“They’re not in there,” exclaims an ear-piercingly loud voice and I whirl, coming face-to-face with an absolutely diminishing stare.
I frown. “Thank you, but you don’t know who I’m looking for.”
The girls laughs. “Every girl backstage is looking for the same thing. Guys in the band. It doesn’t matter who you are looking for, sweetie, there is no one there.”
I flush, since the way she says sweetie tells me a lot about what she’s thinking about me.
She arches a brow. “Are you looking for the assholes or the Hardy Boys?”
“Excuse me?”
She gives me a sharp, once-over glance. “It doesn’t really matter. None of them are going to be interested in you.” She starts to laugh in a rude sort of way. “Who gave you the pass? Someone is playing a joke on you letting you backstage.”
She shakes her head, touching her hair in a preening manner, and then fixes her intense stare down the corridor.
I’m submerged in a strange feeling of déjà vu. Oh, they don’t look alike, not in any physical way, but this girl is the embodiment of Linda Rowan. Strikingly beautiful. Flirty, messy long red hair. Pierced and tattooed. Sexed up. Stylishly overdressed. Superiority and I don’t give a fuck gushing from every pore. Nosy. All-knowing. Territorial. And rude.
Yep, she’s with one of the members of Scream. She’s someone in the band’s wife or girlfriend. This is just like the day I met Linda Rowan.
“Do you know where I can find the guys in Arctic Hole?” I ask.
She arches a brow. “Aha. I know where everyone is. Always. I should have guessed you were looking for the Hardy Boys. Come with me, my little lost waif. I’ll show you where they are. It won’t help you. You won’t get in with those guys. Honey, you won’t get in with any guys, not even the crew. So save your effort, save your pride—” Her intense stare fixes on me. “Run before you screw up your life. You shouldn’t be here.”
I meet her stare for stare, and I don’t know whether I want to tell her to shove it, or to laugh.
Before I can decide which to do, she takes me by the arm in a not-so-gentle hold, and tugs me along behind her. She marches down the corridor, shouting get the fuck out of my way with every step.
“By the way, my name is Nicole. Never Nicky. Never Nic. Nicole. Don’t fuck it up.”
Her voice somehow manages to be even louder that time since she didn’t bother to look over her shoulder at me while she barked her warning.
I am pulled into a large room crowded with people. Against the walls are set-up bars and buffet tables, and everywhere there is chattering, laughing, drinking, eating humanity. Christ, it’s as awful as I remember.
Nicole gives a husky laugh that tells me she’s amused by me. “First time backstage at a concert?”
I arch a brow in my best imitation you’re fucking irritating me, get out of my face Rene kind of way. “No.” One word. Deliberately vague.
“Aha,” she says, and before I get away from her, she sinks down on a sofa, pulling me with her. “If you’re going to hang out with me you had better learn to play nicely.”
Being threatened by Nicole is lackluster after dealing with Linda Rowan. Still, I’m ready to be done with this.
I stand up and glare down at her. “If you stay out of my face we’ll get along fine. And don’t ever call me a little waif again.”
Nicole rolls her eyes. “Fuck, you need to grow thicker skin than that if that one got you pissed off. There is no need to run off.” She seizes my wrist, dragging me down beside her again. “It’s better to stick close to me, sweetie. You don’t want to be alone here.”
For a second it’s like there is a crack in the wall of repelling hardness, and, startled, I realize she is trying to be nice in her own hideous way.
My body starts to relax.
Nicole sinks back into the cushions and smiles. “There now, we’re friends.” With a long, red manicured nail, she points into the room, her finger doing a little bob. “That’s Vincent Delmo. He’s mine. We’ve been together for nine years. And I see the Hardy Boys. Well, at least four of them.”
I look in the direction of her finger. The guys are standing in a cluster, however, Neil is not with them. Shit.
“I should go find Neil.” I start to rise and she stops me again.
Her smile deepens. “So you’re looking for the cute one. The shy one. Good luck, sweetie. He hasn’t been in here all night. I don’t know where he hides, but he’s somewhere. That one keeps to himself.”
I feel myself make a small smile. “That sounds like Neil.”
Her brows hitch upward. “Do you know him?”
“He’s my boyfriend.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. She starts laughing again in a rude, overly amused, humiliating kind of way. She’s laughing so hard she’s curled back against the pillows, eyes closed.
Her lids flutter wide, she looks at my face, and then makes a poor effort to stop laughing. “I’m sorry.”
I try to keep all reaction from surfacing on my face, because even though I know I will never like this girl, I’m going to be trapped on the road with her for ten months and I don’t need to make an enemy.
“I’m glad you find it amusing,” is all I say.
Her laughter stops and she sits up. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s not you. You just hear such shit backstage. Too many bored people with nothing to do talking shit and making up nonsense.”
What the heck does that mean? If that’s supposed to clarify for me what’s going on here, I didn’t.
Her brown eyes bore into me. “Don’t be pissed. Don’t rush off. It’s actually kind of sweet in a circuitous way.”
“Excuse me. I’ve got to go.”
Nicole leans forward, bringing her face too close to mine, and the strength of booze on her breath is overpowering.
“Neil is an interesting guy. It is the first time any of us have met him and he doesn’t mix with anyone. He just kind of stays in his own zone. No one knows what to make of him. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve heard tonight.” She laughs again, then puckers her lips, mildly contrite. “Well, never mind. It doesn’t matter. Backstage gossip always turns out to be bullshit. Rule one on the road. Never believe a thing you hear. Always bullshit, but it gives everyone something to do and chatter about while we all sit around doing nothing.”
OK, if that is supposed to make me feel better, she failed dismally. I stand up.
“I need to go.”
I’m about to make my escape when an arm drops heavily around my shoulders and a large body blocks my path. “You going to introduce me to your new friend, love?”
The iconic Vincent Delmo is hovering over me. I don’t know if the way he’s holding me, too familiar and touchy-feely, is meant to intimidate or excite me. It does neither.
Nicole glares up at him and shrugs. “God, you are such a lecher. Get away from the girl.”
Tension, serious tension between them. Vincent lifts my pass hanging from the canvas strap on my neck. His brows shoot up. “Christian Parker? Are you Jack’s girl?”
Shit! He says that in a way that tells me they’re friends, though I didn’t know it and I find it hard to picture Jack hanging out with him. Vincent oozes ego-inflated jerk.
His stifling presence eases into a more respectful distance from me.
I smile stiffly and nod.
Nicole is suddenly overly alert. “Christian Parker? Really?”
“Yes,” I say, clipped.
In a flash Nicole is laughing uproariously and I am so ready to be done with this, but Vincent Delmo won’t release his hold on me and his body is blocking my exit route.
He glares down at his girlfriend. “Are you fucking drunk, Nicky? Stop messing with Jack’s girl.”
She stares up at her boyfriend. “I’m not laughing at her. I’m laughing at you, love. She used to be with Alan Manzone.” More laughter. She’s hugging her middle, practically in tears. “Do you know who she is with now?”