Fool Me Once Read online

  My forehead creased as I examined the size of his biceps again. Close to the size of a tree stump. “People used to call you Skeletor?”

  “People didn’t. Little demon children did back when I was in school.” He stayed beside me, his eyes constantly scanning the perimeter.

  “Sore subject?” I guessed.

  “It’s a lot less sore after I showed up to my ten-year reunion and Pencil Petey looked like a dark chocolate Hulk.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest as we paused outside a locked door. Pete knocked twice, but it looked more like he was attempting to beat the door in.

  When the door swung open, another giant appeared, this one dressed in head-to-toe black as well, but his skin was more of a bronze color.

  My hands flew into the air. “I surrender.”

  The two bodyguards exchanged a look.

  Pete lifted his shoulder. “She’s strange.”

  “Awkward was the adjective I used,” I corrected before weaving inside the door and following Pete down a long, dark hall. “How many more of you two are there?”

  Pete’s heavy footsteps rumbled through the concrete tunnel. “Two more on staff. The stadiums provide their own security.”

  “How much security does one person need?”

  “One person named Chase Lawson when he’s playing to a sold-out crowd of mostly women under the age of thirty and desperate to carry his child?” The guard behind me clucked his tongue.

  “There’s a colorful image,” I chimed as we emerged from the tunnel into the stadium. My feet froze from the sheer magnitude of it all. Thousands upon thousands of empty seats dotted the perimeter, the dome of the stadium seeming to rise into the stratosphere, it looked so far out of reach. “Every seat in this place is going to be filled soon?”

  Pete made a grunt of agreement. “Along with every seat at every stadium we hit on this tour.”

  My mind couldn’t wrap around the reality that the boy who used to serenade me down by the river on summer nights after we made love was the same one that millions of people had purchased tickets to come experience him singing for them.

  “Ma’am?” Pete held out his arms in indication of where he wanted me to go, so I unglued my shoes from the floor and followed him.

  We climbed the metal stairs up to the stage area, and I could just make out the sound of voices coming from behind the endless wall of curtains. I could make out Chase’s in the mix, tangled with mostly female voices.

  Hello, VIPs.

  The stab I felt in my throat when I walked around the corner and saw them was unusual for me. Jealousy was not an emotion I was prone to, but given there were dozens of young, gorgeous woman waiting in line to meet Chase, I cut myself some slack.

  I wasn’t sure if I should stand there and wait until he was done or head over, but Chase made my decision easy. He must have noticed me from the corner of his eye—or it could have been the behemoths on either side of me—because he was already smiling when his head turned toward me. He waved me over, finishing signing an autograph and posing for a picture with a fan who could have been a runway model.

  Chase’s gaze wandered over me, devouring as he went. I rubbed my forearm to chase away the tingles. When he reached me, he didn’t hesitate to gather me to him in what I thought would be a quick embrace. There was nothing quick about it.

  “You look amazing,” he whispered, his clean-shaven cheek brushing against my temple.

  “You look amazing-er,” I replied, blinking at the mass of fans waiting for him and staring at his legendary backside. Not that I could blame them. “You know, I’m worried about how tight your jeans and shirt are. You wouldn’t want anything cutting off the blood to certain parts of your body.”

  His hand spread across my lower back, drawing me closer to him. “Any parts in particular you’re worried about?”

  My throat moved as I tried to ignore the press of his hips against mine, the fit of our bodies together. “All of them?”

  His soft laugh rumbled against my chest. “I’ll let you strip me down later to check for any signs of impaired circulation. Just make sure you’re thorough.”

  Behind us, I noticed phones lifting, flashes from cameras blinking at us. “Is this for the cameras?” I whispered to him. “Helping improve your public image?”

  My head moved in front of his, needing to know what was real and what was for show. For some reason, I needed to be able to distinguish between the two. It would all come to an end in six months, but to endure the next half a year, I needed to know which words and looks were for me, and which were for the scrutinizing public.

  “When we’re together, it’s only us,” he said, looking me straight in the eyes.

  My attention wandered to the photo-happy fans waiting for their idol. “You picked me to help clean up your image. I just want to know what’s real and what’s for show.”

  Chase clasped my face, adjusting my view so it was focused on him. “I chose you for you. And every bit of this, you and me, in public or private, on camera or off, is real.”

  An emotion overcame me then, one I needed to quarantine until it had died off, because I couldn’t go down that path again with Chase. Once was enough. I could give him six months of no commitments, boundaries, or promises . . . but I could never again give him my forever.

  “You’ve got some fans to bewilder.” I cleared my throat, winding out of his arms. “And I’ve got a seat to snag for what I keep hearing should be a decent-enough concert.”

  Chase huffed. “I’ll show you decent.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” I held out my arms, backing away.

  “But you’re not going to be watching from the crowd. You’ll be watching from the best seat backstage.” Chase pointed down a hall of curtains that led to the stage.

  My head shook. “This is my first Chase Lawson concert. I’m not watching it from anywhere other than out there with the rest of the crazed crowd.”

