Unwritten (Woodlands 5)

“Nah, we need some privacy, don’t we, girls?” He squeezes them tight and, like Tickle Me Elmo dolls, they giggle on cue.

“Where’s everyone else?” I ask.

“They’re coming.” He jerks his head. “Come on.”

That wasn’t a real answer, but when I look over at the booth I vacated, a new crowd has taken over. Ian and his smoking buddies are gone. Davis has disappeared, too. I spent way too much time searching for Adam, I conclude.

“All right.”

Rudd gives me the thumbs-up, or as much of one as he can provide without taking his hands away from the girls’ waists.

“Who are these lovely ladies?” I ask as we push our way through the crowd.

“I’m Lacey,” the one closest to me says. “And this is Meg, my sister.”

“Sisters!” Rudd exclaims in a theatrical whisper.

“I don’t think they actually are, Rudd.” Lacey has short, black hair and Meg is a half foot taller with dark, smooth skin I’d kill for.

“Shhh,” he says in a voice that’s way too loud. “You’re ruining the fantasy.”

The girls don’t mind, though. And hell—if they don’t, neither do I. The three are full of drunken confidence that’s almost charming.

The bus is already crowded when we arrive. Several other band members are there. Some guy I don’t know palms my ass. Rudd plants himself in the back, one girl on each side, making up his metaphorical sister sandwich. In the front, the blonde Davis was talking to is now straddling his lap. His hands are busily pulling her dress completely off. Ian’s propped in the banquette watching it all. I avert my eyes and flee.

Outside, I see a pinpoint of red light flicker.

“Adam?” I call out.

“The one and only,” he replies.

It’s not quite an invitation, but I’ll take it. I follow the flare to the rear of the bus to find Adam lounging on the bumper. A tall, thin, gangly man with a wispy goatee slouches across from him, using the back of a van as a rest.

“Oh, am I interrupting?”

Please say no.

“Nah, have a seat.” Adam points to the side of the bumper next to him. “Landry, this is George Dance. He owns this joint.”

“Dance? Really?” I ask. “That’s amazing.” The name of the place, Dance’s Hall, takes on new meaning.

“It is now. Not so much when I was in school,” he jokes. “Want some?” He offers me a hit off his joint.

I shake my head and lower myself next to Adam. “I thought the apostrophe on the sign was a mistake.”

“Ha! I wish. Had to have the damn thing remade three times because the fuc

king signmaker thought he knew better. You have a good time tonight?”

“Yes, it was great. I couldn’t believe how well your staff kept up with the crowd.”

“They’re a good group of kids.” He inhales deeply before offering it again. Both Adam and I refuse. George pinches off the burnt end of his joint and sticks it in his shirt pocket. “Well, I’m going to take my old ass home. Thanks for playing. Your riffs had shades of your old man tonight.”

Beside me, Adam’s shoulders stiffen, but his tone is light as he replies, “Thanks for having us. We had a great time.”

“Tell your dad hey for me next time you see him. We’d love to have him down for an event.”

“I’ll pass the word along.”