Hard Rock Desires - Athena Wright Page 0,1

against the exterior. I took in shuddering breaths, willing my rapid heartbeat to calm.

It was just a spilled drink. It was nothing to get upset about. Just a vodka tonic.

So what if the sudden waft of alcohol teased at certain memories? So what if the scent set off a chain reaction of panic and despair in my chest?

I was supposed to have a handle on this. It had been years, after all. I wasn’t supposed to be reacting like this anymore.

I closed my eyes and exhaled heavily. I pressed my forehead against the cool brick, not caring if I was getting grime all over my skin.

I hadn’t thought attending a live show would make me feel this way. I knew I should have said no to Lisa’s invitation.

“Hey.”

I jumped, eyes flying open as I whirled around. A dark figure was coming toward me.

“You okay?” the voice asked.

Panic set in again, a completely different kind from before.

“I’ve got pepper spray,” I warned, shoving my hand into my small sling purse to make the lie seem realistic.

“Is that legal?” the shadowy figure asked, voice deep and amused.

“It’s legal for self-defense, so you better watch it,” I warned.

The figure came out of the shadows with his hands up, ambling in a languid stride.

I blinked rapidly. Then I stared, eyes wide.

Leather pants. Tight, white undershirt with a black, ripped mesh shirt over top. Artfully messy, dark hair spiked away from a gorgeous, tanned face. Obsidian eyes sparkled from reflected neon signs. I thought I caught a quirk of a smile on his lips. And was that a hint of eyeliner?

“I’m just out here for the same reason as you,” the guy said.

My eyes burned, dry from staring so hard.

“Can I put down my hands now?” the guy asked. “Or are we going to keep pretending you’ve actually got pepper spray in your purse?”

“How—” I swallowed and cleared my throat to try again. “How do you know I don’t?”

“Because you would have whipped it out already,” he said.

A reasonable assumption.

I took my hand from my purse and let it dangle at my side. I couldn’t help but keep staring at this guy.

When Lisa told me to get dressed up for a rock concert, I’d thought that tight black pants and a black tank top would be enough. She’d shown up in a full leather bodycon dress with a face full of dramatic makeup. I’d thought she was overdoing it until I saw the rest of the crowd and realized I was underdressed.

But this guy? He looked so painfully cool he wouldn’t have looked out of place up on that stage himself. He must have been a fan and used to attending concerts. I would have assumed he’d be inside the concert venue, front and center.

What was he doing out here in an alley?

Two

Zain

“Fuck, this place is boiling.”

I threw my head back and chugged a full bottle of chilled water straight from a bucket of ice. It didn’t make a difference. I wasn’t even under the stage lights yet and my shirt was already damp in spots with sweat.

“It’s not that hot,” Finn said. “You’re the dumbass who decided to wear leather pants.”

“I’m a fucking rock star,” I smirked, having finished the bottle in one go. “I’ve got an image to maintain.”

“You mean the image of an ego-driven attention-hog?” Finn laughed. “That image?”

He had his bass guitar slung around his shoulders even though we weren’t going on for another forty-five minutes. The thing was heavy enough to cart around for the two-hour-long concert; I didn’t know why he tortured himself any longer than he had to.

“There’s hundreds of people out there, Zain,” he reminded me with a heavy slap on my back. “It’s going to be hot from the body heat alone.”

The press of his hand made my shirt cling against my skin. Gross.

It wasn’t like this was the first time we’d played at a small, sweltering live house. When our band was indie, we had played at places like this all the time. Places too cheap to afford air conditioning or too small to have proper ventilation.

I’d thought we were over that part of our careers, but this wasn’t our usual stadium concert set up. This live was different. This was a VIP, hardcore fans-only special event. We were celebrating the first year anniversary of releasing an album under a major label.

It had been a whirlwind of a year. A lot of things had changed quickly. Sometimes too quickly.

“Mr. Weston, Mr. Finnley, we need your