  Chase folded his arms. “Not safe. You’ll watch the concert from backstage or not at all.”

  I folded my own arms. “I didn’t let you boss me around when I was sixteen, and I sure as hell am not going to let you more than a decade later.”

  The muscles of his neck pressed through the skin. “I’m not bossing you around. I’m merely telling you what’s safe and what is not. Your picture is out there now. Fans will recognize you. Things will go down. Stuff will get messy. I’ll probably wind up serving ten to twenty for involuntary manslaughter.”

  My eyes lifted. “No one’s going to be looking at me when you’re up there on stage moving your hips the way you do. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re wearing a skirt that will expose your entire ass if you lean over a few inches.”

  I pointed toward the line of VIPs. “Which is still half a foot longer than most of your diehard fans.”

  “You’re sitting backstage.” He clapped his hands, backing away, as though that were the end of it.

  My fingers drummed across my arm. “Wanna bet?”

  7

  From the moment he took the stage, I understood. Everything.

  The sold-out concerts. The record album sales. The countless magazine covers. The rabid fans. All of it.

  Chase, on stage, guitar in hand, singing into a microphone and looking into the crowd like he was baring his soul for any and all to see . . . it took my breath away. He’d always had a good voice, the kind that made you want to close your eyes and gently sway to the beat, but age had refined his voice. Evening out the jagged notes, trussing together the broken harmonies.

  Five songs in, and my mouth was hanging half-open, my body still with awe. Everyone else around me was chanting his name, dancing, or singing along, but it took all of my strength to stand there and watch.

  I’d gotten my way. Not that I’d doubted I would. Chase might have talked a big game and asserted his alpha tendencies without apology, but I’d always been the exception to that. He could command an army, but he’d never been able to get me to do a
nything unless I wanted to.

  Experiencing this with the rest of the crowd was the only way to see my first Chase Lawson concert. I had a front row seat, and Chase had made sure his personal and the area security were close by if I befell some tragedy like getting beer splashed on my toes or whatever he was so concerned was going to happen.

  I caught his gaze wandering to my seat often, though it must have been hard to see me with the bright lights shining up on stage. Every time his eyes found me, his mouth turned up a little higher.

  A few songs later, a big dude a few seats down became that “one guy” at every concert. Loud, obnoxious, and over-served. He must have been with his wife or girlfriend, but you never would have guessed it from the way he was talking to her. It got to a point where he was distracting people from the concert, and I wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable with the string of insults and profanities he was firing at the near-cowering woman beside him.

  I couldn’t stay quiet and pretend to ignore it for another second.

  “Hey!” I hollered past the few people between him and me. “Leave her alone already!”

  The dude froze in the middle of his latest tirade, blinking at me. “Mind your own business, bitch.” He finished what was left in his can of beer before crushing it and dropping it onto the floor.

  Resisting the urge to flip him off, I glanced at the woman beside him, who was close to, if not already, shedding tears. “Are you okay?”

  “She’s fine!” he shouted at me. “But you’re not going to be if you don’t shut that fucking mouth of yours!”

  The people between us were shifting, even more uncomfortable, but no one looked ready to step in and do anything.

  “Do you want to come and stand by me?” I asked the woman, who was too afraid to look at me, so I slid past people toward her.

  In front of the guardrail, I noticed security easing in, watching the transaction, bodies primed for action. Chase was at the other end of the stage, breaking into the catchy chorus of “Goodbye, Girl.”

  “Back off.” The man lunged in front of the woman before I could reach her, making it a point to stand at his full height. Which wasn’t all that intimidating, even at my less-than-impressive stature. He was nothing more than a coward and a poser. The only thing country about him was the make of his boots.

  My hands settled on my hips. “No.”

  “Bitch, you better back away before I make you.”

  Holding out my arms, I lifted a brow in challenge. “Let’s see you try. Coward.”

  I think it was the coward part that got to him more than anything else. He came at me—I hadn’t been expecting that—but before he could take a second step, someone cut in.

  It wasn’t one of the people in the seats beside us though. It wasn’t even one of the security guards. It was the guy on stage who’d leaned over the guardrail and grabbed the guy coming at me. Chase had a good hold on him, dragging him up on stage, the whole time hollering words and phrases that made me thankful he didn’t have his mouthpiece on for all to hear. A couple of his personal security rushed onto the stage, taking the guy off Chase’s hands before wrestling him off the stage.

  The crowd stilled, silence stretching through the stadium. Chase stood there, shoulders still quivering, staring at the spot the guy had been drug off as though he were waiting for him to break free. His posture relaxed after a moment, before he spun around, his eyes landing right on me.

  For the briefest second, there was relief. That was replaced by something less relaxed. I felt like a child being scolded by my mom for sneaking too many cookies.

  “Ma’am.” A giant hand rested on my shoulder from behind. “We can see the rest backstage.”

  I was about to utter my agreement, but Pete must have thought I was more likely to put up an argument.

  “Please don’t make me throw you over my shoulder to get you out of here. I like you, but I like my job a whole lot more.”

