Unwritten (Woodlands 5)

Chapter Ten

Adam

“Come over and sit your sweet ass next to mine, honey.” Rudd pats the cushion beside him and gives Landry a devilish grin.

After our fifteen-minute rest stop, we’re back in the bus with only a few more hours to go. A few more endless hours given how close Landry is to Rudd. An inch to her right and she’d be sitting on his hand.

“So it’s honey now?” she teases as she nudges Rudd’s shoulder with her own. Her glasses slip down her nose. “What happened to darling and sweetheart?”

“You didn’t seem to like those, so I’m trying a new one out. How’s it working?”

She pretends to consider it while pushing her frames back into place. “Honey’s not bad, but I don’t think it fits. Keep trying.”

Don’t encourage him! I want to growl. I glance over at Davis to see if he’s going to put a stop to this, but his nose is buried in the sheet music I handed out earlier.

Ian also appears completely unconcerned that Rudd and Landry are a few seconds from mashing their lips against each other.

“Hey, buddy, you might want to ease up on your fret or you’re going to lose a few fingers,” Ian murmurs beside me.

I look at my left hand with surprise and realize I’m gripping the strings so tightly that they’re leaving marks. Get it together, I order myself.

Then I hear a giggle. I slap my hand against the guitar and glare at the two snuggled in the curve of the U-shaped sofa. “You going to practice, Rudd, or make moves on your singer’s sister?”

Rudd’s head jerks around, an innocent look on his face. “Dude, just trying to make Landry comfortable. No reason to get your panties in a bunch.”

He reaches between his legs to pick up his guitar. I watch in satisfaction as Landry is forced to move closer to her brother to avoid the neck of Rudd’s instrument.

Ignoring my drummer’s look of speculation, I start playing the first song in the set that we’re performing tonight. Rudd, for all his faults, is a total professional and immediately joins in, although he does wink one last time at Landry, who responds by rolling her eyes.

Does she know that her hard-to-get attitude is exactly the right way to play it with Rudd? He’s got women throwing themselves at him all the time. We all do. It’s one of the very real, albeit clichéd, perks of being in a band. There’s something about music and instruments and stage lights that make panties drop—literally.

My dad’s band used to keep a drawer in the tour bus full of panties and bras they’d been given. At the end of a tour, Moet, the drummer, took it back to his house. I don’t know if he still has it. I prefer to leave that as one of the mysteries of the universe.

There hasn’t been a girl I’ve met or fucked whose underwear I wanted to keep—or even see, for that matter. I’ve always subscribed to the theory that underwear looks best on the floor, not the body. But I can’t help but wonder what Landry’s looks like. Does she have frilly lacy panties or is she more of a boyshorts kind of gal? Is there a thong covering her sweet pussy or maybe she’s going commando?

It’s shit like this that keeps me up at night or makes me do stupid things like a bunch of pushups in the back of the bus. Sure, I need to stay fit. Tours are long and physically exhausting, but did I need to do them in front of her? Damn me, but that was juvenile. An act thirteen year-old me would’ve cringed at.

But I wanted—scratch that—I needed a response from her. Any kind of glimmer that the pull between us still existed. I know she’s not ready to act on it, but, I’m not prepared to beat my friend and bandmate into a pulp if she’s moved on to him.

I examine the two of them. They’re friends, I decide for my own sanity. She flirts with him because Rudd’s safe. And she runs away from me because she knows I’m not.

It’s a good thing that the song we’re playing is a fan favorite and that I know it so well, I could play it drunk, stoned, high, or maybe even comatose. Because right now, I can’t concentrate on anything but Landry. My jeans have shrunk a size and I’m grateful I have a guitar in my lap, although Ian, who’s next to me slapping his hands against his thighs, could probably see my hard-on if he glanced my way.

I ponder how serious Davis was with his threat of leaving the band if any of us make a move on his sister.

The song ends, and before I can start the next one, Davis clears his throat.

“What is it?” I snap, more harshly than I intend.

He hesitates, tapping a finger against the sheet music. “We’re playing this song a little fast, don’t you think?”

“And maybe a mite too angry,” Ian adds with a smirk.

Goddammit. He did look my way.

I shift the guitar. “I hadn’t noticed.” I was so wrapped up in speculating about Landry that I hadn’t been paying attention to the beat.

“I’m concerned if we start the set out too fast that we won’t be able to keep up the intensity of that first song throughout, but maybe we could do it a half beat faster.” Davis taps out the rhythm and starts to sing again. Rudd joins in and soon Ian’s hands are slapping against his knees.