Page 3 of Wild Infatuation (Rebel Rockstars #3)

Chapter Three

Shawn

BEING FAMOUS IS WEIRD.

We’ve endured months of screaming fans, of paparazzi, of interviews and photoshoots and press tours, but I’m still not used to it.

Normally, I’d look to our charming lead singer, Jacob, for help in these kinds of situations, but as we prepare for the meet and greet in a cramped greenroom, he looks every bit as tense as I feel.

Normally, dimples frame his bright smile, but today his lips press into a hard line, his eyes flickering between the two huge dudes who are supposed to serve as our security team for the event.

Seth, our usual bodyguard, sits in a corner, resolutely not looking at any of us, while Ryan, the new guy, shifts restlessly from foot to foot.

Either dude looks like he could punch his way through walls instead of using the door, but Jacob’s eyes keep returning to Seth. A lot of things have changed for us since that tour, but underneath it all, we’re still five regular guys with regular wants, regular hopes.

Regular desires.

I turn away from the battle between Jacob and his effort to master his obvious infatuation with Seth, the bodyguard.

Ryan will take good care of us today, I’m sure, and besides, it’s only a couple hours of signing shit and taking pictures.

Does it really matter if it’s one big dude or the other looming behind us?

It clearly matters to Jacob, however, and as we gather in preparation to leave the greenroom, his shoulders bunch toward his ears.

Dan goes out first. Screams greet him, then Levi follows and another wave of shrieking crashes over us.

The guys sit at a long table with pens and markers strewn across it.

Keannen goes next, and the crowd almost explodes.

Our token bad boy soaks up the adoration a lot more than Dan and Levi did, waving and smirking as he takes his place beside them.

I’m next, but before I head out, I pat Jacob on the shoulder, my hand lingering for a beat.

“It’ll be fine,” I say quietly.

Jacob simply nods. I don’t know if he understands me, if my attempt at being a comforting friend does any good whatsoever, but I owe it to the guy to try.

Jacob is the glue that holds us all together.

We wouldn’t have gotten our big break without him.

He’s the star of the show, the one all the fans adore.

Besides, he’s the most genuinely kind person I’ve ever met.

There’s far too few people in the world who will go out of their way for others, who wouldn’t betray you no matter what, and Jacob is one of them.

They call for me, and I step into a room that vibrates from the screams of the fans clustered before the signing table in a snaking line that disappears out the door and down the block. We’re going to be here all damn day at this rate.

I offer a nod, then stuff my hands in my pockets and get myself to my seat. Thank God our fans don’t expect anything else from me. I’ve gotten to carve out a place as the “broody” one, which mostly means I get to scurry to my seat without trying to smile or wave or be charming.

The last one out is Jacob, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard anything as loud as the eruption that greets his arrival. The building shakes around us, and light fills Jacob’s face again, his dimples emerging as he beams for the fans.

I dare look up, look right into the belly of the beast, and my eyes land on him .

It’s like my gaze is tethered to him. I look right past all those people crowded into the building to a guy waiting outside beside the windows.

His eyes lock on mine, those soft green depths I’ve locked onto in every shitty dive bar in the whole of Seattle.

The sun catches the highlights in his brown hair, rendering the layers feather-light as they fall around his soft face.

Of course he’s here. Our biggest fan wouldn’t miss this for the world.

I drag my gaze down. The fans start coming.

I welcome the onslaught, a helpful distraction.

I can’t think about whatever’s up with Jacob or our number one groupie while I sign dozens of albums and posters.

A few people even ask for selfies, and we stand up over and over to oblige.

Luckily, most of that latter request goes toward Jacob and not me, but sitting next to him, I occasionally get roped in as well.

Still, I can’t really complain. Less than a year ago, we could hardly dream of a fanbase this large and enthusiastic.

The fans keep coming and coming, all of them breathless with excitement.

It’s surreal. These people all like our music this much.

Not that long ago we played in rooms that couldn’t have accommodated half this crowd.

Then someone comes bouncing, literally bouncing, toward me. I sit up straighter, blinking at the green eyes locked onto mine.

He’s more attractive up close.

I never would have noticed the artful way his hair spills around him from on a stage in a dark, crummy bar.

He wears such a subtle hint of makeup that I only notice it because I’ve had so much makeup forced on me for performances and photos.

It highlights his eyes and adds the faintest slick shimmer to his lips.

My throat goes dry as he approaches, holding up a T-shirt.

“Wow, hi, um, would you sign this?” he says, sliding the T-shirt in front of me.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and pick up a sharpie.

The shirt shows all five of us. It’s the photo they took for the tour we went on with The Ten Hours.

Of course. This guy had to be at one of those tour stops, probably more than one, but unlike in a dive bar, I couldn’t look out over those massive crowds and pick him out.

