Текст книги "Beat"
Автор книги: Vi Keeland
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lucky
I slip my key into the door of the penthouse suite, hoping by some miracle I’ll find it empty. No such luck. Duff and the tour manager, Brett, are sitting on the couch in the living room. Dylan is across from them, his feet propped up on the ottoman. He extends his hand for me to come to him and pulls me down for a kiss.
“Have fun last night with Avery?”
“I did. Thank you for flying her in.”
He nods. “We just ordered lunch up, should be here in a little while. Need to finish going through some tour stuff, then I’ll kick these guys out and we can spend the afternoon together.”
“That sounds nice.” I force a smile. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
I head to the bathroom to attempt to wash the guilt from my body. Only today, it’s not really my body that’s guilty. Flynn and I slept next to each other last night—I’m sure Dylan would not be happy about that if he knew. But nothing happened. Although, the guilt from physical cheating might actually be easier to wash away this morning than the affair I’m having with my heart.
Lunch is delivered when I return to the living area feeling clean on the outside. The inside is a whole different story.
“Ticket sales are up,” Brett says. The three men are now sitting around the dining room table, a platter of sandwiches in the center. “We sold out the rest of the next four shows. Beckham is giving us the recharge we needed. He’s bringing in the younger crowd…the eighteen-to-twenty-two demographic that does the bulk of the spending on music.”
“He’s a showboat. Linc runs circles around his cocky ass. Teenage girls don’t know music from shit,” Dylan spits back.
“They buy tickets.”
“Until the next cookie cutter comes along. We’ve seen a hundred of these guys over the last ten years.”
“I don’t know. Beckham’s got talent. He’s more than just a pretty face,” Duff adds, stuffing a sandwich into his mouth. “What do you think, Lucky? You know his chops better than anyone. Is pretty boy a phase or does he have staying power?”
The right answer would be to say no. Dylan’s insecurity about becoming an aging rockstar at the ripe old age of thirty-five does not need to be fueled by my gushing about a younger singer. But the need to defend Flynn wins out. “He’s vocally gifted. He can run from E2 to E6 and his falsetto has major endurance.”
Dylan’s brooding stare is piercing into me when I glance in his direction. Ignoring him, I quickly turn my attention to fixing my plate.
“Told ya,” Duff gloats. “And he’s a pussy magnet. He’s good for the tour. Enjoy it. He’s bringing us new fans, not taking them away.”
“The change from his head voice to his falsetto is choppy. Linc’s is smooth.” Dylan’s tone is definitely less than agreeable; he’s challenging my assessment of Flynn’s vocal ability. I don’t take the bait—no use in arguing over the better vocalist. We’re both influenced by the artist—for entirely different reasons.
“Whatever, man.” Brett shrugs. “I can’t sing for shit. That’s why I manage pains in the asses like you. But I can count pretty damn good and there’s more to count with Beckham on the tour, so I’m happy.”
The afternoon is peaceful, although Dylan is on the quiet side. We watch a movie, then sit around talking about the upcoming venues for the rest of his tour. He frowns when our conversation falls to an awkward silence, and not for the first time today.
“Is everything okay, Lucky?”
“Ummm. Yes. Why?”
“I don’t know. You just seem…off, lately. Like there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”
He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear and searches my face. “Is there?”
I furrow my brow.
“You said you didn’t mean to make me feel like you’d rather be somewhere else. You didn’t say there wasn’t somewhere else you would rather be.”
I’m a crap liar. Luckily, there is a truth I can grab onto. “It’s just a big change. I haven’t been on a tour bus in a long time. I feel sort of…unsettled.”
“You’ll get used to it.” He gives me a sly smile. “You know, I had an ulterior motive for bringing you out on this tour.”
“Oh yeah, what is that?”
“Trial run.”
“For what?”
“A full-time position.”
“As a traveling voice coach?”
“As my permanent traveling companion.” His face is serious as he watches me.
I blink in surprise. We’ve been together almost a year and never talked about changing our relationship. My immediate reaction is acute. My palms sweat and a cloak of claustrophobia hits me. I look down to hide my apprehension. “Oh.”
