CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LONDON

This isn’t going to last. I can’t allow myself to get lost in this false sense of reality. It’s okay that it won’t last. Honestly, I’m grateful to share this moment with Griffin…

And the rest of Amaryllis, of course.

But I want more.

More of this feeling.

More of these moments.

It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it, or maybe those are from the note Griffin hit launching us out of the bridge. Whoa.

The intensity in his eyes as he belts out the final chorus is everything.

That was quite possibly the best performance he’s ever given. I might have YouTubed Amaryllis live performances while I was packing for the tour. It wasn’t because I wanted to watch Griffin on stage, or anything like that… Pfft. It was to prepare myself for what I would face up here.

The crowd is screaming behind him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His gaze is locked onto mine, my heart thumping louder with each step. The keyboard stops him before he reaches me. I have never hated a keyboard so much in my life. Hints of gold flicker in his eyes as he leans over the keys. “You were amazing,” he whispers. The soft touch of his breath against my skin makes me shiver. I can’t even hide it. My fingers are still hovering, and now trembling, over the keys.

He glances down and a smirk creeps across his face.

Groan. The last thing I need is for Griffin Miller to realize the effect he has on me.  I’ll never live it down. I’m here to fill-in for the summer, this isn’t permanent. I have to remember that.

But it sure could be a fun summer if… No! I can’t think like that. Focus, London. Focus.

The deep hue of his eyes softens as he reaches for my hand, guiding me from behind the keyboard to the front of the stage where he grabs the microphone. “Another round for London James!” His grip is tight around my hand as he raises our arms in a victory stance. The crowd’s screams and whistles grow louder. “This woman challenged my voice tonight.” He lets out a deep laugh and slinks one arm around my shoulders. “I don’t know about you, but I liked it,” he says as he turns his face toward me, planting a kiss on my forehead. There is absolutely nothing romantic in the kiss, but the feeling of his lips against my skin, even if his mouth is at my hairline and not pressed against my lips, sparks something inside me. I thought that part of me died with my last relationship.

I should probably be repulsed by his sweaty arm wrapped around me, but I’m not. Instead of shoving Griffin off and making a gag face at the overly sweaty man draped around me, I lean into him letting his body hold me up, so I don’t collapse right here in front of everyone. Literally…

“Their whistles, their screams, all of the applause… it’s all for you, London James.”  He winks as he says my name into the mic again, and the adrenaline takes over every inch of my body. It’s like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff looking down.

Incredible, terrifying, addictive.

“C’mon,” he says, pulling me toward the stairs that trail off the side of the stage. “Let me show you how we recover after a show.”

Oh boy, here it is. I stop short and pull against him. “I’m really not that type—”

“I’m not interested in a backstage happy ending.” He laughs in my face.

Right in my face.

Not interested? Whatever.

“What’s wrong, London?” That lop-sided grin returns. “You almost look upset that I’m not.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

Why is he so infuriating and adorable at the same time? “I am absolutely not upset that I won’t be contracting any rockstar delivered STDs, thank you very much.” I give him a sideways glare as I wag my finger at him. “That’s actually a frontrunner for the highlight of my day.” I stick my tongue out at him as I cross my arms over my chest. Yes, I regressed back to junior high and stuck my tongue out at Mister Rockstar. What is going on with me?

This time the guffaw that escapes him threatens to take down the makeshift walls surrounding the backstage area. “That hurts.” He uses the hand not currently wrapped around me to grab his chest in super dramatic rockstar diva fashion. “It hurt really deep.”

“Seriously? I knew you were a diva but,” I wave my hand up and down taking in the entirety of his dramatic outburst, “that’s a bit overkill. Don’t you think?”

He shakes his head and tightens his grip around my shoulders. “You’re going to be the death of me, London James. I just wanted to take you to grab some dinner, something we can take back to Carter.”

“Oh, right.” I shrug it off. “I knew that’s what you meant. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

“Whatever.” He snickers and rests his cheek against the top of my head. It’s such a natural movement that I might’ve missed it if there hadn’t been a burst of warmth and electricity that shot through my veins.

I’m a hot-effing-mess.

The crew is already pulling wires and equipment, storing them all away in massive containers, which look like they might weigh more than I do. “It’s funny, I never realized how much goes into making a show like this happen.”

“Yeah?”

“I knew there was an incredible amount of work, but to see it actually play out and all the people it takes to pull it off, it’s more than a little overwhelming.”

