Strung Tight (The Road To Rocktoberfest #1) - Ann Lister Page 0,32
I wasn’t about to push the subject tonight and find out he had a problem with my being with Dallas and ruin my celebratory mood. I felt way too good right now to let anyone rain on my fucking parade.
I was grateful when Dixon crept up behind Michael and jumped on his back to try and ride him like a bronco. When their red cups of beer began to spill, I used that opportunity to step away. It was just the kind of distraction I needed to move closer to the door.
“Bag of dicks! Get the fuck off me,” Mike yelled, but the laughter that followed his command made it obvious he wasn’t all that upset with having Dixon on top of him. He held on to Mike with an arm wrapped around his neck and his legs hooked around his waist at the ankle while they piggy-backed around the room. Neither of them seemed in any hurry to disconnect and continued to party with those in attendance while still attached. This was all normal behavior for us. It was a chance at levity after a very stressful week of rehearsals and exactly what we needed, but all I could think about was holding Dallas.
How fucking crazy was that? I’d never been a huge party person, but after a gig like this, I’d normally be getting wasted with my band and our close friends. Everything felt different now with Dallas in my life. He was quickly becoming the person I thought about the most during the day, the one I wanted to spend all my free time with, and the person who made me feel the most whole. He was my new norm.
It was Potter’s idea that the guys in Chaos do a shot together before we split for the night. Someone filled up four shot glasses with tequila and passed them out to us, then Mike asked me to make the first toast. I lifted up my glass and waited for the others to do the same before I spoke.
“I’ve never been prouder of us than I am tonight,” I announced to my band. “We fucking sailed through our set! Was it flawless? Fuck no, but the audience loved every note we played, and we left them panting and wanting more from Chaos! This was a fan-fucking-tastic trial run for our upcoming show at Rocktoberfest, but after tonight, I know we’ll nail that show too!”
“Ooh-rah,” Michael shouted while Dixon and Potter screamed out too; then we tossed the clear liquid into the back of our mouths and swallowed.
I felt the burn of the booze blaze down my throat and winced before I tried to put out the fire with more beer. When I left the room twenty minutes later to search for Dallas, my guys were already pretty plastered, and I doubted they’d make it out of the dressing room to hit any clubs. The celebration they had going on here would be enough to make them pass out. Dagger had left a while ago with his main guard, Zac, with him, but two more from his security team remained behind to make sure the rest of us made it home safely. I leaned into a tall beast-of-a-man, whose name I was pretty sure was Mason, standing guard beside the dressing room door.
“You’re Mason, right?” I asked him.
“Yes, and the guard outside in the hallway goes by ‘Wolfe’ or his first name, which is Dean,” Mason informed me. “You’ll be seeing a lot of us going forward from tonight.”
“I’m not sure that’s necessary, but Dagger knows best,” I said. “You’ll see that they all get home?” I asked Mason. His fierce eyes turned to me, and he nodded.
“Wolfe and I have their backs,” Mason said. “We’ll give them another hour here and then take them home unless they want to hit up a bar. If so, we’ll be with them the whole time.”
“Okay, I’m gonna get myself an Uber and go back to my apartment,” I commented. “I’m beat.”
I started to leave the room when Mason latched on to my forearm. “As I explained a minute ago, your days of Ubering around by yourself are over, unless one of us is with you,” Mason stated with a weak grin. “Dagger’s orders, not mine—but someone from the team will escort you home tonight.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“As a crime scene,” Mason said and then he began to talk into his earpiece. “Get Griffin down to the band room. Fletcher needs