In For Keeps / Under His Touch. Taryn Belle

      Blinding strobe lights. Sweat dripping from his face. Stuart pounding the drums, Scotty beside him on the mic. Lightning ripping from his fingertips on the guitar. The whole scene magnified behind him on a massive screen. And the feverish crowd, the lifeblood of every show, singing every word along with him. This was one of the moments Dev could acknowledge that the dreams of a ten-year-old boy with an air guitar and a bed for a stage had come true. If only they weren’t so few and far between.

      The encore was the one time onstage Dev could actually enjoy himself. During that short golden window between having the worst behind him and the end in sight, he suddenly felt like he could play all night. By all accounts, his first performance of the Up All Night World Tour had gone well. Along with his little helpers, his usual coping mechanisms had worked. He’d launched into his first song, “It All Starts Here,” with his back to the audience, only turning around two choruses in when his hands finally stopped shaking. The wild cheers when the crowd saw his face assured him that his secret was safe; they thought it was all part of the act. After that he’d kept his eyes either on his guitar or on the front row of the crowd, and by the third song he was nearly relaxed enough to give the audience what they wanted: everything. All of him. His very flesh, heart and soul. And though his stomach still churned, he’d done it. Worked the stage, riffed with his bandmates, sung hard. He’d never gotten used to having his every move blown up a thousand times, but when he caught a glimpse of himself onscreen he looked okay. He looked perfectly in control. And now here he was on his last number of the night, “Stand Your Ground,” one of his midcareer chart-topping ballads that always got the audience singing along. As Dev drew out the last, endless note, twenty thousand cell phones glowed back at him. Only then did he allow his eyes to lift to the back of the stadium, where they settled on the reassuring sight of a fully packed house.

      It was over. Relief pulsed through his body as he ran off the stage with his guitar. A waiting roadie took it from him and handed him a bottle of water. He took in the compliments.

      “Great show, man.”

      “You killed it.”

      “They loved you.”

      The voices and the roar of the crowd fell away as he looked into the darkness backstage.

       Where is she?

      Dev’s eyes finally adjusted, and he saw her near the back wall. She was turned away from him in conversation with a crew member, allowing him a perfect view of her beautiful ass. Predictably, his cock jerked in his pants. Dev took two steps toward her—and caught his foot on a cable, sprawling him across the wooden floor. “Goddamn it!”

      His left elbow throbbed dully as two crew members ran over to help him up to his feet. His first reaction was embarrassment, but then the monster was right up in his face. That’s what Xanax does to you, Stone—makes you clumsy. Maybe you should have stuck with one.

      But he’d needed two tonight, and anyway, that was only the paranoia speaking. Someone had forgotten to cap the cable, that was all. It could have happened to anyone.

      “Are you okay?” It was Kiki, looking at him with concern.

      “Just a little bump on my pride,” he replied, though his elbow hurt when he stretched it out.

      “Let’s get you into your dressing room.” Placing a hand on his good arm, Kiki gave him a gentle push toward the door that led backstage.

      The roadies trailed after her. “Should we call a medic?” one of them called.

      “I’ll let you know,” Kiki responded, leading Dev through the door. They crossed the hallway and entered his dressing room. “Sit down. I’m going to roll up your sleeve and take a look.”

      “Look, if you want to undress me, all you have to do is—”

      “No jokes, okay? There might be some swelling happening here.”

      “You’re telling me.”

      Fuck. What was wrong with him? He was acting like a juvenile, and Kiki looked suitably annoyed. But, Jesus, how was she so resistant? “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Dev said. “I’m always a little wingy after a show. I make dumb jokes, say the wrong things.”

      “Why don’t you just stop your spewing so I can take a look?”

      Dev held his arm up obediently. He watched as her pink-tipped nails pushed his sleeve up. She’d worn a similar shade of polish that night, when she’d wrapped her hands around his cock and stroked him until he was ready for round three. And then she’d taken him in her mouth and sucked him until his entire world had tilted on its side.

      Dev saw Kiki’s eyes drop to his pants. There was no hiding it anymore—he was rock hard for her. She licked her lips and met his eyes.