Dylan and I watch the opening act from the side of the stage. Resin is a British band that has gained popularity since the beginning of this tour. They’re huge in Europe already, and the US radio stations are starting to give them more and more play time. It’s no surprise they’re choosing to leave when the Wylde Ryde tour begins six months of additional show dates. At least this time when Flynn pops into my head, there’s a reason he should. In Like Flynn is taking over for Resin in less than two months. My eyes fly up toward Dylan at the thought…as if he could see me thinking that I’m looking forward to those show dates.

Dylan Ryder puts on a pretty amazing show. Normally, I can’t help but watch in awe. When he sings on stage, a little piece of me still feels like the fourteen-year-old girl who idolized him from afar. The girl who lay in bed at night, staring at his poster. But tonight I only last two songs. The music is piped in all throughout the backstage, so I don’t miss that—but I opt not to watch him sing.

I fix myself another Jack and Coke and take a seat on the couch in the band’s lounge. All the band members except Dylan share one big room backstage. Dylan, of course, has his own.

A handful of groupies mill around, waiting for the guys to finish. It makes me wonder whose job it is to pick the women who are allowed backstage. Does a security guard wander through the audience with a list of requirements? 36D, check. Short skirt, check. How’s your gag reflex, honey? Check.

I swallow the thought along with half the contents of my glass. I’m definitely feeling no pain. My mind again wanders to Flynn. The alcohol clouds my judgment and I shoot off a text before I can think better of it.

How did Laney like her gift? At least my text doesn’t come out slurred.

He responds within a minute. She loved it. My sister…not so much.

You can’t make all the girls happy.

Now that’s a shame. Bet I know one girl I can make smile?

He doesn’t know I’ve been smiling since his first response. Long distance smile promises. You must be pretty confident, Mr. Beckham.

Oh. I am. You ready?

A huge smile hasn’t left my face. Can’t wait.

My phone is quiet for a minute. I’m growing anxious he might not respond again. Finally, my phone pings. But it’s not a text, it’s a video. I press play. The camera focuses on a little girl holding a microphone. She’s wearing a princess tiara, plastic high-heel shoes and a skirt made of purple tulle. A half dozen strands of beads hang from around her neck all the way down to her tummy.

Flynn’s voice prompts her from behind the camera. “Who are you dedicating the song I taught you today to, Laney?”

“This song is dedicated to…” She scrunches up her face and takes a step toward the camera, whispering loudly. “I forgot her name, Uncle Sinn.”

Flynn chuckles off-camera. “Lucky,” he whispers.

Excited, Laney steps back in place and holds up the microphone. “This song is dedicated to Lucky.” Then she lowers the microphone and says, “That’s a funny name, Uncle Sinn.”

Flynn laughs. “It’s no funnier than Laney.”

“Yes. But my real name is Helaine. What’s Lucky’s real name?”

Even though I can’t see him, I know he’s smiling. “I don’t know, Laney. I’ll have to ask her. Can I get back to you on that?”

She nods with exuberance.

“You ready now?”

She nods again.

Flynn leans forward and pushes play on the Disney Frozen karaoke machine. The machine he carried for more than a mile on the walk from FAO Schwarz to my apartment. Warmth spreads through me when I hear the first note. I’m smiling ear to ear while Laney sings “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

All. Five. Verses.

I think of the little princess sitting on her tatted rockstar uncle’s lap while he teaches her the song. My ovaries might just explode.

The video ends. I really want to watch it again, but I can’t wait to respond to his last text.

My smile is HUGE.

I might have cheated. She’s sort of irresistible.

She takes after her uncle.

I’ll have to take you over to meet her when I get back into town.

My stomach does a little drop. He’s leaving? For how long? I didn’t have any plans to see him, yet knowing he won’t be in the same city disappoints me for some reason. Going away?

Hitting the road. Gone for a month.

A month? Why does that bother me? We exchange a few more texts and then Easy Ryder has finished their show, and the entire lounge swirls with excitement.

Dylan finds me. “You disappeared halfway through the set.”

“I was feeling sort of queasy,” I lie.

“You spent too much time with Jack and didn’t eat. Come on, there’s food in my dressing room. Let me feed you before we have to go to the after-party.”

It’s two in the morning before we finally head back to the hotel. I left for the airport at six a.m. yesterday, so I’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. The lack of sleep and drinking catches up to me and I fall asleep with my head on Dylan’s shoulder on the car ride back. He wakes me when we reach the Gideon Hotel, but my energy level is drained…I’m flashing on empty.

“I need to take a quick shower. You want to join me?” Dylan asks hopefully when we get into his suite.

“I’m too tired.” I plop down on the inviting king-size bed.

“I’ll be fast.” He kisses me, and strips as he heads into the bathroom.

I’m not quite asleep when he crawls into bed and I feel his naked hard body against my back. “I hate those sponsor events. Bunch of suits more interested in checking out my woman than talking business.” He sweeps my hair to the side and kisses my neck while his erection pushes into me.

“You’re crazy. No one even notices me when I walk into a room with you.”

He reaches around and cups my breasts. “Maybe if you would cover these up a little, some of the men in the room would be able to focus more.”

I turn over to face him. “Are you serious? I had barely any cleavage even showing tonight.”

Dylan pushes my shirt up and the cup of my bra down. His head drops to my exposed breast. “I’d prefer to keep what’s mine less on display.”

“Coming from the man who sang half his set bare chested tonight?”

“That’s different. I’m selling an act.” His tongue flicks over the tip of one nipple.

“What if I was the one on stage? Wearing skimpy clothes as part of my act?”

He swirls his tongue around until my nipple is a taut peak, and speaks before moving to the other breast. “I don’t even want to think about it. I’m just glad you’re happy behind the scenes.”

Dylan is still sleeping when I wake the next morning. Actually, it’s more like afternoon. It’s a rarity for me to sleep so late; then again, I don’t usually drink so much. And I have a four o’clock flight to catch. I wasted the little time we had together yesterday with drinking copious amounts of liquor I knew I couldn’t handle, and then half the next day sleeping it off. I slink out of bed, trying hard not to wake the naked man lying diagonally across the mattress, and head to the bathroom to shower.

I let the water run over me, hoping it will quell the growing throb in my head, but no such luck. I think it might actually make me feel even worse. The pulsating showerhead should feel like a tiny massage but more closely resembles little mallets hitting my skull. Not good. I finish quickly and stumble out of the shower, feeling worse than when I walked into the bathroom.

I need coffee.

And aspirin.

And more coffee to wash down the aspirin.