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That’s how he felt when he saw her earlier that night. Truth be told, Fletcher had felt that way about her every night for the last three weeks. The Rescuers were on the final leg of their sold out tour and they’d made the decision to do slightly smaller, more intimate shows on the East Coast. After big stadiums, being that much closer to the audience was intoxicating. Especially when his eyes had moved through the crowd and he spotted her headbanging not too far from the mosh pit. She’d flipped her thick curly hair back at the end of the song and her gorgeous brown eyes had stopped his heart. When she’d turned to her friend, laughing and attempting to smooth down her wild hair, Fletcher found himself smiling.
It was one thing to be horny for a random woman, but another to be besotted by her on sight alone. Then he saw her the next night and the one after that, and every night until their last show a few hours ago.
“Otis, I need you to find someone for me,” he told their large mountain-sized security guard as he came off stage, rubbing the towel against the back of his head. “Brunette with thick curly hair, wearing a tee from the 2000 tour, prettiest girl you’ve ever seen.”
Otis gave him a flat look. “Soren asked me to find him the prettiest girl he’d ever seen too, so I need more.”
Fletcher rolled his eyes and focused on everything he could remember about this woman. He couldn’t see the rest of her clothes, so he was basing all of this off what he had been able to see. A flash of red popped into his mind and he grinned. “Bright red streaks.”
“All right.” He headed towards the exit. “What do I tell this girl?”
“Ask her if she wants to come backstage.”
“And if she says no?”
“Give her a T-shirt from this tour and thank her for being here.”
Otis shook his head and vanished out of sight. Turning around as his bandmates, best friends and brothers from other mothers bounded off stage, he smiled. The four of them had been making music, traveling the country and meeting people for the last ten years. The only thing they had in common was their love for music, but that’s what held them together as they navigated this new part of their lives.
“Was looking for you after the curtains went down,” Jack said, whipping his towel at Fletcher.
“Needed to find someone.”
Soren came up on the other side, sweaty arm slung over his shoulder. “Someone? Tell me more.”
“Fuck off.” He laughed and attempted to push Soren away, but his friend held on.
“Good for you, man. About time you participated in a little post-show fun.”
Fletcher rolled his eyes and let his friends drag him back to the green room. He had nothing against groupies, but they weren’t as fun as movies or other rockstars made them out to be. He often felt like the women were hooking up with them to brag about it to their friends later. Sure okay, fucking a random stranger and getting all your energy out with someone else was a good way to have fun. But that was no longer how he looked at sex. Maybe he was an old man, hoping to make a deeper connection with someone. Or maybe he had higher standards.
Jack had already filled up glasses with tequila someone had gifted them a few days ago, so Fletcher knocked back his shot and hissed as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. Grabbing a bottle of water, he twisted it open and took a swig as the doorway to the green room was filled with Otis’s giant body.
“There’s some people who want to see you boys,” Otis said, stepping to the side to reveal a group of scantily clad women. Shaking his head at the way the women squealed and rushed for Jack and Soren, Otis added, “Be safe, kids.”
Fletcher started to ask about his girl when Otis moved out of the way and she appeared. Her eyes were wide, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she surveyed the green room. He didn’t give a shit what the space looked like, because all he could see was her. Her extra large T-shirt stopped mid-thigh, revealing cut-offs layered over fishnet stockings. Her thick thighs and strong legs ended in well-loved red Chuck Taylors. His eyes dragged back up her body and found her watching him with an amused smile. Her full lips were pink giving them a soft and biteable look, her brown eyes were surrounded by thick lashes and dark liner. She was the opposite of every woman he’d ever known or hooked-up with, instantly making her the most interesting person around him.
She moved into the room, every step bringing her closer to him and Fletcher was certain he’d stopped breathing. When she stopped in front of him, he finally allowed himself to inhale—the heady scent of sweat and cookies wrapping around him.
“Was I wrong to assume that rockstars only hydrated with alcohol?” she asked, her voice was smooth like velvet and husky—probably from all the shouting and singing along she’d been doing—and fitting for a woman like herself.
“You missed the tequila shots.”
Her soft lips curved into a pout. “Think I could get some too?”
He nodded, but didn’t move. He was so captivated by this woman. Looking at him right then—ripped jeans, baggy sleeveless T-shirt, unkempt shaggy hair, patchy scruff and dopey look on his face—nobody would think that Fletcher Kelley was thirty.
“Fletch?”
He blinked, shaking his head as sounds and lights came back into focus. Fletch. Nobody called him that. Not even his bandmates, not his parents or siblings. Just this woman. And fuck if he didn’t like it.
“Sorry, shouldn’t have assumed I could call you that,” she quickly corrected, a pretty blush spreading over her cheeks.
“You most definitely can.” He tucked his sweaty hair behind his ears and added, “Seems unfair that you’d know my name but I don’t know yours.”
She smirked. “Pour me a shot and I’ll consider it.”
This time, he didn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips. Instead, he grabbed the tequila, poured out two shots and handed one to her. Her eyes stayed on his when she clinked their glasses and knocked the tequila back. His eyes were drawn to her neck, to the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, to the dip between her clavicles.
