Note:  Most of my stories appear either as stand-alones or in themed anthologies offered by Amber Quill and called an "Amber Pax."  No More Pretend was a wonderfully different experience.  It's part of an anthology called Blue Silver, but it's one in which every story centers around the same series of events, so you get to experience the different points of view of all parties involved, not just one hero and one heroine. 

Plus, I got to work together with fabulous authors Penny Dawn, Megan Hart, Natalie Damshroder, and Ellie Marvel. 

DESCRIPTION

In her teenage days, Marci Anderson was moderately pudgy, borderline geeky, and 100% obsessed with the glam band Blue Silver. She even used to practice kissing on bassist Brad Nix’s poster. So when he said in an interview that “leggy redheads” were his thing, Marci did her best to become one (not easy for a Pennsylvania Dutch girl raised on a steady diet of starches and sweets—whoopie pie, anyone?).

Not that Marci ever really expected to meet or date Brad Nix. Teenage logic, however, told her that if she became what he wanted, then maybe she’d attract a guy like him, and that was close enough. Mr. Close Enough, though, ended up being a struggling musician for whom she skipped class and spent money she didn’t really have.

That was Marci's first dalliance with a rocker, and she intended for it to be her last…until a couple of high school gal pals dreamed up a way for them not just to see the Blue Silver reunion concert, but to meet the boys at their exclusive after-party, too.

Brad Nix, you’re playing my song…

Scientific fact: bladder size is inversely proportional to the amount of alcohol imbibed.

--as determined during Marci Anderson’s first frat party

I’ve noticed something. The more alcohol you drink, the smaller your bladder gets. Now I never took a physics class in college to find out if this theory had any actual merit, but I’d heard about plenty of field tests for it, and all those test subjects seemed pretty conclusive.

So I should not have been surprised when, after four rum runners, my bladder felt like it had become the size of a thimble trying to hold an entire pitcher of liquid.

“I gotta pee,” I said into Faith’s ear as she was talking with Arliss.

“Want me to come with you?”

Arliss glared at me like my bladder’s diminishing capacity was part of a plot to disrupt her evening, rather than a reality of the drinking universe. But, of course, she was Miss Perfect who stopped at only one, so how could she know?

I shook my head. “I’ll be right back. Y’all keep talking.”

I stood and turned to the right. Our seats were front and center, so there was little room to maneuver. I glanced over my right shoulder, and the entire room was wall-to-wall people. The buzz of constant chatter filled the air and clung tightly to a wave of excited energy. If only I could send a picture to the cowboy. “Has-beens,” my ass.

People packed every aisle way, and the line of women waiting to get into the restroom at either side of the concert area spilled out the restroom doors and snaked against the wall.

A small but steady mixture of workers, press, and assorted guests moved back and forth through the gap between the main floor and the backstage entrance, where a gorilla of a man stood guard and checked badges or passes for those going behind the curtain.

Head high, chest out, strut intact, I worked my way toward him.

He made a show of looking me over. “I don’t see a pass.”

I put my arms out and turned around slowly. “Do you see anywhere to put a pass?”

“Can’t let you back here without a pass.”

Show time.

I put on my best totally helpless and doey-eyed expression and leaned up to say softly in his ear, “Look, I need your help. Do you see that line back there?”

I nodded over my right shoulder, and he looked toward the bathroom where over a dozen people now stood. “So?”

“I’m here with a really hot guy, I mean smokin’ hot, and I just stood up, and all of a sudden it hit me.”

He looked blankly at me.

“It,” I said with an emphasis I hoped would speak for itself. “You know, that time of the month.”

Realization dawned, and he took a step back from me like I had ebola or something.

“It’s not contagious, but I can’t wait for that line to go down. I have to take care of it now. Isn’t there a bathroom back here that I could use?”

This situation must not have come up in basic training. I could see his brain going snap-crackle-pop behind his eyes.

I pushed the envelope. “I’ll come right back. I’ll even leave you this necklace as collateral.” I pointed to diamond heart pendant dangling from the silver chain around my neck. The gorilla façade faltered for an instant.

“C’mon, man. You don’t know what it’s like. You just stand up and you feel your body rebel on you.” I leaned in closer and whispered, “I’m not wearing panties. It’s about to get embarrassing.”

Sympathy finally took over. “All right. Corridor on the right. Last door on the left. Don’t do anything stupid, or I’ll have your cute little ass thrown out.”

“Yessir,” I said with my deepest adopted Texas drawl.

He moved aside, and I slipped past him in quick, short steps and pushed my way into the throng of backstage activity. I arrived at the cross-section of hallway. A loud howl to the left grabbed my attention. I whirled around just in time to catch Troy running out of a room on the right. The star on the door said Julian, and he lunged out the door after Troy.

They both disappeared into Troy’s dressing room on the left and the door slammed behind them. I looked down the line of stars until I found Brad’s. There, just twenty feet away, was my teenage fantasy primping and prepping to give me the show of my lifetime.

I turned my head further to the left and surreptitiously glanced back at the gorilla guard. He had accosted a female reporter with a digital camera in her hands. He took the camera from her and pointed at the back display. I didn’t wait for any clearer sign that I was meant for a detour.

My infinitesimal bladder could hold on a little longer while I tiptoed down to Brad’s door and touched the same door handle his own fingers had been wrapped around. When would I ever been this close to the target of my teenage lust and angst again?

I darted down the left corridor and went straight to Brad’s door. Maybe I could smell his cologne if I tried hard enough. I leaned as close to the door as I could and took a deep inhale. Nothing.

I put my ear against the door, but the steady buzz of conversation and movement elsewhere made it impossible to single out anything.

I touched my forehead to the star bearing his name. So close. He was so very close. Yet he might as well be back in England for all the good it did me for him to be just on the other side of the door.

I could hear nothing. I could smell nothing. I could see nothing. Sighing, I turned around and stared at the star on Troy’s door. These guys were really here. This was really happening. I decided to scoot before anyone noticed.

Strong hands slid around my waist and the hot whisper of Brad Nix’s sexy British voice tickled my left ear.

“I can’t believe you’re here, just in time for my warm-up.”

Like what you've read so far?  Order the ebook No More Pretend, or get the whole collection: Blue Silver.