Avery Jones. Thank you.”
She grinned, eyes sparkling, totally caught up in the band’s engaging performance. When she turned to Marcus to ask what he thought, he was scowling. Not at her. At War and Bryan. She returned her attention to the stage. The Tempest front man and his guitarist were engaged in a low but obviously heated discussion.
“Stop it, man.” War gave Bryan a shove.
With heavy hooded eyes, Bryan peered down at her as if trying to communicate something. Then he swung back around in War’s direction. “Fuck off!” He threw his guitar pick at War and stalked off the stage.
Marcus gave Avery a quick shuttered glance as he stormed into the cluttered dressing room. They weren’t even past the first stop on the tour and already there were problems.
Bryan Jackson.
Shit.
Just about what he had expected, though. Avery was young and beautiful, and that alone was enough to make guys like Jackson gun for her. Add in her talent and rock star status, and it was going to be a full time job keeping her his.
He tossed his cell onto the makeup counter before turning back to face her. His visage was dark.
“What’s wrong?” Avery took a step back. “Are you ok?”
“Effing fantastic. Just great.”
Someone banged on the door. Trevor stuck his head in the room. “Ten minutes, guys.”
“Ok,” Avery acknowledged with a tense nod. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
“He’s just a local guy, Marcus.” Trevor paused, mouth twisting into a grimace. “He has very few followers. He’s not worth worrying about.”
“I know!” Marcus cut him off. “You told me already.” He worked to level his tone. “I don’t want to discuss it anymore. I’ve got a show to put on.” His gaze flicked to Avery. “I need a minute to regroup, but I can tell you I feel less than enthusiastic about going out there right now.”
“He’s just one of those guys trying to make a name for himself by trashing someone else.” Trevor continued while taking off his wire rimmed glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Haters like him only bring themselves down.”
“Marcus, what happened?” Avery asked.
“Nothing,” he lied and pulled off his t-shirt.
“Ok. You tell me then,” she said turning to Trevor, worry pinching the outer corners of her eyes.
“Just a music blogger being a real asshole. Asking Marcus some real asinine questions, insinuating that he was just using you to revive a stalled career. Outrageous crap, clearly designed to make Marcus lose his temper.”
She frowned.
Trevor’s phone beeped. “Sorry, I gotta go get JR and Dwight. You two have three minutes,” he warned before leaving.
Avery turned back toward him as he was fastening the last two buttons on his shirt. She took a seat on the worn vinyl sofa beside him. She threaded both her arms around him and laid her head on his chest.
“I’m sorry about the interview,” she said softly.
He knew he should take the comfort she was offering, stroke her silky hair, maybe even run a finger along the top edge of the teal kimono top that barely covered the swell of her shapely breasts, but he was just too mad. The thought of anyone doubting how much he loved Avery pissed him off.
“It’s time.” Trevor stuck his head back in the room.
“Let’s go.” He untangled her arms from around his waist and stood.
“Alright,” she whispered, giving him a worried side glance as they exited the dressing room and followed Trevor. They moved quickly, winding their way through the throngs of people moving up and down the busy corridor. Dwight, Sam, and JR were already waiting for them when they reached the stage.
“Finally.” Dwight gave a relieved sigh.
“Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?” JR quipped with tawny brows raised.
Marcus gave him the finger.
“Don’t let that stupid blogger get under your skin, little brother.” Dwight clapped him on the back. “It’s just the same old bullshit every time. Tear someone else down to build yourself up.”
“I know. I know,” Marcus growled. “I’m trying to get it out of my head, but everyone keeps wanting to bring it up again.” He stretched his arm back for Avery’s hand, but she wasn’t there. Where he finally spotted her didn’t do anything to improve his mood. She was standing next to a stack of back up amps conversing with that blasted Tempest guitarist. To add insult to injury the dude was shirtless, wearing leather pants that hung so low that his hip bones stuck out.
When Jackson leaned in and touched one of Avery’s