to pull her into my arms. “Surprised you came out on stage.”
“Jacob asked if I would.” She shrugs. “I couldn’t say no on your last night.”
“Thank you.” I kiss her cheek.
“You coming home with them?” my father asks Alvin.
Alvin shrugs and glances at the ground. “Not in the mood to see my parents, really.”
“My dad and Mallory fixed up the house last time we were home. We have a guest room if you want to stay there,” I offer.
“Nah, I don’t want to be in your way.”
“The house is big, Alvin. There’s plenty of room,” Mallory says.
I appreciate her jumping in because I suspect it’s more that Alvin doesn’t want to annoy Mallory that’s making him hesitate.
“We’ll be at the clubhouse a lot too, so you’ll have it to yourself for a few days at least.”
Mallory peers up at me. Staying at the clubhouse probably isn’t high on her list of things to do but I can’t exactly say I want to whisk her off to Niagara Falls to propose to her, now can I?
“I’ll think about it.”
“I had one of the prospects drive her car down, so you have a vehicle to ride home in,” my father informs me.
“You couldn’t trailer my bike down, old man?” I grin and nudge him with my shoulder.
“Ungrateful fucker,” he grumbles.
Alvin runs his hands through his hair a few times. “I’ll think it over. I might want to go down to the city for a few days. Do some exploring. Fuck a Rockette.” He shrugs.
“If you change your mind, take the train and we’ll come pick you up,” Mallory says, ignoring the Rockette comment.
“Thanks, hon.” He shakes my dad’s hand and punches my shoulder before taking off.
“What’d you think of the show?” I ask my father.
He stares at me for a few seconds and just when I think he’s come up with an answer, someone interrupts us.
“Chaser! Can I ask you a few questions?” A girl who can’t be a day over sixteen pushes her way in front of me. “Please?” She thrusts the laminated pass around her neck toward me. “My name is Shannon Abbott. I won the KISS-99 contest and I’m a reporter for my school paper.”
Shit, she’s so earnest and cute, I can’t say no. “Sure, Shannon. Whatcha got for me?”
Her entire face turns five different shades of red while she flips through her notebook. I tip my head at Mallory and wink.
Finally, the girl finds her list of questions. “Has there been any tension between you and Andrew since the shooting?”
Damn, cute, or not, this kid isn’t fucking around.
“Not at all.” I lift my chin toward the stage. “That candy raining down on us tonight was all Andrew. The two bands are closer than ever.”
She diligently scribbles down my entire answer before flipping the page.
“‘Candy Jar’ is your most successful song to date. But it’s slightly different than most of Kickstart’s other body of work. Are you afraid that twenty years from now, that song will be your legacy?”
“Body of work” seems like such a serious way to describe our music but it’s an interesting question. One I’ve never really stopped to consider before. “Honestly, if people remember our music at all in twenty years, I’ll be honored.”
“Are you tired of playing ‘Candy Jar’?”
“Not yet. We feed off the energy of the crowd, and they still seem to enjoy it.”
“What about you, Mallory?” she asks.
“Me? Uh, no.” She blinks at me. “Every time I hear those opening notes, it reminds me of the day Chaser and I met.”
Despite the kid reporter taking diligent notes, I have to lean down and kiss Mallory. “Same.”
The girl rattles off a few more standard questions. Plans for our next tour, next album, favorite hobbies. Stuff like that. The girl has spunk for starting off with the hardest questions first, I’ll give her that.
“May I take a picture with you?” she asks when she’s finished.
“Sure.”
Mallory offers to work the camera, but Shannon wants both of us in the photo, so my father ends up doing the honors.
“Thank you so much!” Shannon squeals before running over to Garrett and whipping out her little notepad of terror.
“Cute kid.” I chuckle, wondering if she’ll ask each of us the same probing questions.
“She was adorable.” Mallory smiles, watching Shannon and Garrett. “I wasn’t expecting those questions.”
“Neither was I.”
“Is it always this busy?” my father asks.
“Pretty much.” I shrug and glance around. Thom’s over in the corner talking to Andrew’s tour manager, plotting hell only knows what. Clusters of