If Jacob is the most kind and loyal person I’ve ever met, this guy is a close second.

He’s gone to damn near every one of our shows, even when we were nothing, even when we got paid in crappy beer, even when our equipment sucked and frequently failed on us.

He was always there, standing in the back, watching me with those green eyes like moss softly carpeting a forest floor.

If I was capable of trusting anyone ever again, he’d be a good candidate.

Unfortunately, three cheating boyfriends were enough to harden my heart against making that kind of mistake.

Even a guy like this, a guy who’s utterly obsessed with my every breath, would probably hurt and betray me eventually.

He’s just a crazy fan, after all, and eventually he’d move on to something shinier and newer.

He hasn’t yet, not in all the time I’ve played with Baptism Emperor, but it’s a simple inevitably, the natural order of the world.

The sky is blue; humans betray you. You can hope they won’t all you like, but the end result will always be the same.

Not that any of that matters. This is the closest the guy has ever gotten, the closest he ever will get. He’s just a fan, and I’m famous now, untouchable. The hulking bodyguard at my back would leap in the second this dude even thought of getting closer than the other side of a table.

I add my signature alongside Dan, Levi and Keannen’s, then slide the shirt back toward the guy.

He takes it, his hand brushing against mine.

An accident, surely, but the warmth of someone else’s skin on mine startles me for a moment.

It’s been so long since I’ve been around anyone who isn’t in my own band, let alone taken a chance on a stranger.

Not that I’d ever do that with a fan. Shit, I couldn’t even make it work with normal boyfriends back when I was some anonymous nobody with dreams of playing music.

My life is infinitely more complicated now, which probably means I’d suck at relationships even more than I did back then.

The guy holds up the shirt I signed and blinks at it like he’s fighting back tears at the sight of my name sloppily scrawled on his clothes. His tongue darts out to wet his glossy lips, a motion my eyes should follow far less avidly than they do.

“Thank you,” he says, breathless. “Wow, thank you so much.”

The awe in his voice seems real enough, and when he meets my eyes, his are so clear and bright and earnest, like the green-tinged waters of a mountain lake. I feel like I can see right to the bottom of him, but I push that notion aside.

Just a fan. Just a weird, obsessed fan. None of this is real.

Getting close to a fan is dangerous enough; getting close to this fan is delusional at best. Yet a piece of me wants to reach out for that honest, guileless smile, wants to fall into eyes that lack even a drop of cunning or deceit.

Unfortunately, getting hurt three times by your only three boyfriends apparently doesn’t make you stop yearning for human interaction.

I shake myself. “It’s fine,” I say, voice low, tight. I’m hoping the guy doesn’t notice. People say I tend to sound monotone, which might work in my favor in this moment.

The fan hesitates, staring at me for a beat, his lips parted like he means to say something.

But then he takes a breath, hugging the shirt to his chest and skipping away.

He misses Jacob in the process, not bothering to stop for his signature.

He is truly the only person in this entire building who could possibly look at me that way and then forget our frontman exists at all.

“What was that about?” Jacob mutters.

I fight to keep my face blank. “Dunno,” I say.

I put my head down and get through the rest of the signing, trying my hardest not to think about the guy with the shirt.

I don’t even know his name. How can he be in my thoughts this way?

Maybe it’s the fame, the stress, the constant spotlight shining on me and my band.

My life has changed a lot. I’m riding an incredible high.

It’s not that strange for that to stir up some …

other feelings as well. It’s been a long damn time since anyone pretended to care about me as more than a friend, and I’m not above a little prickle of pleasure when an attractive guy gapes at me the way that one particular fan does.

I set it aside, telling myself it’s just pride, and finish the signing. I leave the table gratefully and return to the greenroom with the others … or almost all the others. After a few minutes, we collectively realize we’re missing someone.

“Hey, where’s Jacob?” Keannen says.

A charged silence sweeps through the greenroom.

“Wasn’t he right behind you, Shawn?” Levi says.

Shit. Was I really so distracted I didn’t even look after my own bandmate?

“He was sitting next to me,” I say. “When I got up to leave I assumed he followed me.”

Guilt stabs into my gut as the band panics around me. A shadow darkens the face of the huge bodyguard, Seth, and then he’s rushing out there, and a commotion erupts. We fly after him to find Seth looking like he’s going to deck the other security guy. Jacob is pale and shivering.

That’s all the information any of us need. We bundle our bandmate away, and don’t leave his side for the rest of the day.

With fame comes obsession. Sometimes it’s a fan, sometimes it’s a bodyguard, but it’s always dangerous. It might feel like love, like care, like something real, but this whole incident serves to slap me back to my senses.

Obsession isn’t love. And it never could be.