No Chance by Lisa Suzanne

CHAPTER 19: HANNAH

Capital Kingsmen is one of those bands you might not be able to name when you hear a song if you’re not a fan, but you still know the words to every song. They’ve had a ton of commercial success, and their songs are on the radio every time I turn it on. Sometimes when they’re on my favorite station, I’ll flip to another one only to hear a different song by the same band.

So as I stand on the side of the stage watching the drummer who’s suddenly my new roommate (and bedmate), I can’t help but nod my head and tap my foot to the beat while I sing along with Tommy.

It’s surreal to be standing here.

A few days ago, I was a broke college student bartending at night for extra cash as a way to help my sister make ends meet. Now I’m nanny to a rock star’s kid and traveling with the band.

And I’m in awe at what I’m seeing.

We all have that one band that we irrationally dislike for whatever reason. For me, it’s Capital Kingsmen. For Brett, it’s The Doors. Brie’s was Shawn Mendes. The more I watch these four men leave everything they have on this stage, the more absurd my initial feelings about them become.

As I stand here watching Brett toss a drumstick into the air and catch it without missing a single beat of the song, I have to admit that my dislike is melting away into something resembling admiration.

It’s an interesting angle from the side of the stage. I’ve never been to a concert of this scale before. The only ones I’ve been to are of the free variety—like at the state fair when some band was playing on stage, or at a high school football game when the school band marched during halftime.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. But even in the short window of time from when he invited me to when I actually set foot backstage, I couldn’t have dreamed any of this up.

Before they took the stage, I watched the roadies move their gear onto the stage as the roadies for the opening band removed their belongings. I stood out of the way, watching the flurry of organized chaos as it unfolded before me. Danielle is the one who showed me the ropes while Brett stuck with the other guys in the band to do whatever they do before a show. Danielle is an assistant to the tour manager, so she has her own duties to take care of on what they call gig nights.

And it’s as I stand here studying Brett as I listen to the fourth song on their setlist that I decide to take out my phone—not to scroll around out of boredom, but to take advantage of the angle I have. The way the lights are hitting him gives me an insider view to the show that fans will never get to see.

He drinks from a bottle of beer between songs, and then he slams his drumstick against one of the drums while both his feet move on pedals to create other beats. I don’t know anything about drums, but I know he’s playing the hell out of them.

Light hits the spray of his sweat as he works, and I suddenly see where those cuts of muscle come from. You know, those abs that I somehow keep getting glimpses of and can’t seem to keep my eyes away from. He doesn’t really need to work out—not when he plays his instrument with his entire body the way he does.

I snap another photo, and another one, and then I just keep going. I have some with his sweat as it hits the light, others with him as the focal point and Tommy blurred in the background, and still others with Tommy in focus and Brett blurred in the foreground. I wish I had my good camera back here with me, but my phone has some pretty cool features for an older model.

I edit one of my favorites right there on the side of the stage before I snap a few more. I’m having fun back here as the admiration starts to blossom into something deeper. It’s not just appreciation for what he does. It’s actual respect.

He’s incredible at what he does. He’s not just talented. He’s a true artist, which isn’t something I ever expected from my complete and total pre-judgment of him when I knew literally nothing about him.

And then he takes off his shirt.

My eyes go immediately to those abs that I can’t seem to stop thinking about. He’s just so...hot.

An ache presses between my thighs.

Wait.

What?

I shift uneasily on my feet as I recognize the ache. This is totally inappropriate.

I put my phone away. Taking pictures of him without a shirt is just a bad idea. The last thing I need is a bank of images to tempt myself with when I’m already trying to deny that I’m attracted to him.

I’m not.

He just has a good body. And he’s good at what he does. And he’s really trying with Chance even though I truly believed he wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with either one of us. He’s a genuinely nice guy who, like me, is just a little lost—each of us for completely different reasons, but lost still the same.

I blow out a breath.

It’s not attraction. It can’t be. I won’t let it be, because Brett Pitzer doesn’t do relationships, and I refuse to further complicate an already complicated situation. The last thing we need is some dumb attraction getting in the way of his relationship with his kid because I couldn’t help myself.

Though even after just twenty-four hours on his tour bus, after just one night of sharing a bed with him, after just watching him perform for only half a concert, I’m having trouble denying that I’m interested in learning what all those love songs are about or discovering how those movie depictions might really be true.

After all, the one person I know who slept with this guy told me that he was the best sex of her life.

I shake away all the thoughts I’m having. It’s too weird. It’s only been a day. I still hardly know this guy. He’s just hot, and he’s like a white knight who came in to save me, and this little crush I’m feeling will pass.

It has to.

Danielle ushers me to the bus lot after the show. I sort of wanted to hang out in the dressing room to see what it looks like in there after a show, but maybe it’s one of those things I don’t really want to know. Is that when Brett finds the girl he’s going to sleep with? It was when he was with Brie. She won backstage passes and met him after the show, and I don’t know all the details, but he took her back to his tour bus.

