Encore (Stereo Hearts Book 2) (2 page)

1

Five Years Later

A hot-pink thong soared through the smoky air, and the deafening screams filling the sold-out arena seemed to carry the flying panties until they landed square on Adam Brand’s head. The screams moved to roars.

Mid-song, clutching the microphone stand before him, Adam’s green irises shot to the top of his head. With a smirk and a well-timed flick of his jet-black quiff, the panties flew off, landing next to his Chucks. He kicked them into the crowd, smiling bashfully as the concert-goers went to war over the thong until the fabric was ripped to shreds. He sauntered to the side of the stage, dragging his mic stand as he flirted with every person he locked eyes with, cooing the lyrics to the sultry tune booming through the speakers. His die-hard fans' ribcages were in serious danger, smashing against the front row barriers under the weight of thousands behind them, too busy clawing for his attention to notice.

Shaun Green, however, did not claw for Adam. Not even when he made it to the far end of the stage and looked her dead in the eye. Not even when he stopped everything he was doing to smile and wink at her. Shaun felt every envious eye in Madison Square Garden hit her, but all she gave Adam in return was a shake of her head.

Adam pivoted, understanding the silent cue that his girlfriend was irritated, sidestepping his guitar player, Jon Baca, who tried to trip him on his way to the other side of the stage. Adam sauntered to the deepest corner of the stage, giving the screaming fans on the right side of the packed arena the same careful attention he’d given the ones on the left. The White Keys’ bass player, Zach ‘Noodle’ Kernoodle, joined Adam at the edge of the stage as he annihilated his guitar solo, his long blond hair sailing through the air as he banged his head to the beat.

From her seat on the side of the stage, first row, Shaun Green looked to her left where Aria Doe clapped and danced along with the music. Strobe lights flew wildly, making it hard to see, and the booming speakers less than ten feet away made it
impossible
to hear.

But Shaun spoke anyway. “Pretty sure there’s nothing worse than seeing another woman’s panties land on top of your boyfriend’s head.”

Aria, the only person in the arena with a bigger afro than Shaun, shot her a look. Her fluffy hair danced. She leaned in, tapping her earlobe amidst the deafening roars of the crowd. “WHAT?!”

“Panties!” Shaun cried, pointing to her head. “Boyfriend’s head!” She beamed. “
Nothing worse
!”

Aria pulled back and nodded her understanding, biting back a smile. She leaned in to Shaun’s ear. “Best believe Adam Brand knows where his real home is! The house where only
your
panties live!”

A fuchsia bra with leopard print lining flew through the air from the pit. Shaun’s and Aria’s eyes followed the bra on its perilous journey.

“
Annnnnnd
there goes the bra…” Shaun drawled.

It landed on Adam’s shoulder, the strap slinging around his neck.

“Nice aim, though!” Aria had to give it to The White Keys’ female fans; when it came to animal print undergarments, they had amazing precision. “She could throw for the Yankees!”

Adam shrugged the bra off, shooting a coy grin in the direction it came from.

Shaun’s scowl deepened. “Look at that shit-eating grin on his face.”

“His fans pay good money to throw their panties at him, Shaun. It’s part of his job to humor them.”

“He loves it. Look at him! I’m going to make him suffer.”

“Getting assaulted with Victoria’s Secret’s entire fall line is kind of a requirement in the rock star job description. When he applied, I bet it was right there, in bold letters: ‘Must be willing to get assaulted with bras and panties, clean or otherwise’….”

When the song came to a close and Adam raced off the stage for a short intermission, Shaun lowered her voice, plopping down in the uncomfortable folding seat alongside Aria.

“Easy for you to say,” Shaun said. “
Your
boyfriend sits behind the drums all day. In the unlikely event one of these groupies has a strong enough arm for their panties to reach him, they’d still get all tangled up in his cymbals before they ever had a chance to land on his body. Ugh!”

“You’re going to make yourself crazy,” Aria said. “And, good God, for the millionth time, Yoshi is
not
my boyfriend.”

