“You’re Micha Scott’s wife, right?” she sneered as the bouncer moved aside to let me through.

Choosing to ignore her, I tucked my identification into my back pocket and headed for the door.

“Excuse me. I’m talking to you.” She reached over the roped area and grabbed my hair. Yes, actually freaking grabbed my hair!

When my head whipped in her direction and my hands balled into fists, she let me go.

“Touch me again, and that face of yours won’t be so pretty anymore.”

The bouncer stepped in then and shoved her back, but she made sure to get in her final words.

“He slept with me, you know!” she cried out as she stumbled back from the rope. “You’re husband. And he fucking loved it. He loves me.”

She was short and curvy with wavy blonde hair and wearing too much eye shadow. So not Micha’s type.

Rolling my eyes, I slipped into the building and let the door slam shut behind me. I was pissed off. Irate. It’s not like I believed her. I know Micha well enough to know he would never cheat on me. Plus, when I was on the road with him in the past, there were a lot of fans that said the same thing, even though I was with him. It’s still a lot to take in sometimes, and there’s a part of me—one I’ll never tell Micha about—that wishes he’d find a way to leave the touring behind and be home with me more.

I love him enough not to say anything, though, not to crush his dream.

Despite all the drama tonight, it was still amazing to see him perform. I sometimes wonder how he does it, how he stands in front of a thousand rowdy fans, so at ease. Well, he used to be, anyway. Tonight, he seemed restless to get off the stage and much less eager than he normally is to sign autographs.

“You’re Micha Scott’s wife, right?” the dark haired, late twenties bartender interrupts my thoughts as she appears in front of me.

I hesitate. If I’ve learned anything over the last couple of years, it is that it’s not necessarily a good thing in the female world to be the wife of a sexy rockstar. Hence, the crazy blonde tonight.

“Relax,” she says as if sensing my edginess. “I swear I’m not some crazy fan. Just making sure you’re not a customer, so I can lock up the bar.”

“Oh.” I nod then swallow the last gulp of beer. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m just waiting for him to…” I flick my hand in the air, searching for a word that would describe what Micha does. Even though I can’t see him right now, I’ve observed enough signings that I can perfectly picture the dazzling smile he offers each person, both male and female.

“Quit charming everyone,” the bartender finishes for me as she collects the empty beer bottle.

“Yeah, I guess that’s kind of what he’s doing.” I thoughtfully smile as I glance over at the stage. All that’s left of tonight’s concert is a piano and two large speakers. A man wearing black pants and a T-shirt is closing the curtain, and the stage slowly slips from my view.

“You can hang around here if you want to,” the bartender says as she pops the cap off another beer and sets the bottle opener down. “I’m sure it gets a little intense being around all those swoony females.”

I raise my eyebrows and laugh. “Yeah, it kind of does.”

She flips one of her dark locks off her shoulders then rests her arms on the counter. “I totally understand. I used to date this drummer, and I got some of the nastiest looks while we were going out. And sometimes, they’d even send me notes.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there, too. In fact, for about two months last year, I kept getting threatening texts from someone who was clearly in love with Micha. We had to change my number, it got so bad. I wish they’d just chill out and focus on his music instead of him.” Usually, I’m not so chatty, but I guess I’m lonelier than I thought.

“I hate to break it to you, but the more popular Micha gets, the worse it’ll probably become,” she says. When I frown, she adds, “Don’t worry. All you have to do is ignore them. And trust your husband, too.” She smiles as she offers me the beer. “Here, this one’s on the house.”

“Thanks.” I oblige, taking the bottle from her, wondering if she’s right. Will things get more intense the more popular Micha gets? If so, things are going to suck balls.

The bartender begins wiping the counters off while I sip on my beer and stare at the television screen. By the time the bartender says good-bye and heads out, telling me the owner of the bar will lock up after all the bands have cleared out, it’s been almost two hours since I sat down.

Mike said Micha would only have to sign for one hour. Then again, Mike usually feeds Micha shit just so he’ll be more cooperative.

I finish my beer, growing more restless with each minute that ticks by. Eventually, I get up from the barstool and wander across the floor and under the balcony of the bar toward the stage. I hoist myself up onto the stairs then roll under the curtain and lie on my back. I briefly stare up at the domed ceiling before I push to my feet and take a seat on the bench in front of the piano. My fingers lightly graze the keys, the off-key noise echoing in the emptiness around me.

It’s not that I’m alone a lot. I have Lila and Ethan at home. My brother Dean and his wife Caroline visit occasionally, and they bring my niece Scarlett, who has so much energy it’s impossible to have enough downtime to focus anything. Plus, when I get really restless, I sometimes fly up to Star Grove and visit my father and his girlfriend.