“Thanks. That was…surreal.”
Her brown eyes brightened even further as she waited for my response. None came to mind that wouldn’t jeopardize more than I already had, so I carefully chose my next words. “Same time tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
I’d already turned away, so I didn’t see her glare, but I felt it. I wasn’t the least bit sorry, either. If she knew better, she would be thanking me right now instead of thinking of ways to murder me.
This dynamic we set was better for her too.I’d been looking at this whole thing all wrong. I’d envisioned myself alone on the road with Houston, Loren, and Jericho—a recurring plot in all my nightmares. I didn’t consider the ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine people who would be tagging along.
It was the morning after our third show. Ten black sleeper buses were waiting for us in San Jose, where we’d spent the night in a hotel. The crew was busy loading them with our bags and equipment too precious for the one hundred and twenty cargo trucks carrying our stage, screens, lights, and speakers from venue to venue.
Xavier had been kind enough to explain that we were leapfrogging it. We had two identical stages and two teams. While we performed in one city, one of those teams would be setting up in the next.
I shuddered to think of how much this all cost. It was nothing compared to the revenue Bound generated. Their last tour had brought in over three hundred million.
“You look like someone just told you you’re a lamb, and we’re the wolves come to devour you,” Loren greeted me. His hair was perfectly coiffed despite the early hour and his wardrobe impeccable. I had a witty retort in mind, but then he lifted a Starbucks coffee cup with my name scrawled on the side. “For you.”
I eagerly accepted it with hearts in my eyes and immediately took a sip, surprised to find that it was not only black—he’d remembered—but that it was piping hot. “I’m surprised,” I said instead of a thank-you. Loren seemed like the type to take a mile if I gave him an inch. “I didn’t know you made coffee runs.”
“That’s because I don’t. Rich does, apparently. I snagged yours when he wasn’t looking. Thought I’d take the credit.”
Figures.
I glared at Loren over the top of my cup, and he beamed at me in return. He was an ass, but man, he was gorgeous. It was hard to ignore when he flaunted it so shamelessly. As strong as this coffee was, the phantom taste of cherries easily overpowered it, so I started for the bus that I caught my bags being loaded onto moments ago. Two steps in, I felt someone following, so I peeked over my shoulder.
Loren was hot on my heels.
He was engrossed in his phone as he walked, so sure that water would part for him that he wasn’t at all worried about bumping into someone or something.
Climbing the steps onto the bus, I stopped when I came to a barrier separating the living area from the helm. It was a floor-to-ceiling glass door with blackout tint that slid open with the push of a button.
“Mi casa es su casa,” Loren said after reaching past me to push the button on the wall next to the door.
I wasn’t sure what I expected, but I knew this wasn’t it. Living on a bus for several months didn’t exactly sound like a day spa, but this was close to it. This bus was decked out better than my crappy apartment.
Upon entering, I was standing in a living room with a U-shaped sectional that could easily sleep three grown men comfortably. Hanging above the brown couch was a painting of what I guessed was downtown Portland near the riverfront. Directly across was a sixty-inch flat-screen built into the wall. A black rug even covered the wooden floor spanning most of the living room. It looked so plush that I fought the urge to lie across it. I bet I could sleep there all night and not feel a thing in the morning.
Next to the space was a kitchenette complete with a stove, microwave, sink, dishwasher, and…was that a goddamn full-sized fridge? I gaped at it, forgetting that I wasn’t alone.
Yup.
These boys had it made in the shade.
When I ventured deeper, I even found a little nook built into the bus’s side, between the sectional and the refrigerator, that could seat four people on the booth-like seats.
This might not be the nightmare I imagined.
The moment the thought entered my mind, the door in front of me slid open, revealing the rest of the bus and an angry-looking Houston. He wore a clean white T-shirt and dark-blue sweats as if he were relaxing at home. I guess, in a way, he was. This was only new to me.