“Are you two still shopping around that tired-ass story? Of course he’s your boyfriend. Just because you’ve got a patch over one eye doesn’t give you grounds to be
this
blind, okay?”

As Shaun nudged her, Aria’s eye went to the drum set situated at the back end of the stage. Yoshi’s chest heaved under a loose black tank top from his seat behind the drums. He twisted open a water bottle and finished it off in a few heavy swallows before crushing it and tossing it over his shoulder.

Unlike his bandmates, Yoshi wasn’t buff, just six feet two inches of long, lean muscle. Strong, but not swollen. His biceps flexed as he threw his head forward and then tossed it back, making the sweat that had accumulated in his jet-black hair fly and splash against the massive White Keys banner swinging behind him. Shaved close at the sides and long on top, his wet hair moved like a tidal wave.

The orange intermission stage lights made his olive skin glow. Like most orphans, Yoshi didn’t know his lineage, but Aria would’ve bet money he came from a place with a lot of sand. That deep skin and those mysterious features screamed an exotic origin. She’d always guessed he had some Indian in him, with a little splash of
everything else,
all mixed together in one steaming hot pot, brewing up the kind of face that only came once in a lifetime. The kind that had no business hidden behind a sprawling drum set.

When Yoshi looked to his left and locked eyes with Aria, she realized how long she’d been staring and sat taller in her seat. But she didn’t break their gaze.

Even from the audience, she could see every shimmery speck in his big hazel eyes, every splash of light brown that seemed almost green, every sparkle of green that ebbed into gold. His eyes had always been her favorite thing about him. Not because of their startling contrast against his golden skin, but because she could never decide what color they were. She swore they evolved to match his ever-changing moods.

He drew a hand through his hair, which remained slicked back from the sweat. When he smiled, twirling his drumsticks between his nimble fingers, the deep dimples in his shadowed jaw made themselves known. After five years, Aria
still
forgot those damn things were there. Every time she saw his chiseled cheeks sink deep, making room for those dimples, it felt like the first time, warming her belly.

Yoshi nodded upward, flashing teeth that most people endured mouths full of metal to achieve, but he’d been blessed with from birth.

“Look at him.” Shaun nodded at Yoshi. “Nothing but free pussy at every angle, and he can’t take his eyes off you. Look at that girl in the front row, flashing her boobs at him right now. He doesn’t even see her. And she has
nice boobs…
Wow.” Shaun frowned and looked down at
her own boobs. She cupped her 32Bs with a pout.

Aria snickered at her and then looked back to the stage.

Yoshi’s eyes were still on her.

--

The first show of The White Keys’ worldwide tour went off without a hitch.

Legs planted wide, with his signature smile illuminating his face, Yoshi bopped to the beat pounding from the tour bus stereo system, bending over the couch as he obliterated Noodle with a freestyle rap. Soon, the smile on Yoshi’s face vanished, and he was nearly nose-to-nose with Noodle, who was crouched deep into the white leather couch, knees to his chest like a fetus, shielding his face with his hands as Yoshi’s freestyle grew more passionate.

“Spit,” Noodle said, blue eyes shrinking. “You’re spitting on me.”

Unmoved, Yoshi straightened, breaking into dance in the small space between the bus’s living room couches. When Yoshi did a standing back-tuck, Shaun and Adam winced from the couch across from Noodle, one false move away from catching one of his black Chucks in the teeth.

Yoshi pulled off the flip, however, which only seemed to egg him on more. He was immediately back in Noodle’s face for round two of his freestyle, turning his black baseball cap backward, wagging his neck as the bass picked up, the beat so strong the carpeted floors shook.

“Dude. Still spitting,” Noodle cried when Yoshi got in his face again. His square jaw tightened.

From the small kitchenette booth, Aria and Jon burst into laughter as Yoshi broke into dance again. Jon swigged from the Jack Daniel’s bottle that never left his hand.

Being the only person in the room dancing didn’t deter Yoshi. Sometimes Aria wondered if he preferred it that way.

