He pulled back slightly, looking over my face paint. “Wow. You look stunnin’. Are you all sugared up for me?”
“Who else?”
“Fuck me, but I wanna kiss you bad.”
“Don’t you dare!” I laughed.
He stared at my mouth for a moment before asking, “Are you all right?”
“I am now,” I replied.
“I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head. “It just took me by surprise. I don’t know why. Sheri did warn us.”
I glanced down and saw he had the top of his pants unbuttoned, riding dangerously low on his hips, his pubes shaved down enough to see his last tramp stamp displayed in full glory.
“Damn, babe. You knew I was joking about that, right?”
“Nope.” He laughed.
“You’re not wearing underwear?”
“Nope.”
“Damn,” I sighed, cracking him up.
His hands slid down my body, wrapping around me, drawing me into him. Our torsos pressed tightly together, we both leaned back, so we could look into each other’s eyes. He smelled clean and spicy, his skin pulsing heat through my skirt, making my tits ache.
“Phil?” came a timid small voice from the corner of the room.
He closed his eyes in resignation, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, Camryn?”
“I need to get you finished up,” she stated. “Almost done. I promise.”
He turned his head and smiled at her. “Okay.”
I pulled out of his arms and looked at Camryn myself. She smiled at me.
“Your makeup is amazing, Kenna. Who did it?”
“Uh…Karen Schaffer and Jenny Thompson.”
Camryn’s jaw dropped. “Shut the fuck up! How’d you get them? They’re like the two most sought-after artists!”
“No idea.” I laughed. “Ask Sheri.”
“Wow! I’m jealous!”
Phil took my hand and tugged me toward the vanity, wanting my company as Camryn finished applying his makeup. As he sat down, he positioned me behind him and draped my arms over his shoulders, holding my hands against his heart.
Something flashed in Camryn’s eyes, and then it was gone before I could read into it.
We engaged in mild chitchat while she applied the paint onto Phil’s face, but I was only half-listening. The rest of my brain was taking in the sight of my friends hanging out and enjoying each other’s company. Jason had pulled Sheri onto his lap, and she was giggling, looking beautiful and carefree. Flipper and Vivian were cracking up with X and Alys, whose eyes had dried but had a lingering sadness in them. Lili was showing Lewis the photos of us, but he was watching her animated face rather than the digital screen.
“There you go.” Camryn smiled into Phil’s eyes.
He turned and looked into the vanity mirror. “Sweet! Thanks, Camryn.”
“Anytime,” she replied.
I felt that there was more weight behind that word than what Phil could hear.
“If we hurry, we can catch the last few songs of Black Prophecy’s set,” said Phil. He stood up, buttoned his Dickies, and grabbed my hand. “Come on, guys!”
Hurrying through the plethora of corridors and people, Phil led us backstage where we ran into Robin and Tara, who clapped and bounced when they spotted us. They threw their arms around us. We watched Black Prophecy crank out their greatest singles.
The whole time, Phil kept his arms wrapped around me, holding my back to his chest. I realized he meant to do the show shirtless, showing the world his blazing chest tattoo. There were nearly twenty-thousand screaming fans out there, and many thousands—if not millions—would be watching it on television.
Their set ended, and Black Prophecy exited the stage, jubilant and amped up. Spotting Our Boys, they whooped and exchanged man hugs and back slaps.
“Ready to tear LA a new one?” asked Stephen. “The crowd is on fi-yah!”
Phil laughed. “Always!”
Around us, the tech crew scrambled to get the stage set up for NOLA’s Junk, and the air crackled with the collective excitement of twenty-thousand souls. Phil started bouncing, jumping in place, warming up. His ghoulish face was set with a perma-grin, and the rest of the guys started to do their own warm-up routines.
Lili ran around, snapping pictures, totally in her element.
Sheri, Alys, Vivian, and I gave the guys the room they needed as we huddled off into a corner that gave us an awesome view of the stage and the massive audience.
Minutes to go, a sound tech handed Phil a mic and ran off.
Phil stretched out his neck, back, and his arms, jumping up and down a few more times. He caught me staring at him and smiled. Running up to me, his energy flooding off of him in pulsing waves, he grabbed me and lifted me, hugging me