I felt so out of place it wasn’t funny. It was like being a shined-up turd parading around a bunch of diamonds. I felt each and every stare pierce my skin, that person’s way of telling me I didn’t belong.

“Baby, stop fidgeting,” Garrett whispered in my ear while more camera flashes went off around us, nearly blinding me. “You look beautiful. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

That was easy for him to say. He and the rest of the guys had shown up in their standard uniform of T-shirts and worn jeans, and no one thought the better of it because they were the celebrities. They could do whatever the hell they wanted and no one would bat an eye.

Meanwhile, I was the girl walking down a red carpet in a gown from Nordstrom Rack because I couldn’t bring myself to use Garrett’s black Amex card when he handed it over and told me to buy myself something nice. I felt like I was taking advantage, spending his money, so I took Corrine and charged my own card for a dress that I couldn’t really afford but still wasn’t good enough for the likes of the people surrounding me.

People with mics screamed for Garrett and the other guys, everyone asking questions that blended together in a sea of shouted words I could barely understand. They asked about an upcoming album, who I was, if I was his girlfriend or just someone he brought for the night.

It was all so intrusive and so overwhelming. I had no clue how the four of them handled it, but they did. They answered questions, posed for pictures, and moved down the carpet wherever their “handler” led with ease. I tried my best to keep the smile pasted on my face, not to flinch or wince at all the bright lights or get star-struck with all the A-listers surrounding me, but damn it was hard.

Garrett would occasionally have to leave my side for a photo op or an interview. That was the worst. The handler would push me to the background without so much as a word, and I’d be all alone in a sea of people. I didn’t know where to stand to stay out of the shot. I didn’t know how to stand. You know that person with a camera shoved in their face who doesn’t know what to do with their hands so they lift and point and flail them around awkwardly? Yeah, I was totally that person. Except it wasn’t just my hands—it was my entire freaking body.

Garrett finished with another quickie interview and moved back to me, placing his hand on the small of my back. “Almost there, baby,” he attempted to soothe me. But inside wasn’t much better.

I told myself that I was imagining all the snide looks I was getting from the women we passed, but when one particularly stunning blonde stepped into our path, I knew I wasn’t imagining things.

The rest of the guys kept moving, ushered to their seats by a frantic-looking man in a tuxedo, but Declan shot a nervous look at us over his shoulder. “Well if it isn’t Garrett Wilder,” the blonde purred, blocking our path so she could run one of her fake red talons down the front of Garrett’s shirt. “I’ve missed you. It’s been too long since that night in Vancouver.”

The woman—if she could be called that, seeing as she barely looked legal—seemed vaguely familiar, but in that moment I didn’t care who she was. I just wanted to rip her stupid extensions out and beat her with them.

“Tiffany. Nice to see you again.” I had to hand it to him, he managed to remain cool and aloof even when the chick’s fake tits looked like they were about to burst from her designer gown and smack him in the face. “This is my girlfriend, Gwen.” He looped his arm over my shoulders and pulled me firmly against his side in an attempt to make our relationship clear.

“Gwen, this is Tiffany Monroe.” Son of a bitch! Not the Tiffany Monroe. A part of my soul died right then and there. Tiffany Monroe had been a pop princess back in the day, and had released some of my favorite Top 40 songs. It was such a disappointment to know a person I’d looked up to and admired for most of my teen and adult years was actually a slutty cow. Needless to say, she’d never get another penny from me. She and her Billboard Top 100s could burn in hell.

I faked a smile and extended my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Her wrist was as limp as a dead fish as her face morphed into a Botoxed facsimile of a smile. “Yeah, sure. You want an autograph or something?”

What I really wanted was to smack the bitch, but I didn’t want to embarrass Garrett. “Thanks, but I didn’t bring anything. Maybe next time.”

The hyperactive guy in the tux came scuttling back, giving Tiffany’s arm a tug. She briefly gave him her attention before turning back to Garrett and disregarding me completely. “Well, I’m needed. But it’s been a pleasure, as always.” The way she said it made it obvious that she’d known Garrett in the biblical sense. “Make sure to find me at the after party.”