He did another backflip, and Shaun actually climbed onto the couch completely, pushing against the windows of the bus.

Aria giggled. “Don’t worry, Shaun. If he feels the flip going out of control, he’ll always aim for Noodle.”

“I don’t understand how you guys have this kind of energy.” Shaun relaxed once Yoshi had plopped down on the couch next to Noodle, his chest heaving. Noodle nudged him, and Yoshi nudged him back. “You just spent the last two hours banging your heart out, Yosh, and now you’re in here doing gymnastics. Like, how?” Shaun asked. “I get exhausted just brushing my teeth in the morning.”

“Cocaine is a hell of a drug.” Noodle winked at Shaun.

Yoshi turned his baseball cap forward again, shading his hazel eyes. “For him, it is.”

“Oh. Right. Yoshi doesn’t get high.” Noodle nudged him again. “Yet.”

Shaun shot Adam a look. “You guys have to be the most vanilla rock stars on the face of the planet—”

Yoshi shot up in his seat, his eyes wide as saucers, clutching his wrist.

“What’s wrong?” Shaun asked, noting his rapid change in demeanor.

Yoshi came to the edge of the couch, wide eyes searching the floor of the bus, dashing like a wild scanner. Cursing under his breath, he tapped his wrist.

“His bracelet. If you can even call it that anymore,” Adam explained, tightening the arm he had slung around Shaun’s shoulder as he pointed towards the bottom of the couch. Yoshi’s eyes followed Adam’s finger and he exhaled, falling to his knees and scooping the bracelet up from the floor. “Probably flew off somewhere around the second back-handspring, you fucking idiot.”

“That piece of string is what put that panicked look on your face?” Shaun laughed. “You looked
terrified
. I was expecting something much shinier.”

“He loves the shit out of that piece of string.” Adam smirked. “Panics every time he misplaces it or it falls apart.”

Yoshi swallowed thickly as he attempted to retie the ‘bracelet’ with one hand. When it proved impossible, he turned to Noodle, who begrudgingly sat up and tied it back together for him. After five years of touring, the bracelet was still holding on after several rounds of superglue, duct tape, and even a safety pin, which held the two larger pieces together. The original lime-green color was barely visible anymore.

“Must have a lot of sentimental value,” Shaun said, once Noodle finished tying the string. “Who gave it to you?”

“His
Bo
,” Adam teased.

Shaun smiled. “Who’s Bo?”

Yoshi looked up and met eyes with Aria just as the bus driver called out, “Okay, Shaun. 10
th
Street.”

Shaun’s mouth fell, and she squinted out the windows, drinking in the familiar skyscrapers outside. “Man, we’re here already?” She began to stand, still peering out, as if hoping there was some mistake and the bus wasn’t approaching her apartment building. “Damn….”

Honks blared from every angle as the massive bus came to a stop on the narrow Manhattan street. The brakes screamed with the effort it took to bring that monster to a halt.

Shaun toppled forward at the sudden stop.

Adam leapt up and caught her in the nick of time, just before she went barreling to the floor. Yoshi and Noodle showed no mercy, bursting into laughter.

“You’re the biggest spaz I’ve ever met,” Adam teased, bringing Shaun back to her feet. The moment she tossed her curly hair away from her eyes, sighing in relief at her near fall, and met his eyes, Adam sucked in a breath. “Don’t go,” he begged.

Every soul on the bus groaned.

“Adam,” Shaun whispered, searching his eyes. “We talked about this….”

Adam pouted. Now that he was offstage, free from the glare of spotlights and the adoring screams of his fans, his coy green eyes were free to drink in the only girl who mattered. Poking his lip out even more, he gripped Shaun’s waist in his tattooed hands. “Just one more night. Philadelphia’s only two hours away.”

“I have work first thing tomorrow. I can’t just follow you all over the country like I don’t have a job. A career. Goals and aspirations outside of being your groupie.”

Adam pressed his forehead to hers. “You’re so much more than that to me. You’re going to be my wife one day.”