His gaze snaps to mine and his expression clears. He reaches into the washer and jerks out a wad of wet clothes. “We talk every day, and I go home about every other month. We’re fine, good.”
I’m not a coward about probing a little more, but as he drops the clothes into the cart, pushes his shoulders back, and turns the cart toward a dryer, his body language clearly signals he’s done talking about Seth.
My mind stuck in a knot, I pick wet clothes up off the floor and stuff them into a dryer. Apparently, if Sam’s body language means anything, things aren’t right with the brothers. After all this time, I’m sincerely hoping their issues have nothing to do with me.
I’m starting to wallow in that old guilt when I’m swept off my feet and my butt lands in a wire cart.
Lips brush against my ear as he says, “You ready for a ride?” He shakes the cart like he’s revving up an engine.
“No!” I yell, my voice garbled with laughter.
Sam pushes me across the small laundry room.
“Stop!” I try to shout, but I’m breathless with giggles. Before I crash into the wall, he spins me around and around, again and again. My vision swirls. “Ahhh, stop or I’m going to puke on you!”
He spins me faster.
“Sam!”
He halts the cart suddenly and hauls me out. I take a shaky step and almost fall against his muscular chest. His hands wrap around my waist to steady me.
Looking up at him and leaning like the Tower of Pisa, I laugh. “You’re an idiot.”
He grins at me. “What’s that saying?” His square chin angles as he pretends to think. “Takes one to know one?”
My fingers grip his shirt as I lean the other way. “The saying is false.”
Sky-blue eyes crinkling, he laughs.
Suddenly, Gabe pops his head into the room. “Hey, we’re all meeting for breakfast.” His mouth curves into a knowing smirk at the sight of our near embrace. “To go over the set for tonight.”
I push away from Sam and stumble against a dryer.
Gabe looks to Sam. “You coming?”
“Yeah, we need to finish loading the dryers.”
Snorting, Gabe shuts the door.
Sam wheels the cart toward the last washer that contains our clothes.
“I can finish,” I say, regaining my balance while trying not to get peeved about Gabe’s knowing look.
“One more load and we can both go to breakfast.”
“Just grab me a muffin or something.” I tow his cart closer to me. “But you need to go.” I wave my hand toward the door like I’m dismissing him.
He lowers his chin and peeks at me through his lashes. “You want to touch my underwear in private?”
The joke wipes away my irritation. With a buttload of concentration, I keep my expression neutral. “How’d you know?”
“I’m good at spotting closet perverts.”
I whip a wet shirt at him and he catches it. He’s about to toss it back when his phone goes off. His grin dies and he drops the shirt into the cart.
Reaching into the pocket of his flannels, he says, “I’ll stop back with the muffin.” Then he answers his phone sharply with “What’s going on?” and walks out the door.
I don’t know why, but I’m saddened at the thought of him having such an awful girlfriend.
Chapter 9
Despite being an arena, the venue in Austin has great acoustics. On the floor, in between the stage and the line of security guards again, I watch the guys onstage while music at megawatt volume vibrates in my rib cage. It’s loud, it’s in my face, and I love it. This is my sunny day. Sleeping in. Chasing butterflies. Making snow angels. Riding a roller coaster. The live music is all awesome things rolled into one.
Simply standing here and being a part of it is like a natural high. I’m a frickin’ kite. I take a deep breath and force myself to get to work. Taking photos doesn’t feel like too much of a chore—not when there are so many amazing images to capture.
Onstage, the members of Luminescent Juliet look rocker hot. Instead of shorts, T-shirts, and tennis shoes, they’re dressed in stage clothes. Wearing a cowboy hat, Justin’s in an unbuttoned white shirt and tattered jeans. I take several pictures of him in all his tattooed glory. Romeo’s sporting all black. Behind the drums, Gabe is wearing just a leather vest, low-riding jeans, and a massive studded belt. Even Sam, who in all the pictures on their former website wore old, baggy clothes, is sporting frayed jeans, a fitted gray T-shirt, and low boots. But always a bit goofy, he sprayed a strip of orange hairspray through his curls that matches the color of his bass.
The chicks in front of the stage are swooning like sixties schoolgirls at a Beatles concert. I take a picture of them screaming and fanning themselves.
The band is in the middle of the song “Trace,” which from what I can gather is about memories of a girl. The lyrics resonate with emotion, but instead of being predictably layered over slow and melodious music, the song has a fast, driving beat. It works. “Trace” is one of my favorite songs by the band.
The stage lights flicker and change color and intensity as I shoot a photo of Sam jumping to the last beat of the song with the flare of the lights bright behind him.
Their next song, “Midnight,” has a bluesy, folk feel. The lyrics in this song are about the dark moment when partying changes from fun to desperate, which doesn’t seem like something Romeo would write, but he obviously did since all the lyrics except “Inked My Heart” are credited to him.
Romeo steps to the edge of the stage, lifting his guitar, playing the long opening riff. I crouch and get a kick-ass angle from below. When I move to the other side of the stage and take a picture of Sam, the camera catches him winking at me. After glancing at the small digital screen, I can’t help giving him a grin.
Once again, I let my camera hang from my neck and drag the small notebook from my back pocket. I jot notes about the crowd’s excitement, about the intensity of the music and the energy of the band. Then I watch the band perform “Inked My Heart.” Every time he sings it, Justin is captivating. It’s hard to pay attention to anyone but him. From the emotion on his face to the passion in his voice, it’s obvious the song means something to him—and I’m guessing that something is Allie. It seems things worked out, because although the song is full of sad, raw feelings, it was apparent on the day I saw them together that they fell in love despite the heartache.
Of course the crowd goes wild. Well, the fans who are paying attention. Again, about only half the seats are full since these guys are the opening act. By the time Brookfield starts playing, the crowd will be at maximum capacity.
When they’re done playing, the guys head backstage to the press room, which I’ve learned is called the green room. Some random DJ from WZIK Rock interviews the band members, then has pictures taken with them. No surprise, Kayla and her clipboard hover nearby. Because the whole WZIK event left a bad taste in my mouth, I stand on the sidelines, clicking through the photos I took. When a reporter from the local newspaper interviews the band, though, I do shoot some pictures.
After one more interview, this time for a local magazine, the band hightails it to their shared dressing room while I head to the tables in the back. Although there is a daily allowance from the tour for food, it isn’t much for five people, and it’s mainly used to stock the cupboards on the bus. From the beginning, Romeo has made a point of reminding us to take advantage of the free food available at the concerts and promotional events.
I grab a wilted sub and an apple. A little ranch helps the sub, but it isn’t exactly tasty. I have gotten a bit spoiled working for an authentic Italian restaurant for the past three years. Food should have layers of flavor and taste good. I love to eat now that I’m finally off the diet train. Dieting like that sucked ass. Then again, starting to overeat again because I was depressed after the breakup with Seth also sucked major ass. The worst was having to go back to dieting to get rid of the ten pounds of depression weight I’d put on. After being on a diet roller coaster for years, I’ve learned that eating reasonable portions of the food I want and exercising three or four times a week, if possible, maintains my weight. Maybe it’s not my dream weight, but I’ve learned to accept it—as Jill says to me sometimes, “What’s wrong with a size six, you crazy woman?” So, yeah, the sub is pretty close to awful, but I try to enjoy it.