He nods and pulls me in closer under his arm. “I know what you mean.” The words roll off his tongue with a weight I haven’t heard from him before. “They’re the reason it’s so hard for me to think about moving on.”

 “If you could guarantee their lives wouldn’t change, what would you be doing right now?”

“Hopefully, I’d still be taking you to dinner.”

I roll my eyes and jab him lightly in the side with my elbow. “I mean for your career.”

“Oh, right. That.” He shrugs and I feel his energy shift. For the first time since I met Griffin Miller, his energy is heavy and… defeated.

“You don’t have to answer.” I decide to wrap an arm around his waist in a side-hug to try and comfort him. It’s definitely not because I’m having a difficult time keeping my hands to myself, and I am certainly not fighting the urge to touch the muscles so prominently defined by his sweaty t-shirt.

That t-shirt was sent straight from hell to torment me with the outline of every ripple of his abs.

“It’s not that I don’t want to answer,” he says in almost a whisper. “It’s just that I’m not completely sure. I have pieces of it in mind, but I’m just not sure how to put it all together in a coherent thought.”

“I get it.”

“Anyway, I need to grab a shower.” He pushes the door to his dressing room open and ushers me inside.

I start to protest, but he holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s just so I can stop sweating all over you. Can you wait here and give me five minutes?”

I nod.

“Yes!” He pumps his fist in the air.

“You’re a dork, Mister Rockstar.”

“Maybe.” He grabs a small stack of clothes that had been left on one of the chairs and heads toward the shower. “Five minutes,” he says as he steals a glance at me from over his shoulder.

The door closes and I hear the water come on almost instantly. I wonder if he’s already rid himself of the sweaty t-shirt and jeans. I need a distraction. I should text izy.

London: Is Carter still asleep? Do you want me to bring you food?

Carly: Sleeping like a baby. No food. Thxs.London: I can’t believe you’re saying no to food. Who are you and what have you done with my friend?

---

Knock, knock.

Well, this is awkward.

Should I answer it with Griffin in the shower? Am I even supposed to be in here? Why am I acting like I’m a teenager again? This is dumb. I close the distance between where I was standing and the door as a second series of knocks thumps in my brain.

“Griff. Open up, dude.” I recognize Nash’s voice as I swing the door open. His smile quickly fades as recognition sets in. He seemed so happy-go-lucky earlier. I think I know where the sudden shift is coming from and it makes my heart sink to the floor.

Shocker.

I’m not good enough… again.

“Hi, London.” He grips and rubs his hand across the bottom of his chin the same way Griffin grabs the back of his neck when he’s stressed. You can definitely tell these two are brothers with the way they handle themselves. “I guess I should have guessed you’d be in there.”

“What?” I’m almost pissed that he would make that assumption. “I’m not… It’s not that… Griffin is in the shower.” That didn’t help my case at all.

Nash grits his teeth and nods. “Listen,” he pushes the door open and shuts it behind him, “can we talk for just a minute?”

I make a wide gesture with my arms. “Sure. Why not?”

“I know you like Griffin.”

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” I fidget, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “We’re just going to start there?”

Completely unphased by my very clear discomfort with the subject, he continues, “Everyone likes Griffin. He’s a good man, with a good heart…” He pauses and sucks in a deep breath.

“But?” I’m not uncomfortable with the subject anymore. I need to know more about Griffin, and what makes him tick.

“He’s been hurt a lot in his life.”

“I picked up on that.” Feeling more comfortable, I decide to take a seat in one of the leather chairs.

Nash follows suit and takes the chair directly across from me. He leans forward resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know how much he’s already told you and how much you already know from Google,” he glowers at me and I can’t even be mad.

“I know you all must have to deal with a lot of insincere people in this business.” I lean back and cringe as I think about the number of people lined up for just a chance to meet these men and hopefully get a hi or even a hug if they are really lucky. “I’m not… That.”

“I know.” His eyebrows furl, and he seems to consider his next words very carefully. “Griffin wouldn’t be this wrapped up in you if you were that.” The last word drips with disdain as it rolls off his tongue.

“I’m not trying to be difficult, but I really don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

He smiles and slaps his palms against his legs as he stands. “Just be careful that you know what you’re getting into before someone gets hurt. I would hate to see either of you heartbroken in eighty-nine days when everything goes back to normal and we all turn into pumpkins again.” He pats my shoulder. “Take care, London,” he says before the door slams closed.

