Unwritten (Woodlands 5)

* * *

We pull into the gas station minutes later. I shut the laptop and nearly break a nail trying to open the door before I realize there’s a fancy button that releases the latch. Davis and the boys spill out of the second door across from the bathroo

m.

Adam doesn’t spare me a glance, but Ian and Rudd wave in my direction, and Davis walks over to check on me.

“How’s it going?” he asks.

“It’s going.” I don’t want to complain, especially since we’re only three hours into our first day of a two-month road trip. “I’m going to need to do some running in the mornings or whenever it is that we stop. I can feel my butt getting bigger as every mile passes.”

We walk toward the entrance of the gas station. Davis says, “The guys were telling me that you sleep whenever you’re able, shit in every can that’s not attached to the bus, and try and eat some decent food from time to time.”

“Maybe I could learn to cook,” I suggest.

Davis rears back in horror. “Nah, let’s order out.”

“Come on. I’m not that bad.”

He continues to stare at me in disbelief.

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll keep my dirty hands off the camp stove.”

“Good. You can come to the back and listen to us jam.”

I make a face. “I don’t think Adam wants me back there.”

“Let me ask.”

He moves to open the door, but I grab his arm. “No. It’s fine. Really, I’m completely fine.” I don’t want Adam to think I’m some spoiled brat who is forcing myself on them.

“There’s no reason you can’t hang with us in the back,” Davis insists.

He has that look in his eye that says he’s not changing his mind. It’s the one that he had when he threatened to leave the band unless I came on tour with them.

“Fine. Do what you want.” I drop his arm.

After I use the bathroom, I wander around the store. It has everything from a snack aisle to an open cooler selling specialty meats and cheeses. There’s a whole wine section in the back. Is this what truckers do? Eat brie and crackers and wash down the whole thing with a glass of red wine? I buy a bottle of water and a snack pack before moseying over to Rudd, who’s staring at a menu board with a serious expression on his face.

“Want something?” I ask.

“Yeah, but I haven’t decided. Hey, Ian. Want to split a pizza?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Sure. No black olives, though,” Ian yells from the other side of the store.

“You want some, princess?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Princess? What’s wrong with Landry?”

“Dunno. You don’t seem like a Landry to me.” He gives me a cheeky once over.

“I have a feeling that whatever I say is going to set me up for some naughty remark for your benefit,” I answer, taking my purchases and backing up.

”All my remarks are naughty, and they’re for your benefit, not mine.” He winks.

Not touching that, either. “I’ll see you back in the bus.”

“See you later, darling.”