Don’t Fall For A Dreamer (Wayward Lane Backstage #3)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

EVERT

I had eight of the world’s biggest rockstars standing in front of me, all them hot as fuck, all of them raunchy to boot, and none of them able to stand still for more than a few seconds at a time. Trying to capture one perfect, evocative moment in time was no easy feat. Certainly not as easy as most people think. Still, this was my dream job, and I never took that for granted.

I’d photographed models, celebrities, musicians, you name it. So much so, that beauty didn’t surprise me anymore. Or cause me anything more than professional interest. Besides, looks only got you so far. Without wit or personality, physical beauty was boring. Don’t get me wrong, of course I noticed attractive men and women. But in my personal life, that was only sex. I didn’t need lots of convo for that. And lately, conversation was rarely happening. I was tired of the hookup scene in Nashville. It was the same bars and clubs, and while it was always a fun time, I was getting restless. For what, I didn’t know.

Fireworks. For that inexplicable connection beyond fucking.

No. That wasn’t happening. My one and only relationship had been just that.

Five years ago I met Zachary Mahler, a feisty photographer, at a fashion week event we were both working. We fell head over heels, and a month later, he moved from New York to live with me in Nashville. Both of us artists, both of us dreamers. And then, almost two years later, Zach was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Six months after that, he was gone. My heart was broken, and my world changed forever. Losing him was something I’d never get over.

But, despite my gut-wrenching loss, life went on.

I shouldn’t complain. I had a great career and friends. No family of my own, though, except for an aunt in Florida that I kept in touch with. My mom had passed a decade ago, and my stepfather never accepted that I was bisexual. Then there was my beloved grandmother, the one who meant everything to me. She’d also passed, a year after my mom. And Zachary’s family? They hadn’t accepted his being gay. In fact, they wanted nothing to do with him or me.

Well, not until recently…

Shaking off my unsettled feelings about the past, I focused on the present. My job. The one thing in my life that saw me through the worst part of grief and got me out of bed every morning.

When I glanced at the snapshots, surveying today’s results, I was pleased with what I saw and hoped the marketing team would feel the same.

“Okay, we’re done for now, guys. Thank you!” I called out.

The bands headed for the change room, accompanied by their bodyguards, a permanent part of their entourage. Wayward Lane and Killmine were so big now that fans mobbed them wherever they went. The world tour would only heighten their insane popularity. And fans were going to lose their minds when they saw these photos. Thank fuck it didn’t take much convincing to get the guys on board with my ideas.

Then I thought about Brodie’s earlier joke and shook my head. As much as the guys loved to tease and flirt, that’s all it was. The Wayward boys were all coupled up. Nate from Killmine was too, with Wayward’s lead roadie, Tommy. The rest of Nate’s band brothers, however, were vehemently single. Otis and Heath, in particular, made it very clear in their flirting with me. Hell, Otis had outright asked for my number. I was flattered by the attention, but not interested. Been there, done that, fucked the rockstars. And being on the road with these guys in no short order meant I wanted to avoid any awkward scenarios. I didn’t mind capturing their antics, but I didn’t want to be in the picture, so to speak.

Besides, I didn’t feel anything more than friendship for these guys. And I preferred to do the chasing rather than being the one chased. At least, when came to the men I fucked. I needed that push and pull. The challenge. And I liked them headstrong and fiery.

Like a stubborn music manager who bosses everyone around?

What? Don’t even go there.

“How long is this going to take?”

My heart kickstarted at the husky sound of Jesse’s voice. Bossy indeed. But then I reasoned my reaction was due to work stress. I’d been at the studio since seven and I had a packed afternoon ahead of me.

“As long as it needs to,” I retorted.

Bailey joined us, and began to fix the lighting.

“Why don’t you take a break, Bai?” I told her. “I can handle this from here.”

Bailey nodded and waved goodbye. I walked to the set, grabbed a metal chair, and placed it in the center, the seat facing backwards.

“Sit, hands resting on your thighs,” I demanded.

Jesse sighed, sauntered over to the middle of the set, and straddled the chair. Jesus, never mind rockstars. Watching Jesse, fully clothed, lowering himself on that chair, his thighs spread wide, was the sexiest thing I’d seen all day. Maybe in weeks. Months.

Fuck, maybe I was the one in need of a break.

“Undo the buttons,” I added.

“What?”

“Loosen up the shirt,” I added. “We work for a music label, remember?”

Jesse grunted, slowly undoing the top three buttons of his shirt to reveal a stunning chest tattoo in the form of a lion’s head, mid-roar, baring his fangs. Appropriate, given how testy he was lately. I wanted to tell him to take his shirt off, hell, the pants too, but I knew exactly how he’d react to that. Not to mention, this was a marketing picture, not one for the art world.

