I smiled slyly at him and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “You have no idea.”
“No, you have no idea.” He smiled and kissed me hard on the lips. “I missed you, Dawn.” He put my hand on his chest. “I missed you from in here.”
“Sage, what the fuck are you doing in there?” Jacob suddenly yelled from the hall, the door vibrating from his heavy knocks. “Or who the fuck are you doing is the better question,” I heard him mumble.
Well, that was enough to sober us both up.
Sage shot me a sheepish look as he pulled the condom off, flicking it in the trash, and quickly pulled up his pants. “Guess we went over our time limit.”
I hopped off the desk and smoothed down my skirt. “You still made me come twice; you’re a man of your word.” He bent down and tossed me my tank top, which I quickly put on before he went over to the door and opened it.
Jacob eyed him suspiciously before he saw me and let out a burst of relief. “Oh, thank God it’s you, love.”
Who did you think it would be? I thought but pushed it away and smiled, making sure my shirt and skirt were on properly.
He raised his brow at Sage. “Of course, you do realize you’re going on stage in one minute, right?”
Sage stared down at him. “I didn’t. Lost track of time.”
Jacob’s gaze went to the whiskey bottle, which Sage had put on the ground. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Sage grinned. “No problem, boss.” He smacked Jacob hard on the shoulder. “I’m gonna make those French fuckers scream.” He looked at me and gave me a faint nod before heading out the door and into the hall.
Jacob slowly turned to face me, his brows high on his lined forehead, a shocked smile on his lips. “I could kiss you, love, you know that.”
I scrunched up my face, smoothing back my ponytail. “Please don’t.”
“No promises,” he said. “I didn’t think you could talk sense into Sage like that, but…I guess that wasn’t talking, either.” I opened my mouth to say something, but he raised his hand to stop me. “Your silence is enough; so long as Sage is ready and wanting to play, I have no qualms.” He looked at his pocket watch. “Showtime. Are you ready?”
Was I ever.
He held out his arm for me, and I linked mine around it. We headed for the stage.
Chapter Eight
Dawn
There is nothing like being backstage at a concert. Nothing. And if it’s a band or musician that you love, that you know inside and out, as deep or deeper than your own soul, then it’s a practically otherworldly experience. You can’t even describe it, though I have tried in my own writing, time and time again.
Jacob and I went to the side stage, among a few family members of the French drummer and a few other journalists covering the show. On the other side of the stage were the sound tech guys and roadies, who’d finished running across the stage and taping down the setlists. Sage and his band were in their places in the middle, Sage at the forefront. The lights were completely off in the theater, and the place was absolutely humming with anticipation and the cries of the fans who were dying for Sage, dying for the lights, dying for the music.
I stood beside Jacob, who was elegantly filing his nails, something I learned he did when he was nervous. We all had our quirks. I hadn’t gotten a look at the setlist back in the dressing room—there were more pressing things than that—so I was waiting there in as much anticipation as the crowd. I knew Sage would most likely only be playing songs from his solo album, but there was always a chance a Hybrid song would pop up. He wrote most of them anyway.
I heard someone onstage tap his foot three times, and Jacob muttered “Go” under his breath.
The first few notes of Sage’s crystal clear guitar rang out into the crowd. It was the start of his song, “The Tail I Had,” and everyone cheered as the drums and bass kicked in and the lights in the house went on, illuminating the stage. It was one of my favorite songs from the album, one of the catchier, more radio-friendly tunes that hit hard with swagger and heavy bass that made your hips swing. Sage’s voice was perfect—this low, raspy growl that just screamed sex to everyone else and especially to me since it was the sound I’d heard just moments earlier.
And that’s when it hit me, the holy-fuck realization that I’d just had sex with the man onstage, the man that all the women were screaming at, the tall, exotic golden god with the green eyes and the bronze skin who prowled the stage like a broad-shouldered panther. More than a panther, he was king and we were his subjects. Sage was nothing but one hundred percent confident in himself and his music, and he was enjoying the control he had over everyone as we swayed and sang and attached our souls to his words and his guitar chords.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
I found myself singing out loud, very loud, through this song and the next song and the next song, grinning so hard I thought my face would freeze that way, feeling nothing but love, utter fucking love, for this man and his gift and his music that made me feel alive more than anything else could. And as I looked over the crowd, taking in their enraptured faces as they sung along and stared up at him, I knew everyone was feeling the same way. We were all joined together in this poetic web, maybe all feeling different things and taking away different stories and lessons, but we were all feeling. And sometimes in this world full of war and strife and daily shit that made you numb, that’s all you really needed.
When the third song was over and the fourth song, the hard and fast “Sick, Sick” started, Max joined me onstage, leaning over and whispering, “I’m fucking amazed,” as he took his camera strap off his neck.