“Don’t sound so excited.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just…my life is in New York.”
“Is it? You finally let go of Lucky’s, and your boyfriend is on the road.”
My heart feels heavy. The truth is, down deep, my hesitation has little to do with my life back home and more to do with the commitment I’d be making. The only carrot I see dangling in front of me from his offer is that Flynn’s band would eventually be joining the tour as the opening act. But agreeing to essentially move in with my boyfriend just so I could be closer to another man is definitely not the right thing to do. “I don’t think I’m ready for this yet, Dylan.”
“It’s been almost a year, and I’m thirty-five years old. I’m ready.” He sighs and sits down next to me. “Don’t answer me yet. We have another week and a half before you’re done traveling with us, for work anyway. Let me convince you.”
Not knowing what else to say or do, I nod.
A strain fell upon the peacefulness of the afternoon after Dylan asked me to go on the road with him full-time. It wasn’t anything he said—the unspoken blared much louder. Or maybe it was that I knew I didn’t need to consider my answer.
Avery and I skipped the Easy Ryder show, choosing instead to stay in and drink wine in our PJs. I was pretty sure she didn’t fly halfway across the country to sit in a hotel room, but she insisted and, to be perfectly honest, it was exactly what I wanted to do.
Dylan asked me to sleep with him tonight, rather than spend the night with Avery again. So I called it an early night, knowing he wouldn’t be back from the post-show party yet, but that the wine would lull me to sleep quickly.
The next morning, I wake to a feeling of melancholy. The man I thought I was in love with is sprawled next to me, his bare ass peeking out from beneath the sheet. I always loved how he slept naked; it made the mornings more interesting. But in this moment, I’m questioning everything. What I’ve felt in the past, what I feel today. The only thing I don’t question is heading downstairs for coffee and hoping I won’t be drinking it alone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Flynn
Being on tour with a legendary rock band certainly has its perks. I’ve never really struggled to capture the attention of women. My sister lovingly says it’s because I’m a “full-of-myself dimpled whore,” although I like to think it’s my glowing personality. But last night no personality was required backstage, that’s for damn sure.
What I thought was the post-show laidback style of Easy Ryder, with only a few women permitted through security into the inner sanctum, turned out to have a qualifier—the laidback style of Easy Ryder when girlfriends and wives are around.
The backstage lounge was filled with women who didn’t require small talk. One of whom made that abundantly clear when she greeted me by sticking her tongue down my throat and grabbing my crotch.
When I left, alone, I reasoned that my sister was visiting. That it’s normal for a single guy to turn down a hot redhead who whispers in his ear that she has no gag reflex, in favor of going back to his hotel to wait for his sister and her five-year-old daughter. The fucked-up part? I didn’t even have a hard-on when she pushed her breasts against me and suggested we step into the bathroom.
Yet here I sit, six-o-fucking-clock in the morning, and my dick starts to turn to steel when I see a woman in a tank top and baggy sweats.
But look at how those sweats hang just at the curve of her hip. Sweats can be hot.
I’m totally fucked. Choosing sweats over a woman with her uvula pierced. I need to get my head out of my ass and stop hanging around Lucky like a puppy.
“Good morning,” she whispers and smiles down at me. I’m sitting in the breakfast lounge, having already made her coffee. My eyes languidly feast on her hip before moving up to her perky nipples.
Maybe she likes puppies.
I hold up her mug of coffee. “Morning. How do you feel about dogs?”
I’m thrilled as shit to learn she begged her father for a dog for years, but never got one. Maybe it’s time.
Three hours later, we finish our morning coffee. “You up for a road trip for my coaching session today?” I ask as we head toward the elevator bank.
“Road trip?”
“Yep. Becca has a rental car. I’ll drive.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
She smiles. “I’m going to take the ride with Avery to the airport at one. How about after that?”
“Works for me. Text me when you’re ready.”
“You ready, squirt?”
“What’s her name again?”
“Lucky.”
“That’s right. It’s a funny name.”
“It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
Lucky’s smile when she sees me strolling to the lobby, hand-in-hand with my favorite girl, lights up her entire face. It might just be the best greeting ever bestowed upon a man.
