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We arrived at the music hall at 5:45 p.m. and I waited in the car for Sawyer while he checked in with the guys and made sure everything was up to speed. Afterward, we went for an early dinner alone.
Leaving it to the last possible minute, it was almost 7:30 p.m. before we arrived backstage to meet up with his band.
As we stepped through the dressing room door, Wiggy was the first person I saw. His beady vacant eyes met mine in that instant and his lip curled up in a sneer. He threw me a look that would have curdled milk and dropping his gaze from me he turned his attention to a new, very young, and equally, skinny girl sitting next to him on the old cracked leather couch he sat on.
I held my breath at the smell of stale nicotine hanging over him and cringed internally at his ability to move on from Cherri in less than a day. Tapping the skinny girl's shoulder, he beckoned her closer with a nod of his head to his groin. The poor girl's eyes lit up, her face instantly brightening as she straddled Wiggy's knees and sat firmly straddled across his lap.
Flashing her a salacious smile, he grabbed two handfuls of ass cheeks and began to grind up into her. My stomach rolled when I noticed his fingertips blanch while he held her firmly on top of himself, but his bleary-looking, suspicious eyes stayed focused on me.
I may have been older, but I was far less stupid than he gave me credit for, and it was as plain as day he hoped for a shocked reaction from me. Either that or his move was designed to scare me off with his crude sideshow.
Although I was desperate to look away, I couldn't ignore what I saw. I wandered over to the seat the girl had left on the couch. Dropping to the cushion, it bounced as I settled down beside him.
"Cherri was met by her uncle," I disclosed. "You remember Cherri, the little girl who looked scarily similar to this one, I helped off your tour bus yesterday? I gave her the plane fare to get back home to Iowa. No need to thank me," I said in a voice thick with sarcasm. "Although, honey," I placed my hand on his latest victim's forearm, "don't get on that tour bus. This guy may give away what's in those filthy jeans readily enough, but his aftercare sucks."
"Aftercare?" Wiggy barked. "What the fuck is that?" he snapped.
"Exactly!" I chuckled. "See what I mean?" I goaded, feeling vindicated. Focusing on the girl, my angry eyes softened when I took in how young she looked again. "Believe me. You don't want to do this. You can do better," I advised, staring at Wiggy's face turning redder in fury by the second. "Much better. Don't cheapen yourself with a guy like him. He's not worth it."
"Says the cradle-robber" he shot back with a sly smirk. This time I scoffed at his asinine response. Had it come from anyone else, his words would have probably slain me. Although his previous comment to Sawyer had gutted me, I could not have cared less about his opinion.
Sawyer had gone straight into conversation with Hammer as soon as we arrived and had missed most of our heated exchange, but from the black stormy look, he flashed Wiggy it was clear he hadn't missed the last comment his bandmate had thrown my way.
"What the fuck did you say?" he ground out, as he spun hard on his heel. He was toe-to-toe at Wiggy's feet in three long strides.
"She started it," he said in response. His reply sounded like an immature child being chastised and I chuckled, earning me a death glare.
"Get the fuck up," Sawyer demanded, his narrowed eyes dark with anger. Bending forward close to the girl's ear he barked, "Move." I watched in silence as her upper body straightened and slumped before she sprang into action and clambered over the arm of the couch in the opposite direction of me.
"He's right, I did," I chuckled, flashing Wiggy a contemptuous look. "Forget about it," I prompted and stood, sliding my arms around Sawyer's waist. When I held his body close to mine, I felt the instant tension in his stance ebb.
"There, Wiggy, you see? This is one of the reasons I love this woman. She doesn't behave like a child. Then again, you wouldn't know what a real woman was. That's what all these potential jailbait girls are about. It isn't that you find them fulfilling, it's a case of that's all you can handle."
Wiggy, shook his head, and muttered under his breath, "Motherfucker," before his eyes shot up and his jaw fell wide. "No, man that was a figure of speech I was only cursing …"
"At me! You were cussing at me," he shouted, so loud Strings and Hammer stopped talking. Hammer moved closer to Sawyer as I guessed he had figured he may have had to pull them apart at any moment. "I'm gonna ignore you, because frankly, you're not worth me getting my knuckles dirty. Besides we've got bigger fish to fry in twenty minutes. So get your fucking head in the game." Meaning they should focus on their jobs because they were due on stage.
Once Sawyer reminded him of this, Wiggy's shift in attitude was nothing short of miraculous, and I immediately felt dreadful for starting an argument at all. There was a whole auditorium full of people waiting to be entertained by them.
Sawyer immediately turned back to what he'd been saying to Hammer, finished his conversation, and began his preparations for going on stage.
Being a midrange popular band, the gigs DisKord played were anything from a few hundred to a few thousand. The District music venue in Sioux Falls had a fifteen hundred capacity, but it was still impressive to me. I'd been to many concerts in the past where I'd been seated or found my place in the crowd and the performer had been just a dot in the distance.
From a spectator's perspective, the venue felt perfect. I wouldn't have cared if it had been only twenty people DisKord played for because I was too busy being in awe of Sawyer's confidence to get out there and do what he loved.
As if a miracle had taken place, the moment the band members of DisKord stepped out on stage, they looked nothing like the shabby disorganized crew I'd witnessed less than twenty minutes before. Behaving like the best of friends, they smiled and joked as if they'd never had a harsh word between them.
Watching them from the floor at the front of the stage, I couldn't help but be impressed by their professionalism. It was a far cry from their differences behind the scenes, and they were genuinely having the time of their lives.
Watching how fervently the crowd reacted to their concert gave me goosebumps. Offstage, they appeared a ridiculous combination—a real motley crew. I witnessed their musical talents combine to be one unit, and their polished performance stole my breath away.
Glancing to the audience I saw the usual type of seasoned individuals who stood out as fans, those who sang every word and pointing at Sawyer as if he was singing the song only for them, and they were singing "with" him to everyone else.
I smiled at the air guitarists among them who screwed up their faces and felt every note they hit when they warbled their imaginary strings against their imaginary frets, while they "accompanied" Sawyer during one highly emotive-sounding solo guitar instrumental.
For most of the gig, I was able to concentrate on the band and ignore the females crowding the front of the stage. who constantly let out high-pitched screams whenever Sawyer pulled what they had interpreted was a sexy move. All he had to do to earn their hysteria was wipe the sweat from his face with his forearm, the same from his chest with a small hand towel, or stretch his arms above his head and lift his guitar clear of his groin.
My confidence sank and my stomach bottomed out when I saw all the young, fresh faces of the pretty girls, with the tight perfect bodies, who adored him. It was clear many of them, like Cherri, would drop their panties in a heartbeat if it had meant spending time with him.