Garrett’s arm around me tightened as she disappeared into the crowd. Ian appeared moments later to lead us to our seats.

“Vancouver?” I whispered under my breath as we walked.

“Yeah….” Garrett reached back with his free hand and scratched at the base of his neck. “Sorry about that.”

I turned sideways and scooted into our row, finally taking my seat before looking up at him with a genuine grin. “You know you just ruined one of my favorite singers for me, right?”

He grinned mischievously and leaned in. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

A pleasant warmth blanketed me as I hummed happily and rested against his arm as the award ceremony got under way.

Sitting so close to him, feeling his heat surround me, I was able to push everyone else away and pretend it was just us, that we were a normal couple on a date to the movies or something. It was a nice trick that worked wonders until he and the rest of the guys had to leave me to get ready for their performance.

Fortunately, Ian took Garrett’s seat, providing me with company that I knew and liked. When they finally took the stage, I was so in awe of what was happening that I didn’t have time to consider anyone else. Watching Garrett beat the hell out of his kit was something of wonder. I finally got why Civil Corruption was so popular. The music flowed like water, and the guys played together effortlessly. The melody was harder than what I preferred, the lyrics full of anger and need, but the way Declan crooned into the mic, his voice like velvet and sex, I couldn’t help but love it. They weren’t just performing for the crowd—they were owning us. And I loved every second of it.

But I couldn’t take my eyes off Garrett. His face while he pounded at the drums was so full of passion. I’d only seen that look on him when we were making love. Knowing he craved me the same way he craved his music drove my body wild. Corrine and Gina weren’t wrong; the man was a god up on that stage, and I got off on every single second of watching it. I was so absorbed I didn’t even care about feeling out of place in my surroundings.

“Come on,” Ian shouted over the raucous cheers once the guys finished.

“What? Where are we going?”

He stood and reached for my hand. “Garrett wants you backstage. He told me to take you back there once they finished.”

I would have run if I hadn’t had to depend on Ian to lead the way. My need for Garrett after watching him in his element had grown exponentially.

The backstage area was a crush of bodies. People with clipboards barked into their headsets. Men and women in gowns and tuxes milled about, waiting to take the stage, but I only cared about one man.

Ian guided me down a hallway and stopped at a door that was partially open, pushing it the rest of the way and ushering me inside.

“You guys were great!” I shouted excitedly as soon as Ian closed out the din of voices outside the room. “Oh my God! I loved it!”

Declan, Killian, and Mason all laughed as Garrett grabbed my hips and backed me toward the couch against the wall. He sat and pulled me down to straddle his thighs, making my dress ride up my legs slightly.

“Looks like we popped your girl’s cherry,” Mace teased. “Think we can get her off that Top 40 bullshit now?”

I vaguely heard Killian answer, “What I think is that we need to get the fuck outta this room before we see parts of our boy we don’t want to see.”

There was more laughter followed by the sound of the door opening and closing, and a few seconds later Garrett and I were all alone.

“You were magnificent,” I whispered, keeping my gaze locked on his.

“Glad you liked it, baby,” he chuckled.

I watched my fingers as I trailed them through his hair and down his neck. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. I ran my palms across his shoulders and down his arms and noticed a slight tremble in his limbs. I lifted my eyes to his, his pupils taking up most of the grassy green. “You’re shaking.”

His fingers clenched my hips, pulling me harder against him. I could feel his cock thickening behind his fly. “Adrenaline,” he answered gruffly. “I’m always pumped after a performance.”

My smile felt positively wicked as I wriggled off Garrett’s lap and rested on my knees between his spread thighs. “Hmm,” I hummed, suddenly starving for a taste. I toyed with the button of his jeans and gazed up at him through my lashes. “I bet I can think of a way to burn some of that off.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the couch. Those dimples popped out right before he said, “Let’s see what you got.”

I’d never been happier to oblige in my life.