  “I’ll leave the floor on my own two feet, thank you very much.” I shoved by him, heading toward the end of the row and trying to ignore the sharp stare coming at me from up on stage.

  Once Chase saw I was in the capable care of the Greek God of Intimidation, he crouched to pick up his guitar. He took one look at it, then held it up as he strolled to the microphone.

  “Never bring your guitar to a fight!” he crowed, waving his broken guitar to the roaring crowd. “I think I just thought up a title for my next album.”

  Someone rushed on stage, carrying a fresh guitar. After adjusting a few strings and wiping his face off with the black handkerchief he had sticking out of his back pocket, he burst into his next song.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” Pete asked once we were tucked backstage.

  “Yeah. I’m good,” I replied, sneaking a peek out into the crowd. The woman with the empty seat beside her was standing, singing with the crowd and waving her arms. Her face was relaxed, maybe even peaceful. “Actually, I’m great.”

  “Next time you aim to pick a fight, give me a heads-up first.” Pete cracked his neck. “Doesn’t look good when the man I’m hired to protect interrupts a sold-out concert to protect the woman he’s also paying me to protect.”

  “I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. I was doing what was right,” I replied.

  “Yeah, well, doing what’s right usually comes along with a fight.” Even as he gave me a stern look, he was fighting a smile.

  I nudged him. “I’ll give you a heads-up next time.”

  We listened to the rest of the concert from backstage, the view of the crowd from this vantage unreal. When Chase came offstage after his last song, his jaw ground when he saw me. He might have just been singing about summer nights and skinny dipping, but he clearly was still pissed at me.

  Dani was waiting with a hand towel and a bottle of water, rattling off a few things to him I couldn’t hear. He didn’t hear any of it; he was too busy glaring at me.

  “That was stupid, Em.”

  The roar of the crowd was deafening, but I heard each of his words with crystal-clear precision.

  I marched toward him. Pete went with me, probably to throw himself in between us if necessary.

  “I had it under control,” I fumed.

  Chase drained the entire bottle of water then tossed it aside. “Yeah. It looked like it with that guy about to make a punching bag out of you.”

  “It would have been fine.”

  Chase forced himself to take a deep breath. “That guy was twice your size and didn’t seem like the type to have a moral dilemma over taking a swing at a woman.”

  I pointed out at the stage. “You didn’t need to cause a scene.”

  He blinked at me as though he were trying to determine if I was being serious. “Yeah, because that was all I was thinking about when I intervened. Causing a scene.”

  His voice was growing, his arms getting animated. His fire fanned the flame building inside me.

  “Or maybe it was just another publicity stunt so all your fans can swoon over how chivalrous you are to rip some guy out of a crowd for messing with a woman?” The words exploded out of me, molten hot and piercing.

  The skin between his brows creased as he moved away, distancing himself from me. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you say that.”

  The crowd was still roaring, echoing his name, but I tuned them out. I ignored Dani and her interjections about this not being the time, and I disregarded Pete, who was trying to mediate with one-worded pieces of advice.

  “Why? Because it’s the truth?” I shouted. “Or because you don’t like someone spelling it out for you like that?”

  “I don’t want to fight with you right now, and I know from enough experience we’re just getting warmed up.”

  “Why not?” I motioned between the two of us. “Now’s as good a time as any to get this all aired out.”

  His finger stabbed onto the dark stage, sweat still dripping from the ends of his hair and down his face. “I have to
go back out there in twenty seconds and sing an encore. Now is not a good time for this.”

  One of his stagehands slid Chase’s guitar back over his head, his bandmates already moving onto the stage under the veil of darkness.

  “Fine. Good. You’ve got a show to finish,” I said, moving toward the back stairs.

  “Where are you going?”

  “The bus.” I paused so abruptly, Pete nearly ran into me. My stare cut toward Chase. “Is that okay with you?”

  He was already facing the stage, his fingers working the strings of his guitar. “You always do whatever you want. No matter what anyone else’s input is.”

  He loped onto the stage right as the lights blasted on, sending the crowd into a renewed upheaval.

  I didn’t linger long enough to see which song he’d saved for the encore; I needed air. After thundering down the hall, I shoved through the entry doors and gulped at the night air like I’d been drowning. My hands were still shaking and my vision flashed red, but those were typical reactions to one of Chase’s and my fights. We’d known no shortage of them as kids, and I should have known better than to think we’d outgrown it.

  Behind me, I heard the music pumping through the stadium, Chase’s voice layering on top of the guitar and drums in a way that made a person feel it vibrating inside of their chest.

  Pete swung the bus door open, following me as I stormed inside.

  “You can head back inside now,” I said, kicking off my wedges as though they were the objects of my anger. “I’m sealed up and safe inside this fortress of steel.”

  Pete clasped his hands in front of him. “I’ve been instructed to stay with you.”

  “Your Chase’s bodyguard.”

  “I’m Mr. Lawson’s employee,” he said, staying planted right where he was. “And I’ve been instructed that for the entirety of this tour, I am your bodyguard. Not to leave you side unless instructed.”