Sometime in the moments between the start of rehearsal and the afterparty, the sassy, gorgeous, shit-talking angel who'd saved my sorry life had been body-snatched and replaced with a closed-off skeptic who acted as suspicious as a scalded cat.

"You really don't want anything to eat?" I asked again, for what felt like the millionth time.

"I'm fine," she said shortly. Her arms were folded across her chest protectively, but I saw the way she looked longingly at the food on my plate. She was clearly hungry, but she didn't want to eat.

Made no sense.

"So yeah," I sighed, looking around for a way out. Already I was regretting going out and getting her. "This is the afterparty then, yeah?" My first instinct, the one that wanted to see if she might press those tits of hers against my chest again, had obviously been wildly off. "Good way to kick back, this." She was just...looking at me. Clearly I was a pretty shitty judge of womanly character, but then again I already knew this. "Um, you having fun?"

She blinked those incredible eyes of her, slowly and full of contempt. I felt like the worst sort of bumbling British stereotype. All I needed to do now was start stammering apologies. Hugh Grant in Four Weddings and a Funeral had nothing on me.

"Sure," she said tightly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of reprieve. "Oy mate!" I called, grabbing the startled looking Jonah King by the upper arm. "Come meet Reese Bailey. Reese, this is Jonah, the poor bloke who has the sorry distinction of opening for us this leg of the tour."

"I know who Jonah King is," Reese said, like I'd insulted her by possibly suggesting otherwise.

I blinked at her. Luckily Jonah, skilled with years of Hollywood schmoozing under his belt, recovered admirably. "Nice to meet you Reese," Jonah said, extending his hand. "I saw your quick work with the spotlight earlier today. Those were some fast reflexes."

Reese smiled, a wide, genuine smile that I suddenly hated Jonah for being able to produce in her. "Instinct," she said, letting him take her hand.

"Who taught you how to tackle like that?" he wondered.

"My dad and uncle," she replied. "They didn't go easy on me for being a girl, either."

"Clearly." Jonah grinned at her and his eyes did this little flick down and up again, that I really didn't like.

"So you watched his show, eh?" I butted in, maybe sort of stepping in front of Jonah a little bit. "Fan of his teenybopper years?" Call me an arse but it seemed rather urgent that she be reminded of Jonah King's high pitched, falsetto harmonies on that candy-colored sitcom with the rest of his androgynous brothers.

"I didn't have cable," Reese snapped. She looked at Jonah with a proud little lift of her chin. "So no, I might be the only girl my age who wasn't a fan. Sorry."

"No skin off my back," Jonah shrugged. "We're trying to put those years behind us anyway." He glanced at me and whatever it was he saw in my eyes made him wrap up quickly. "So yeah, uh, nice meeting you Reese. Glad to have a quick-thinking girl with your tackling skills on the crew."

"Not as glad as I am, mate," I reminded him. It was my life she'd saved, after all. And for some reason that made me feel pretty bloody possessive. Like I needed to keep her around for a good luck charm or something.

"So you met Jonah, then," I said. She watched my brush my hand down her arm, but didn't move it away. "Who else do you still need to get to know?"

"I'm good," she said, and then her eyes widened. "Wait..."

"Yeah?"

"Is that?" She was watching the new tech that had come on for the first few tour dates like he was the second coming of Elvis. I was used to seeing star struck fans, but never about the crew. "Is that... Nails?"

"Nails Nesbit?" I gestured to the grizzled old roadie who was snarfing up the clams casino like some kind of human vacuum cleaner. "Yeah, you know who he is?"

"Course I do. He's a legend."

I grinned. "He married the musician he ran tech for, you know."

"Course I know. Annie Blue." She sighed for a moment, looking dreamy. "I wish I'd been able to see her when she was on her last tour. I wonder if she's ever going to do another one."

I felt an odd wash of pride to be able to press my hand to hers and say, "well why don't you go ask him? Our manager snagged him for the first two weeks of the tour to tech for me, just until we get someone permanent trained up. He's supposed to be the best in the business."

"He is," she said, still watching him with star struck eyes. "He's one of the greatest roadies ever."

I couldn't keep the amused note out of my voice. "You keep up with roadie lore?"

She nodded, narrowing her eyes. "Yeah. Enough to know he doesn't look good right now."

Bloody hell, she was right. "Hey Nails?" I called.

The bearded behemoth looked up. He was definitely green around the gills.

"You okay?" I asked.

He set down his plate and pressed a massive hand to his gut. "Stomach," he grunted. "Clams." And then spun on his heel and puked a perfect arc into the waiting trash can.

"Oy!" Jules shouted, rearing back.

"Clams are off!" Ewan bellowed over the sounds of grossed out groaning.

"Oy, somebody get Nails to the medic?" I pleaded, but no one was making a move to him. Aggravated, I moved to help my fallen tech, who had slumped to lean against the wall. "Reese, would you mind calling for the medic, darling?" I called behind me.

There was no answer. I turned to her, but she had disappeared.