“London!” I hear Griffin yell from behind the bathroom door. “Was that you? Did you leave?”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Uh, no. Still here.” For now, until we all turn into pumpkins again.

“Good!” I hear the same excitability in his voice that he had just after the show. He lives for this, even if he doesn’t know it. Then there’s me…

Simple, boring London James.

The bathroom door flings open exposing a half-dressed and still dripping wet Griffin. His jeans hang low on his waist exposing every ripped muscle of his abs and that deep V mocking me from across the room. “I’m sorry,” I stutter, as he rubs a towel over his jet-black hair. Somehow wet messy haired Griffin is even sexier than stage-hero Griffin. “Did you say something?”

“Hmm.” Griffin tugs a tight black t-shirt over his head. I’ve never seen anyone make the act of throwing on a cotton t-shirt so effing sexy as he rolls it down over his sculpted body. “Am I distracting you, or is it your turn to use the ‘my ears are still ringing’ line?”

“Not funny!” I throw the closest thing I can find at him. Luckily, it was just a throw pillow from the chair, but still… I made my point, even if he is totally worth gawking at.

He pretends to be fatally wounded as he falls into the door and flails around like a fish out of water.

I give him a deadpan glare as my stomach growls like a jungle cat.

He chuckles and tosses the towel into a small hamper labeled Miller Laundry. “I said, I heard the door slam and thought you bailed on me.”

“Oh, that.” I wave my hand toward the door. “That was Nash.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

I shrug and shake my head. “I figured it was just normal after the show check-in time or something. He didn’t really say much.” My red stilettos don’t make a peep as they tap against the terribly outdated throw rug covering the concrete floor. “I’m starving, you know. You’re taking forever and I need food.”

He smirks as he tugs that same red ball cap over his head. “Then food you shall have, m’lady.”

“I’m starting to get used to the frayed edges on this thing.” I flick the brim of the worn-out ball cap with a black and gold painted fingernail. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the bad accents though.”

“C’mon,” he gasps in feigned shock. “You know that was a perfect impression of a thirteenth-century British Knight.”

I can literally feel the confusion pulling my eyebrows together. “You’re a very strange man. You know this right?”

“I do.” He holds the door open with his body and ushers me through. “You seem to enjoy a little bit of strange, so it’s really a win-win.”

I’d be lying if I said his complete and total focus on making me smile wasn’t flattering, but I can’t get caught up in it. All of this is going to be over faster than I can blink an eye, and even if I was willing to risk heartbreak, I can’t gamble with Carter’s emotions like that. I can’t bring some man, even if that man is Griffin Miller, into Carter’s life when I know it won’t last. He needs stability and being with Griffin would be anything but stable.

“Let’s go.” I pat his arm and squeeze just enough to feel those biceps, without giving away the fact that image of him without his shirt and dripping wet is burned into my memory. Focus. “So how do we do this?” I ask looking up at Griffin. Silence.

Is he wondering why I can’t keep my hands to myself?

Does he mind?

I shrug it off.

“I’m hungry. Can we just do what we need to do and then get food?” I’m practically begging at this point.

“You’ve got it.” He smiles and tugs me through the door. Reporters and bloggers through the small corridor, each wearing a PRESS badge and about a dozen people are lined up behind a rope with VIP badges. Flashes of light burn bright spots into my vision. I bury my face in his arm trying to shield my eyes from the cameras. “You could’ve warned me.”

He chuckles and tucks me in tighter under his arm. The warmth of his body is comforting enough that I’m not the slightest bit anxious over all these people focusing their attention on us. I know they’re focused on Griffin, but I heard a few whispers and gasps about the “girl on his arm.” I would be lying if I said I minded the idea that I might pop up tomorrow in a few headlines as that girl. I am annoyed with myself for wanting to stake that kind of claim on a man I just met, especially a man with Griffin’s job.

And reputation.

I can’t help myself though.

Adair is just on the other side of the VIP entrance when Griffin motions to him signaling we are bailing out the back door. He nods but the look in his eye says there will be paybacks later.

I let Griffin shield me from the lights and the cameras as he tucks me under his shoulder and wraps his arm around me, holding his other hand up telling the small crowd to calm down.

I don’t blame them for being excited. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Bibbity-bobbity-boo and all that.