Play Mine: Rockstar Romantic Suspense (Brooklyn Dawn Book 3)

reaction. Then again, I couldn’t exactly blame him. I lived with that jaw-clenching frustration daily. Didn’t stop me from wanting to throat-punch him.
I’d had relationships, some longer, some shorter. But hell, if I’d ever been as possessive as I was of this woman. And I didn’t know how to throttle back.
She was all smiles. Petite where the rest of the ladies in our band were Amazonian. She was the kind of beautiful that made a man want to take care of her. I knew she was fully capable of handing a man his nuts—I’d even witnessed it a time or two when a few men got too familiar around her in the autograph lines.
I scrubbed my fingers down my bunched triceps and tried to find some semblance of calm. Then Noah came forward with his ever-present clipboard. Lila spent her life consulting her iPad, and Noah was old school annoyed with a perpetual checklist.
Both of them lived to ride herd on us. Granted, this situation required a lot of patience and scrutiny of the most minute details.
Not so rock and roll.
At least Lila did what was required with cool professionalism. Noah was furrowed brows and derision. I didn’t even know why he was still on the team. He could have handed off this job months ago.
Not that walking away was his style. No matter what.
I’d had no other choice.
Eventually, I’d been able to box most of my baggage into the corners of my brain. Shadowy places where I dumped all the night terrors and blood and screams wrapped in the echoes of gunfire.
Compartmentalizing all of it allowed me to live an almost normal life—at least once I was finally out of it. Even if there were those who saw me as a deserter, I hadn’t broken free only for myself.
No matter what Noah probably thought.
I’d assumed he would be a lifer, but an injury had put him off the team. From what I’d been able to gather from a few old teammates who still spoke to me, Noah had just traded one classified life for another firewall-layered one working for Roth Securities. His specialty was high-end targets who needed protection or jobs that made use of Noah’s sharpshooter talents.
Or his ability to uncover who was stalking members of a record label.
It was hard to believe that Ripper Records could require so much of Noah’s time or that he didn’t have other more higher profile clients. Then again, Donovan shelled out big bucks to keep us safe. For good reason. We brought in big money.
And the threat against us was apparently just as big. Big risks. Big stakes.
Big fucking everything.
When it was my turn, I did my thing with the autograph seekers, smiling, giving hugs, and signing whatever I was presented with, whether it was CDs, flyers, or T-shirts. One particularly zealous fan yanked up her denim miniskirt and presented her inner thigh to me, dangerously close to her lime green thong. I tried not to look—or touch too much of her skin—as I scrawled my name where she indicated.
“Now add your sticks.”
“My sticks?” I glanced up at her through the dark hair hanging in my eyes. It was cut short in back as always, but that one longer piece on top was my “touch of rockstar” as Teag liked to call it.
Speaking of her, where was she? A quick look around did nothing to answer that question. This part of the venue was packed, and the line of fans snaked down the adjacent hallway. Big hulking security guys and shrewd-eyed women loomed in each doorway and clustered in every corner, not letting anyone get away with anything.
Except maybe this slinky brunette leaning forward to whisper in my ear.
“I love looking at your sticks. I’d love to see another one too.” She reached forward to cup my cock and my reflexes must’ve been a hair too slow because she got there before I could stop her. A fast squeeze and she grinned at me, tugging her skirt that much higher as if she expected me to service her right there in the line.
“Think you’re good.” I handed her back the marker and resisted the urge to adjust myself behind my zipper. Her talon-like nails had possibly taken off some flesh. “Enjoy the show.”
“Aww, no backstage pass? I’ll do anything to get one.” She licked her glossy lips. “Anything at all.”
“Sorry, we’re all out.” In reality, I didn’t know the last time I’d invited a woman backstage. Even this one’s enormous breasts half hanging out of her lace-up halter top didn’t merit more than a glance.
Been there, done that. I wanted something else now.
My gaze connected with Teagan’s over the fan’s shoulder for one brief humming moment before said fan decided to end our interaction with a kiss—on the mouth, with tongue.
I was nudging her and her greedy tongue back just as club security reached her. “No touching,” the female bodyguard barked while the male bodyguard at her side sent me a wink and melted back into the crowd.
Because hey, of course I liked it, right? I was a dude. If someone grabbed my cock and forced me to kiss her, naturally, I had to want just that. Even if I didn’t.
I searched for Teagan again and realized she was in the same spot, surrounded by her own clutch of fans. Her expression clearly said she’d seen everything, except she probably thought I was going to do the show with that chick’s number in my phone.
“Fuck,” I muttered as Teagan aimed a bright smile at some dude beside her, effectively blocking me out.
I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth and forced myself to grin as the next fan approached, her eyes hopeful and her hands shaking around the CD she held. “Hey there, darlin’, what do you have me to sign?”
Hopefully, not herself.
Before she could reply, the flash of vivid red hair disappearing into the crowd made me swallow a groan. Perfect timing for me to being going home