Strung Tight (The Road To Rocktoberfest #1) - Ann Lister Page 0,28

have a tendency of rushing through the bridge on that one.”

“Good point, Mike,” Dixon said. “This is going to be a great practice show for us before Rocktoberfest.”

“Fuck, I’m so pumped for that festival,” Mike cheered.

I swayed on my feet at the thought of playing at Rocktoberfest in just a few weeks, and immediately, I hurried down the short hall off the dressing room that led to a small bathroom with two stalls and vomited—again. I’d lost count of how many times I’d puked today. There was nothing left in my stomach at this point, but the anxiety just kept churning in my gut. I managed to eat a bit of breakfast, but after that, I hadn’t dared to touch anything else. The guys in my band knew me well enough to give me a wide berth when I got like this and let me work through the noise inside my head.

I finished in the bathroom and headed down the hallway in the opposite direction of the dressing room and instead drifted toward the club’s loading dock in hopes I might see Dallas working around. He was the one person who I knew could calm down the hurricane brewing inside me. My gaze darted around the equipment room as I dodged a few roadies trying to do their jobs. Dallas wasn’t anywhere in sight until two roadies struggling with a heavy crate on wheels finally pushed it away from the dock; that’s when I found him leaning up against the side of an open doorway that led to the parking lot. We noticed each other at the same time, and immediately, his smile worked its soothing magic.

“Hey, what are you doing back here?” he asked while walking closer. “I figured you’d be doing your rock-star thing in the dressing room.”

“I’m so fucking nervous,” I said. “I’ve been puking my guts out for hours.”

He must have seen the sheer level of panic in my eyes that had him moving me quickly through the back door to get us outside; then he hurried me across the parking lot to hide us between two big rigs. He shifted himself in front of me with only a few inches separating our bodies and grabbed my face with both of his hands.

“Listen to me,” he said to get my attention. “You are going to ace this performance, Fletch. Everyone is going to love your band and won’t want you to leave the stage. Your set will be epic. Trust me.”

I reached out for him and didn’t give it a thought when I hauled him against me. My forehead fell to his shoulder, and I sighed loudly. How had he become so important to me, my safe place, in this crazy fucking business? Dallas wrapped his arms around me, too, and we stood there silently holding on to each other. I could feel his heart beating against my chest and the tease of his breath on my neck. My mind was no longer focused on the show but on how good Dallas felt against me in this embrace.

Perfect distraction.

“I want to kiss you so bad,” Dallas admitted, “but I don’t know if anyone can see us.”

I leaned back and held his gaze. “I’m not sure I care if we’re seen,” I said. It seemed more important for me to feel the connection between us than whether or not someone might see me kiss a man, so I leaned in and eliminated what little space there was keeping us apart. Dallas did his part and pressed his lips to mine. I moaned at the contact. It was such a relief to feel his mouth as if he were taking away all my anxiety and fear about going on stage with that simple kiss. His tongue teased the seam of my lips, and I gladly opened for him. While my band brothers were all inside drinking and getting high before the show, I was enjoying an entirely different kind of drug, one that was far more potent to my system.

Dallas.

He was my new drug of choice.

I felt his cock thicken against my hip; clearly, our tongues dancing inside each other’s mouths was getting to him as much as me. My anxiety was completely gone now, and all my brain could focus on was Dallas. I had an intense need to drag him someplace private and repeat what we’d done together on the beach last night, but I doubted I had time. As soon as he slanted his head