Money For Something

17 - All the Pretty Girls

**Ace**

I had never been this revved up for a show in my life.

Never.

Not even close.

Not the first show we'd ever played where people had actually paid to come and see us, not our first show with Van, not the first time we played a stadium, not even the first time we headlined a stadium. Nothing had me going as much as this show did. My heart was pounding, my feet were tapping, and my fingers were twitching.

This wasn't even a Polarstar show, it was a charity gig with a bunch of other bands, some of whom were far more famous than us. Even my healthily confident professional ego had to admit that. It didn't matter though, because Willow wasn't there to see the other bands, she was there to see me. And kiss me. And to show the world – at least my corner of it – that she was with me.

My wife.

My fake wife, although all the paperwork was perfectly legal. Somehow though, after our kiss things didn't feel quite so fake anymore. I was eagerly looking forward to taking things beyond a kiss but not yet. Not backstage after a show.

If I left things up to my dick, I would step off stage, throw Willow over my shoulder, and find a dark corner to do as many dirty things to her as I could think of in a short space of time. The part of me not controlled by my knob was determined not to let that happen. In the past I'd had plenty of dirty fun backstage but my first time with Willow was not going to be a repeat of some of my more adventurous antics.

I'd even taken her on that promised date. Fine, I arranged for us to have a car to ourselves on the way to the show and we found a drive-thru Starbucks. It felt like an American kind of thing to do. I wanted her to know that I appreciate her culture. She gave me a dead arm after I told her that . . . but not before she ordered a Frappuccino.

It was our first date. We may have already been out for dinner and drinks, had a wedding and a honeymoon but that was all spontaneous. My drive-thru romancing was our first planned date. I picked a special playlist and everything. I was some smooth operator. She'd laughed at me and told me it was a ridiculous date. But then she'd kissed me so I didn't think I'd done too badly.

Slouching on a couch in our backstage dressing room I was trying not to vomit as I watched Josh smooch with his current model du jour. She was flicking her hair and tittering like an imbecile as she sipped wine through a straw. Once, after an evening spent with Josh and one of his models, I'd tried the straw thing out of curiosity. Zero out of ten, do not recommend. It's a great way to make even truly excellent wine taste like shit.

Let me tell you, the wine that finds its way backstage at one of our shows is good, but excellent it's not. Using a straw to drink it would be like sucking petrol straight from the bowser. It was a huge relief to find that although Willow carried a tidy little reusable straw with her in her handbag, she only produced it to use in appropriate beverages. Like fruity cocktails.

Unlike Josh's succubus, who'd latched on and wouldn't move out of eye fucking distance, Willow was with Lucy, Kim and Amelie. When we arrived at the venue and the band was dragged off to do press and a quick soundcheck, the girls disappeared.

As much as I'd have loved for her to be sat beside me gazing at me in adoration, it was a relief that she got on well the other girls. I wanted her to be friends with the girls, even if they did piss me off sometimes. It would be lonely for her to just have me to rely on.

I loved that she was making friends and I loved that she didn't feel the need to hang off my arm, one eye on the door, watching for someone more famous than me to walk in. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely wanted Willow hanging off my arm, but not like Josh's date was doing. As a rung on her ladder to the next, more famous man.