Looking at Jesse now—his posture rigid, his expression tense—I’d never guess he was a former rocker himself. And yes, I knew about Jesse’s former life. I’d seen the pictures, read the articles, and listened to his music. But except for the tattoos, it was difficult for me to imagine him on stage. He was always in business mode and the man rarely smiled or laughed. In fact, the only time I’d seen him do so was in those old pictures.

Smile or not, Jesse had presence, determination, and drive. He knew how to handle wild musicians and over the past year, both Wayward Lane and Killmine’s stardom rose to a level that was only achieved by a lucky few. There was no doubt in my mind that Jesse played a key role in that.

I stalked over to him and pointed to his shirt sleeves.

“Push the sleeves higher.”

Jesse shrugged but relented, revealing strong, veiny forearms covered in dark hair and intricate tatts. I started to sweat under the heat of the lights.

“And move one suspender off your shoulder,” I commanded, my voice suddenly hoarse.

Jesse rolled his eyes, but did as I directed.

“Can’t you just snap my picture already? Why is this turning into a cover shoot?” he bit out. “First the makeup, now this. Ridiculous.”

I ignored his snark and smiled at him.

“Humor me, please, I’m an artist first. And I’m trying to capture the real Jesse Aimes. The man, not the manager.”

“They’re one and the same,” he retorted, his lips curved in a smirk.

A dimple in his right cheek popped out and I couldn’t look away. Jesse was a man you saw once and never forgot. Coming in shy of my five eleven, he had a swagger that would make anyone look twice. Dark chestnut hair buzzed short, a square jawline covered in thick stubble, and big brown eyes framed by deep laugh lines and black-rimmed glasses. Eyes that said more than his words ever could. There was a heaviness in his gaze that I recognized. What was haunting him, I didn’t know. But my curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied until I found out.

“Do you want the glasses off too?” he asked.

“No,” I replied as I checked my camera and adjusted the lens. “They suit you.”

“Of course, they do,” Jesse scoffed. “You can say it, Ev. I know I’m not a handsome man.”

What the fuck? I was too shocked for a moment to say anything. I stared at him and finally found my voice.

“Bullshit,” I snapped. “With or without the glasses, you’re sexy as fuck.”

And there went my professionalism right out the window.

Jesse shook his head. “I’m sure you give that line to everyone you photograph.”

“No, actually, I don’t,” I admitted. Fuck it. I said what I said. “Ask Bailey if you don’t believe me.”

Jesse bit his lower lip, like he wanted to say something. But he held back. I lowered the lighting until I got the mood I was looking for. I wanted all the attention on Jesse’s eyes. A close-up. Then maybe a full body shot. One idea after another came to me. His face was so interesting that I could do a whole hour of photos with him, an entire afternoon, and never get bored.

I held my camera up and zoomed in on his face.

“Move your head slightly to the left, and then look at me.”

Jesse turned his head, but he was still looking away.

“Jesse, look at me,” I repeated.

When he turned his gaze in my direction, I jolted, nearly dropping my most prized piece of equipment. The fuck? That wasn’t like me. I was never nervous when I was working. Stressed, excited, sometimes exasperated, sure, but never nervous. I took a deep breath and looked again.

“Amazing,” I whispered. “Don’t move. Hold it right there.”

There was fire in those eyes. He was annoyed for sure. Jesse didn’t want to be here, but that was fine. Annoyance was good. It made his face come to life. So compelling.

Despite the light application of makeup, the lines and freckles on his face were visible. There was nothing polished or fake about Jesse. I wanted to take some candid shots and see how they compared, but for that, I had to get him talking.

“Tell me about why you left rock music behind,” I stated as I stepped closer, snapping away.

His expression went from irritated to angry in a heartbeat.

“I didn’t leave music behind,” he bit out. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Okay, you gave up performing. Why?”

“You’re as nosy as Brodie,” he muttered and shook his head.

“What?”

I lowered my camera.

“I’ve already been over this with the guys,” Jesse continued. “Between you, me, and your camera, I fell in love with my bandmate, but he didn’t feel the same. It caused a rift. The band broke up, I became a manager, the end.”

None of the guys in Jesse’s band, Ruthless Kane, had been out when they were playing, but there had been plenty of media speculation. That was, what, fifteen years ago? I was working in fashion at the time, but many of my colleagues worked with rockstars and I’d heard the gossip. Not that I believed rumors, or condoned the media’s tactics.

“That still doesn’t explain why you gave up playing. The band, yes. Performing, no.”

“I told you—” he started.

“I know, cari?o, but why?”

He sighed and that haunted gaze was back. I lifted my camera again slowly, clicking once, capturing the pained look on his face. I had no idea why I was pushing him to talk about this. Or recording his expression. It’s not like this was the photo I was going to submit to the marketing team. It was too raw, emotional.

Personal.

“I lost the passion. It was dead. Gone,” he paused. “Haven’t you ever lost something like that before?”

If only he knew.