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“How so?” I ask slowly.
She sits back and purses her lips, folding her arms over her chest and studying me for a moment before she speaks. “If you have the opportunity to meet Evan Fucking Anderson, you’re going to make the most of it.”
I’m not sure I like where this is going. “Again. How so?”
“Do your damnedest to get him to take you home with him. Or to his hotel. Whatever.” She waves her hand like the location doesn’t matter. As if that would be what has me looking at her like she’s lost her mind.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Ana. Come on.” I know she’s joking. She has to be.
But my friend looks dead serious.
“Nope. That’s part of the deal. Take it or leave it.” To make matters worse, she emphasizes her point by pulling out two tickets and waving them in front of my face.
This is the exact kind of thing I don’t do. Make crazy, impulsive decisions. The idea of just going up to Evan backstage and trying to seduce him has me practically spitting out the sip of water I just took to buy myself time before I answer.
“Come on, Tatum. Live in the moment.” She says it like a taunt. Like she can goad me into it because she knows that I hate the part of myself that analyzes everything to death. Sometimes I wish I could live in the moment.
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” she continues, still waving those tickets around. Then she plays dirty. She pulls out her phone and opens it up, tapping until she pulls up a picture that she turns to show me.
It’s so ridiculous I can’t keep the laughter from bubbling out. It’s a glued together collage of a snapshot of fifteen-year-old me and a magazine clipping of Evan. I don’t know when she took a picture of it, but I need to get that off her phone the next chance I get. Like I said, closet fangirl right here.
“You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t like an actual picture of you and Evan.”
Of course I would. If I’m being totally honest, I’d even go so far as to say that I’d be up for a night with him. The problem is that I have no clue how to go about that. It’s just so not me that even the idea of attempting it has my throat locked up with tension.
“Don’t worry, Tatum,” she goes on, as if she’s oblivious to my torment, even though I know damn well she isn’t. “I’ll have your back.”
I smile wryly. “Great. You for a wingman. Just what I need.”
Ana claps, because that comment right there? She knows I’ve already caved.
I cover my face with my hands, my cheeks burning. Totally mad. I have to be. Because the girl who deliberates obsessively over the smallest choices—chocolate or vanilla? I’m telling you it’s a debate of epic proportions—has just made the decision on a whim to seduce Evan Anderson.
Oh god.
Evan
I strum the last chord on my guitar, the noise reverberating through the sold out arena as I wail the last angsty, screaming lyrics into the microphone.
“Thank you and goodnight!” I thrust my fist into the air as the crowd goes insane, the noise level deafening. Pure euphoria riots through my body, adrenaline and the energy coming from the audience mingling together for the best high ever.
I fucking love my life. Why wouldn’t I? I’m Evan Fucking Anderson, lead singer of one of the hottest rock bands in the country. Shit, probably the world.
I have money, looks, fame, and a line of girls a mile long waiting for me in every city. Just begging to fuck me. Doesn’t get much better than that.
I give my signature cocky grin to the audience, then jog off stage with my boys, ready to celebrate yet another kick-ass show.
We laugh and high-five each other, me and these guys that I’ve been with since we were practically kids, and amble into the dressing room to change out of our sweaty shirts before we head to the VIP meet-and-greet.
I hate the damn things. But it’s all part of the gig. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find a hot chick who’s interested in getting a little extra VIP attention.
I chuckle as I pull a fresh t-shirt over my head and run my fingers through my mop of dark hair. The night is young, and the women are easy. At least around Gravity they are.
The guys and I make our way to the backstage area where the meet-and-greet is set up, taking our place behind the ropes.
“You ready?” the bouncer asks.
I grin. “Send ‘em in, man.”
