Unwritten (Woodlands 5)

“Peep,” Davis supplies.

“Peep?” Rudd exclaims from behind my brother. “I was on tour last year with Domestica and used that app every day. It’s the only way I survived that fucking snoozefest. You made that?”

“Me and my best friend May wrote it together,” I admit.

“Two girls while you were in college?” says Rudd. He sounds astounded, although I’m not sure what’s more surprising—that it was two women who wrote code, or that we did it in college.

“Peep? Isn’t that a porn site?” Ian asks.

My cheeks heat up. “We didn’t develop it for that purpose. But, yeah, I think it’s mostly used for amateur porn these days.” The code itself is licensed to a number of different companies, but the app was sold off to a media corporation that later turned around and sold it to an adult film company. Which is why I only ever say that May and I wrote an app, not the specific one we wrote.

“Best app ever.” Rudd muscles by Davis to throw an arm around my shoulder. “Goddamn. I would’ve taken more computer science classes if I knew chicks like you were there.”

“Well, that’s where we were hiding out,” I concede.

“You share anything on it? Maybe I’ve seen your work.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Nope. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes kind of gal.” Show my naked body to strangers? I’d rather be shot and quartered.

“You could make a fortune if you had your own channel. I would totally sign up for that.”

“Rudd,” Adam says sharply.

“What?” He blinks innocently. “I’m trying to get to know our newest bandmate.”

Someone growls, which makes Rudd laugh.

“It’s fine. It’s all fine.” I pat Rudd awkwardly on the back and set a few boundaries. “Rudd and I are going to be BFFs. Right?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. At night, we can throw slumber parties back here and rub each other’s”—another deep growl rumbles and this time I pinpoint the source as Adam—“feet,” Rudd finishes with a smirk.

“I thought our friendship would be more of a mental connection. Like a metaphysical one. It’ll be meaningful and longer lasting than any physical relationship,” I say airily.

“Bummer,” Rudd says, but his eyes are twinkling in a way that lets me know he doesn’t mind that I’m not falling into his bed.

“We good here?” Davis jiggles the keys in his pocket impatiently. He’s done with all the introductions and wants to be on the road. He was like a kid at Christmas this morning, shouting to see if I was ready every five minutes. “Because I want to get the rest of my gear.”

“I’m great. After all, I get to sleep back here while you all get the tiny, tiny bunks.”

Before anyone can give me a smart-ass rejoinder, a feminine voice hails us from the front of the bus.

“I’m back, baby. Got the medicine.”

Ian swivels around. “Hey, babe.”

“That’s Ian’s baby momma. Berry. As in strawberry,” Rudd explains. “Ian has asthma and Berry wanted him to take an extra dosage along.”

The rest of the band files down the hallway toward the newcomer. Berry’s a stunner. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a huge smile. For a woman who just had a baby, she looks surprisingly chic in her navy-and-white striped top and navy capris.

“Is Strawberry her name?” I ask.

“Naw. It’s Beryl. Family name, I guess. Weird as fuck, don’t you think?”

“I like it.” We women need to stick together. “It’s unusual. Is she coming on the tour with us?” It would be awesome to have another woman traveling with us. Plus, I’m itching to get my hands on the baby that’s still snuggled against Adam’s chest. Or was. Berry pulls the baby from Adam’s reluctant grasp. The baby voices a protest, whimpering as he’s transferred to his momma.

I can sympathize. I wouldn’t want to move from Adam’s arms, either.

“Hey, I was holding him,” he objects.