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"Hey, that doesn't mean I'm agreeing that being a rock star and being an accountant are the same thing," I said playfully.

"Yeah they might be different, but we all want the same thing, no matter how we go about it," he said before his tone became serious again. "Whether you're a rock star or an accountant, some people are fueled by a drive to experience more pleasure. Others are just trying to avoid pain. But we all do it for the same reason: to feel good."

"I never thought about it that way," I said, pondering the implications. "Then which one fuels you?"

He took a long drag. "Pain," he said quietly. He turned to me and held up the joint, his onyx eyes focused on the burning end. "That’s what this is for."

I couldn’t help but stare at the joint’s simmering orange tip reflected in his haunted eyes. As magnetic as his charm was, his pain was just as palpable. Overwhelmed with empathy, my own painful past tried resurfacing in my mind, and I struggled to push it back down into its dark, hidden corner. I could tell that he was also hiding his own personal issues, no doubt fighting against them just like I had to fight against my own.

I reached out, plucked the joint from his hand, and brought it to my lips. He watched me as I inhaled, held in the warm smoke for a second, and then exhaled. Neither of us said anything, but then again, there was nothing else to say.

We passed the joint back and forth in silence, smoking it down to a burnt nub while we watched the sun sink behind the mountains, casting a long shadow all the way across the sundeck.

Chapter Twelve

PYROTECHNICS

As soon as we finished the joint, Jax said he needed his usual uninterrupted alone time to mentally prepare himself for the show, and he left to get ready. I stayed up on the sundeck for a little while finishing the drink he made me and reveling in my first-time high. I felt so mellowed out, enjoying the gorgeous evening as a radiant purple and orange sunset disappeared behind the city’s skyline.

After sharing that connection with Jax, I was even more confused about him than I was when I woke up in his bed. I had to admit that he was giving me plenty of reasons to not only trust him, but also fall for him, and yet I still worried that I’d only end up getting used if I gave in to his seductive charms.

Once we were outside the venue, I flashed my credentials to security and headed inside. The crowd’s buzz was escalating as rapidly as I was sobering up. Having caught up on most of my work during the day, I had a bit more leisure time to enjoy the show.

As I was about to peek out from behind the red crushed velvet curtain to look at the crowded auditorium, a soft tap on my shoulder surprised me. "Excuse me."

I spun around and saw a squat bald man in a white button-up shirt and black tie with shiny badge on his chest. "Yes?"

He cleared his throat. "Sorry to bother you, but are you Riley Hewitt?"

I froze, the thought of weed raced through my mind before I remembered that it was legal in Colorado. "Yes, that’s me."

"Hi, I’m Jim Rairden, Denver County Fire Marshal, nice to meet you," he said holding out his hand. "I was told by your pyrotechnician that you’re in charge of all band expenditures."

"Yes, I am," I said as I shook his hand. "Can I help you with something?"

"Well, I was just inspecting the pyrotechnics for tonight’s show and it looks like you’re going to have to sign up for an additional ballistics policy. I’m afraid it’s gonna run upwards of ten thousand dollars to cover the deductible."

"Ten thousand?" I inhaled sharply. Holy shit! Even with the cuts Jax agreed to, we didn’t have an extra ten thousand dollars just lying around. "Wait a second, all the proper permits have been acquired. Plus, according to the pricing table I was reviewing earlier, none of the permits are priced at anything more than a few hundred dollars."

The Fire Marshal flipped through a stack of papers on a clipboard. "This isn’t about permits. It’s about insurance for the ‘Monster Inferno Fountain.’ That’s still classified as an experimental pyro device and it requires a special ballistics policy."

I eyed him skeptically. We didn’t have to deal with a Fire Marshal in Chicago, and this guy was pitching some expensive stuff. I wasn’t sure exactly which one was the "Monster Inferno Fountain," but I was sure that the band wasn’t introducing any new devices for this show.

I raised an eyebrow and said, "We have an insurance policy and we just used this in Chicago the other day."

"Unfortunately, a similar device caused a tragic high-profile incident here in Denver recently," he said somberly. "In response, the city council passed a strict fire safety ordinance to ensure that bands have the proper amount of fire insurance liability to cover pyro displays of that magnitude. And your policy doesn’t quite cover the full liability for that particular pyro."

Great, just great. Jax had just told me that he didn’t want any interruptions while he prepped for tonight’s show. I checked my watch. We’d be cutting it super close even if I ran and asked him, which meant I had to make a decision. Since Jax had already agreed to trim some of the pyro, what was one more? He might not like the move, but we really didn’t have the cash to cover this expensive policy. And after all, this was a music concert not a fireworks display.

I crossed my arms and said firmly, "That’s okay, we’ll cut it and not get the insurance."

"Alright, please inform your pyrotechnician then. Have a good evening and enjoy your stay here in Denver." He shook my hand, smiled, and walked away.

I exhaled, realizing it was a good thing I handled this issue. We really dodged a bullet. I could only imagine what would happen if he had talked to one of the other band members. Chances are Chewie would’ve ended up buying ghost insurance on top of the ballistics policy.

I found and informed the pyrotechnician about the Inferno Fountain getting cut, and then I went back to the sidestage. I was actually eager to see the performance today. Things between Jax and me had progressed from adversarial to friendly since the last show, so I didn’t feel the need to avoid him by hiding in a maintenance room. Even though there weren’t any seats around, standing sure beat sitting on a propane tank.

Once again, I peeked out to get a good look at the crowd. The people were now packed in tight, and the crowd’s size was more impressive than the one in Chicago. I immediately noticed that the majority of them were women. No big surprise there. Scanning the faces of the raver girls dressed in pure neon, the staid bespectacled librarians, the bubbly and tanned sorority sisters, and the businesswomen still wearing work clothes, I wondered with annoyance which one Jax might bring on stage in order to give her a mind-blowing, aural orgasm.

The thought of Jax making women orgasm caused me to unexpectedly relive the passionate kiss I’d had with him. The thought that I’d have to give him another one after this show sent goosebumps across my skin. It was getting frustrating—thinking about him, having these feelings for him. I had to constantly remind myself of the professional as well as emotional risks involved with sleeping with Jax. But my god, would it finally ease the near-constant ache between my thighs since I’d started the tour.

A palpable intensity filled the room. Every person in the auditorium was fully attuned to the stage, all of them in fervent anticipation to see the Hitchcocks. To see Jax. And I couldn’t blame them. When I checked earlier today, the band’s album had already crashed into the top twenty reaching number nineteen. The Hitchcocks were rising stars with Jax at the center.