Maybe even the same bus I’m living on now, though I doubt it since I recall a detail about a bunk.

Danielle and I check on the kids on Amanda and Dustin’s bus. Chance is fast asleep in a pack and play, and Luna is fast asleep in a sleeping bag set on the floor. We let them sleep rather than trying to move them back to our bus. We’re not going anywhere for a while, so with Amanda’s go-ahead, Danielle and I both leave our monitor bases in the kids’ room and head back to our own buses.

Brett shows up less than a half hour later. He’s smiling, and he’s holding another bottle of beer in his palm. I’m sitting on the couch, and he plops down on the one across from me. That vanilla wood thing he has going on wafts over to my nose, and that ache presses between my thighs again.

I blow out a small breath.

He tilts his head at me, that smile still splashed across his lips. My eyes flick there for a beat. They look soft and firm.

“So? What did you think?”

I offer a smile back, and it’s the first genuine smile I’ve felt since...well, since Brie made me laugh a few days ago when she was still alive. “You were amazing, Brett. Really incredible.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You sure about that? Because I saw you on your phone every time I looked over.”

I offer a small chuckle. Not a grunt, but an actual near giggle. I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure. I wasn’t scrolling out of boredom or whatever you’re thinking. Actually...” I trail off and pull my phone out of my pocket. “I took a few pictures because I had such a neat angle to watch you.” I hand my phone over and show him.

He doesn’t say anything as he scrolls, which makes me a little nervous. And then I get a lot more nervous, so I start to babble. “I was probably doing a little light editing on them when you looked over. I didn’t mean to be on my phone. I promise I was paying attention, and I loved watching you. I just really enjoy taking photos...I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t overstepped. I’m sure you have professionals who do this sort of thing, and maybe I shouldn’t have—”

When he looks up at me, I halt in my babbling. His eyes are full of wonder as he shakes his head a little. “Hannah, these are incredible.”

The way he says my name makes my heart skip a beat, and his words send a warm buzz through my chest.

My brows dip. “They are?”

He nods. “You took these here on your phone?” His tone is skeptical.

I nod.

“The detail...” he trails off as he flips to another one, and he zooms in. “God, I see the little droplets of sweat caught in the lighting. And this one, with Tommy in the backdrop...I swear to God, Hannah, these look like a pro took them. They’re better than some of the magazine spreads we’ve had. Better than some of the album artwork we’ve done.” He glances up at me and catches my eye. “You just enjoy taking photos?”

I nod and lift a shoulder. “I don’t have any formal training or anything, but I have a used camera that Brie and I saved up for, and I watched a lot of YouTube to learn how to use it.”

His brows shoot up. “I’m really impressed. You have a real talent, and I want to see more of your work.”

“You have,” I say.

He looks confused.

“The photos on the bookshelf at my apartment,” I clarify. “I took most of those.”

He nods as if it all makes sense. “You have an eye for photography. I’d like to show these to the guys and get their opinion, if you don’t mind, but we might be able to use someone with your talent for some promotional images if you’re interested.”

My hand flies to my chest. “My photos?”

He nods as he hands my phone back to me, and our fingers brush in the process. I nearly drop my phone as he hands it to me in my sudden total nervousness.

He shrugs. “You’re already traveling with us. Why not? Let me see what they say first, and then we can figure out logistics and compensation.”

“Compensation?” I repeat.

“Well, yeah. I won’t have you work for the band and not get something for it.”

“Wow. I don’t know what to say,” I admit. I clutch my phone. I was just doing something I enjoy doing. I never expected any of this.

“Say yes,” he says simply.

I pause a beat, and then I nod. “Okay,” I say softly, and he grins.

He drains his bottle of beer. “Send me a few of your favorites so I can show the guys.”

I do it while he grabs another beer.

“Want anything?” he asks from the depths of the fridge.

“No thanks,” I say.

“Where’s the kid?” he asks.

I raise a brow. I don’t like when he doesn’t use his name—it feels icky, but it’s his child and I know it’s something he’s still getting used to. “Chance is still with Amanda. He was sleeping and she said it was fine to let him sleep there. Luna, too.”

“So we’re all alone?” he asks as he sits back down on the couch across from me. Is his voice a little husky or is that just my imagination?

“Looks like it. Where’s Tommy?”

He lifts a shoulder. “With some chick he met in the green room.”

“Is that where you usually pick up chicks?” I tease, and I don’t know why I said it. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them...mostly because I don’t really want to know.

“Green room, backstage, the afterparty, a bar, a club...wherever,” he says casually, and then he tips the bottle to his lips again.

I don’t know why I ask the next question. Maybe because I’m hoping he’ll say what I want to hear. “Why didn’t you do that tonight?”

His eyes meet mine, and I swear I see a little heat behind them. “I came back to check on the kid. Make sure everything was okay over here.”

That heat must’ve just been my imagination.