I stop before running into the stage and am still staring up when I’m caught by the waist. A combination of a squeak and a gasp rushes out of me as I’m pulled behind the curtain. Then someone’s kissing me. Someone so incredibly familiar, the lips and tongue and palm wrapping the front of my neck.

When my eyes flutter open, they meet Foster’s. But with the audio techs just above us in the wing and his name echoing through the arena, he’s Adams North right now too.

“What are you doing back here?” I drape my arms around his neck, fingers twisting in his hair.

“What I do before every show.”

The last time I found myself in the dark with him by the stage pops into my mind. And I finally unlock his pre-show ritual. “You’re listening to the crowd.”

“They ground me. Hearing them reminds me they want me out there as much as I fucking want to be.” His hold sinks lower. “What are you doing, director?”

“Setting up for a shot that haunts my dreams.”

Foster cocks a brow. “If it’s me bending you over and fucking you against the stage, then our dreams align.”

“Tempting.” I back away, which breaks his hold. “But staying a dream.”

“For now,” he says.

Following me out, he roughs up the back of his hair and then tracks the light beam to the curtain. “What’s the vision?”

“An old video of the band will be playing when you guys pass in front. Your shadows will cut through, light highlighting your profiles.” I admire the perfect fold on one side of the blank projection.

“You should stay recording after we take the stage and grab the audio of me greeting the crowd.”

My eyes bounce to him, surprised I hadn’t thought of that.

He smirks. “I’m kinda brilliant.” Then he nods to the projector. “You need me to pass a couple times so you can check the angles?”

“Isn’t this disrupting your ritual?” I ask.

His shoulder lifts and falls. “Worst that can happen is I ruin the entire show. And in that case, I’ll just blame you for depriving me of your delectable pussy.”

After dropping a kiss on top of my head, he walks away.

I only need him to cross in front of the beam half a dozen times before I figure out the best place to set the tripod. With the cart holding the projector angled, it should cast their silhouette and catch the video on their faces. If I film with the old video of them playing at 2x, I can slow the entire shot down in post-production, then the band will appear moody, slowly crossing.

“Here.” Foster hands me his phone with a video pulled up. “I don’t know what you planned on using, but this probably beats it.”