might even get my pass taken from me for stalking one of the stars.
Think of Will. I walked up the steps and raised my hand to knock. Dang: I couldn’t do it. I turned and hurried back down the stairs.
Stop it, Angel! You’re no coward. Get it over with.
I put my hand on the rail, towing my reluctant body back up the steps.
‘Hey, honey: got a problem?’
I swung around and found myself face to face with Kurt Voss, lead singer of Gifted. Lanky limbed, shock of black hair, piercing green eyes, in his early thirties, he was Zeus in the rock god Pantheon. I opened my mouth but nothing came out except a squeak.
Smiling, his eyes dipped to my pass. ‘Angel—real name or nickname?’
‘Real,’ I whispered. Inside, fangirl Angel was screaming and begging for him to sign her festival programme, T-shirt, skin—anything.
‘You want to see my man, Marcus?’
Come on, Angel: get your act together. I could bypass Marcus entirely if I could make friends with Kurt.
‘I was trying to pluck up the courage,’ I admitted, giving him what I hoped was my best gamine grin. Summer swore my dimples were my true ‘access all areas’ card. I leaned forward and lowered my voice. ‘I don’t think he’s that impressed by me.’
‘You sure about that?’
I nodded. ‘I think he thinks I’m … ’ I frowned, trying to put myself in Marcus’ shoes, ‘lightweight.’
Kurt chuckled. ‘You may be right. Marcus is far too intense for a guy who’s only seventeen. I wasn’t half as serious at his age. I tell him to lighten up all the time but he’s got this mission, you know?’ He grabbed my hand—Stop press! Kurt Voss was holding my hand!!!!—and towed me up the steps. ‘Let’s go see him together.’
I pulled back, thinking how I’d probably never wash that hand again. ‘Oh, but I don’t want to interrupt.’
‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world, darlin’.’ He rapped on the door. ‘Hey, Marcus, get your ass in gear. You’ve visitors.’
The door flew open and Marcus appeared in the doorway clad only in jeans. If my jaw hadn’t already been on the floor since Kurt took my hand, it would have fallen there. Oh boy. My day was getting better and better.
‘Kurt! You just got in?’
‘Yeah. Made good time from Hamburg.’
Marcus then realized I was standing next to Kurt. ‘What’s she doing here?’
‘That’s no way to talk about a guest.’ Kurt muscled his way into the Winnebago, tugging me along with him. The place was dim, curtains still pulled. It smelt of a guy’s deodorant and toast. A guitar leaned against the bench sofa, a scattering of paper with musical notations on the table. ‘I found her trying to screw up the courage to approach the lion in his den and, being a noble kind of guy, thought I’d give her a helping hand.’
In the middle of pulling a T-shirt over his head, Marcus’s blue eyes snapped to me. ‘You were coming to see me?’
I shrugged, feeling about a centimetre tall. ‘I guess I was.’
‘I could do with coffee. Got any on the go?’ asked Kurt, rifling his way through the sheets of music.
Marcus’ gaze now shot to his work-in-progress. Kurt scanned the title and lyrics and grinned. ‘Had a new inspiration, Marcus?’
‘It’s not finished yet.’ Marcus tugged the paper out of Kurt’s fingers and shoved it in his guitar case. Lid closed and locked, he seemed to breathe more easily. ‘I’ll get you that coffee.’ He paused, shoulders rigid, then turned to me with his movements screaming reluctance. ‘You want something?’
As grudging as the offer was, I couldn’t refuse as it was the excuse I needed to hang out with them. ‘Coffee would be great.’
‘How do you take it?’
‘White, no sugar.’
Kurt opened the curtains and cracked open one of the windows to let some fresh air into the place. The sounds of the festival rumbled like thunder in the distance. I perched on the sofa, smoothing the fabric of my skirt flat on my thighs.
‘So, Angel,
Think of Will. I walked up the steps and raised my hand to knock. Dang: I couldn’t do it. I turned and hurried back down the stairs.
Stop it, Angel! You’re no coward. Get it over with.
I put my hand on the rail, towing my reluctant body back up the steps.
‘Hey, honey: got a problem?’
I swung around and found myself face to face with Kurt Voss, lead singer of Gifted. Lanky limbed, shock of black hair, piercing green eyes, in his early thirties, he was Zeus in the rock god Pantheon. I opened my mouth but nothing came out except a squeak.
Smiling, his eyes dipped to my pass. ‘Angel—real name or nickname?’
‘Real,’ I whispered. Inside, fangirl Angel was screaming and begging for him to sign her festival programme, T-shirt, skin—anything.
‘You want to see my man, Marcus?’
Come on, Angel: get your act together. I could bypass Marcus entirely if I could make friends with Kurt.
‘I was trying to pluck up the courage,’ I admitted, giving him what I hoped was my best gamine grin. Summer swore my dimples were my true ‘access all areas’ card. I leaned forward and lowered my voice. ‘I don’t think he’s that impressed by me.’
‘You sure about that?’
I nodded. ‘I think he thinks I’m … ’ I frowned, trying to put myself in Marcus’ shoes, ‘lightweight.’
Kurt chuckled. ‘You may be right. Marcus is far too intense for a guy who’s only seventeen. I wasn’t half as serious at his age. I tell him to lighten up all the time but he’s got this mission, you know?’ He grabbed my hand—Stop press! Kurt Voss was holding my hand!!!!—and towed me up the steps. ‘Let’s go see him together.’
I pulled back, thinking how I’d probably never wash that hand again. ‘Oh, but I don’t want to interrupt.’
‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world, darlin’.’ He rapped on the door. ‘Hey, Marcus, get your ass in gear. You’ve visitors.’
The door flew open and Marcus appeared in the doorway clad only in jeans. If my jaw hadn’t already been on the floor since Kurt took my hand, it would have fallen there. Oh boy. My day was getting better and better.
‘Kurt! You just got in?’
‘Yeah. Made good time from Hamburg.’
Marcus then realized I was standing next to Kurt. ‘What’s she doing here?’
‘That’s no way to talk about a guest.’ Kurt muscled his way into the Winnebago, tugging me along with him. The place was dim, curtains still pulled. It smelt of a guy’s deodorant and toast. A guitar leaned against the bench sofa, a scattering of paper with musical notations on the table. ‘I found her trying to screw up the courage to approach the lion in his den and, being a noble kind of guy, thought I’d give her a helping hand.’
In the middle of pulling a T-shirt over his head, Marcus’s blue eyes snapped to me. ‘You were coming to see me?’
I shrugged, feeling about a centimetre tall. ‘I guess I was.’
‘I could do with coffee. Got any on the go?’ asked Kurt, rifling his way through the sheets of music.
Marcus’ gaze now shot to his work-in-progress. Kurt scanned the title and lyrics and grinned. ‘Had a new inspiration, Marcus?’
‘It’s not finished yet.’ Marcus tugged the paper out of Kurt’s fingers and shoved it in his guitar case. Lid closed and locked, he seemed to breathe more easily. ‘I’ll get you that coffee.’ He paused, shoulders rigid, then turned to me with his movements screaming reluctance. ‘You want something?’
As grudging as the offer was, I couldn’t refuse as it was the excuse I needed to hang out with them. ‘Coffee would be great.’
‘How do you take it?’
‘White, no sugar.’
Kurt opened the curtains and cracked open one of the windows to let some fresh air into the place. The sounds of the festival rumbled like thunder in the distance. I perched on the sofa, smoothing the fabric of my skirt flat on my thighs.
‘So, Angel,
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