, it mattered that it wasn’t some random, faceless third-person response for the eager fans.
Many of the comments didn’t need a response. There were marriage requests, comments about his hotness, and other things that she just deleted off the bat. A few made her blush and one or two sparked her anger. Delete, delete, delete. No need to let the negativity have space. Thankfully those posts were outweighed by the positive ones.
She’d had some clients who were big in the public eye. A fairly large indie banjo player who had a small but rabid following. An influencer who got big on Instagram somehow (Reese felt sure it was because she had amazing hair) and wanted to secure sponsorship deals. They both could get anywhere up to a thousand comments on a post, many of them inane drivel or spam from bots. None of that was prep for this.
Reese could have spent the entire night answering the comments. They were flooding in as fast as the video was shared. The numbers just kept jumping. After an hour and a half, sitting on a cramped stool back by some equipment back stage, she gave up, writing a comment that wouldn’t stay as the last one for long: “Thanks, everyone! Hope to see you at the show!” She added a link to the tour page before closing her phone. Always a good thing to push ticket sales.
