“Hmm,” I murmur, cheeks flaming. Jake may have no problem talking sex in front of his friends, but I do.
“Anyway, I was just calling because Zane has managed to fix up a spot for Vintage supporting Raine tonight. Their support pulled out on them last minute. I wondered if you fancied going to watch them?”
Raine is a hugely successful indie band in LA with a massive local following. Vintage is the band who supported TMS at Madison Square Garden, the ones who won the radio contest. I really love their sound, and I mentioned to Jake that I thought they definitely had something. He listened to some of their stuff—he hadn’t been paying attention at the show for many reasons—and liked what he heard, so he sent Zane to New York to check them out while we were on holiday.
Zane loved them and offered them a deal on the spot. They are now signed to the label and are in LA recording their first album.
I like the fact that I pointed out their potential to Jake, and he listened to me. I love that he cares about my opinions on these things.
“You’re asking if I want to watch a live band I encouraged you to sign? Hmm, let me think…”
“Pick you up at seven?” he says, chuckling.
“Are you not coming home first?”
“No, we’ve got a good flow going at the moment, getting some new stuff down. I’ll shower and change at the studio, and then I’ll come by and pick you up.”
“Thinking on it, why don’t I just ask Dave to bring me to the show, and I’ll meet you there. He’ll be coming anyway, won’t he? So it just makes sense.”
Even though things aren’t as “follow Jake around” crazy fanwise in LA, he still has Dave or Ben with us when we go out. I get the feeling they’re around more for me than him, though. I think he worries about my safety.
“Yeah, okay, good idea,” he agrees.
Jake tells me where the show is, so I jot the address down and hang up. I stare at my computer screen for a few more minutes, then close it with a sigh. I head into my dressing room area to figure out what to wear tonight.
I’m seated in the back of the car and Dave is driving us to the venue. The show is at some hip club in downtown LA.
Getting my mirror out of my clutch, I check my hair and makeup. I opted for hair down and curly, dark smoky eyes, and pink lip gloss. I thought the makeup should match the outfit. I’m wearing my new black knee-length stretch-leather skirt and white off-the-shoulder sheer silk crepe top.
As the top is sheer, I avoided wearing any of my new lacy bras, instead going with my white bra with gentle detail on it, which covers all the important bits. On my feet I’m wearing my new Christian Louboutin peep-toe studded black heels. They are sexy as hell. I know Jake will totally approve of them.
Dave pulls the car around the back of the venue, into the reserved parking area. I see Jake’s Aston Martin.
I climb out of the car and follow Dave to the metal door, leading into the back entrance of the club. He bangs his fist on it a couple of times.
A burly guy opens the door and greats Dave like they know each other well.
Dave gestures me through the door first, then I wait to follow him.
He leads me down a corridor, through a door, then another, and then we’re in the club.
Looking to the left I see people setting up the stage, preparing for Vintage, who are due to play their set in just under an hour. There’s music playing provided by the resident DJ, and people are on the dance floor already.
I spot Jake standing at the bar, drinking a bottle of beer, looking his ever-gorgeous self, wearing his blue Led Zeppelin “Song Remains the Same” T-shirt, slim-fitted bleached, ripped jeans, and black motorcycle boots.
He looks as hot as hell. And he is all mine.
Ben’s standing off to the side by the bar, with what looks to be a soft drink. Leaving me, Dave goes over to join him.
At the bar with Jake is a blond guy. A very good-looking blond guy. He looks to be about the same height as Jake, and he’s wearing a white Oxford shirt, which he fills out with no problem, and gunmetal grey trousers. He screams urbane sophistication, the complete and utter contrast of Jake’s bad-boy rock-star image.
Jake’s face lights up at my approach. Then I see his eyes move down my body, and a frown mars his perfect face.
Oh no. He hates my outfit.
Feeling instantly self-conscious, tucking my clutch under my arm, I run my hands down my skirt and pick up my pace to him.
“Hey,” I say when I reach him.
He slides his hand around my waist. Pulling me close, he plants a kiss on my lips.
“You hate my outfit,” I whisper under his mouth.
“No, I just hate that every man in this place can see your tits through it,” he growls, kissing me one more time before releasing me.
Shit. I thought I looked nice. I guess not.
Turning to the man beside him, Jake says, “Tru, I’d like you to meet Zane. He’s the VP at the label. Zane, this is the future Mrs. Wethers.”
Zane smiles. Smoldering chocolate-brown eyes meet mine. “Great to finally meet you, Tru.” He offers his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Taking my hand, he lifts it to his lips and kisses it.
“I hope he was saying mostly complimentary things,” I say through my now-dry mouth, sliding a glance in Jake’s direction.
“All complimentary.” Zane smiles, releasing my hand. “You’re just as beautiful as Jake described.”
Just not in tonight’s outfit, apparently.
Zane’s smooth. Very smooth. But not in a slimy way. More in an “I’m well practiced at getting women into my bed and they leave very satisfied” kind of way. The guy screams confidence and awesome sex. Just like Jake.
“Where the fuck have you been, ass-face?” Jake says over my head.
Turning, I see Tom sauntering toward us.