“Well, this beautiful young lady must be Laney,” she says.
“Uncle Sinn thinks you’re beautiful, too!” Laney shouts. And there goes the talk we had five minutes before we walked out the door about not repeating things.
Lucky arches one eyebrow at me. “Oh he does, does he?”
Laney nods her head fast. “He likes your name, too. He said—”
I cut her off. “Okay, motor mouth, let’s go or we’ll be late.”
Shockingly, Laney doesn’t spill where we’re going on the way to the theater, although there are plenty of hints. She’s wearing an Elsa crown and halfway there asks, “Uncle Sinn. Sing my favorite song!”
“I sang it once last night and twice in the hotel room before we left.”
“Sing it, Uncle Sinn!”
I look at Lucky and laugh. “My sister is raising a tyrant.”
“I can see who’s in charge,” she teases me.
“Oh yeah.” I glance at Lucky and back at the road. “Laney, you know Lucky sings too. She’s actually better than me. I think she probably sounds more like Elsa than I do.
“Really?” Her voice screeches with excitement.
“You bet.” Lucky has no idea what she’s in for yet. It’s hard to keep a straight face.
“Lucky. Will you pwease sing Frozen for me?”
“I would love to, Laney. But I don’t know the words.”
“You don’t know the words?” Through the rearview mirror, I catch Laney’s little nose crinkling in confusion. She’s baffled that someone doesn’t know every word to the entire Frozen soundtrack.
“Actually, Laney, I think she’ll know them soon.” I turn and pull into the parking lot at the theater.
“We’re going to the movies?” Lucky asks.
“Sort of.”
She squints at my cryptic answer, but goes with it anyway. I unbuckle Laney from her car seat and pull the baseball cap I tossed in the back down over my head, adding a pair of aviators for good measure.
“Rockstar disguise?” Lucky teases.
“I prefer ‘rock god’.”
She rolls her eyes.
Inside, I skip the long line and head to the woman collecting tickets at the door. She directs me to Carolyn, the woman I arranged today with on the phone.
“What are you up to?” Lucky asks suspiciously as we head into the theater.
“Just multitasking.”
“Multitasking?”
“Yep.”
The eyes of the woman with the clipboard indicate she recognizes me immediately. Guess my disguise sort of sucks.
“Mr. Beckham. I’m so excited you made it.”
“It’s Flynn. And we’re excited to be here. Right, squirt?” I look down at the girl squeezing my hand tight, and she nods her head vigorously with a smile from ear to ear.
Carolyn laughs. I pull the tickets from my pocket and hand them to her. “Thanks for adding us.”
“I’m a huge fan of Easy Ryder. My older daughter is thirteen. She didn’t know who Easy Ryder was, but when I mentioned your name, she started to hyperventilate. Getting these tickets made me the coolest mom in the world.” She hands me a numbered sign with pins at the top. “At least for today. Tomorrow is another story.”
A girl about five or six runs up to Carolyn and tugs at her arm. “Mommy, that’s the crown I want.” She points to the tiara that has been almost permanently affixed to Laney’s head for the last year.
“How about ‘excuse me,’ Deidre,” she scolds.
“Excuse me. Mommy, that’s the crown I want.”
I chuckle. Guess all little girls are the same.
“Okay, Deidre. Why don’t you go back and sit? The movie is going to start soon.”
Laney looks at me, then back at the other girl. She doesn’t have to say what she’s thinking; I see the question in her face. I nod, telling her it’s okay.
“You wanna borrow it for the movie?” Laney asks her.
“Really?”
“Sure.” She shrugs. “I wear it all the time.”
“Okay! You wanna come sit with me? We’re in the front row and my sister is in the contest.”
Laney turns to me, her eyes asking permission. “Sure. Just no leaving the theater.” I look around. Most of the rows are filled, but there are a few vacant seats in the back. “We’ll just be in the…”
“The gallery is empty if you’d like to sit up there so no one bothers you,” Carolyn points up toward the small balcony. I’m twenty-five going on fifteen. Shit, yeah, I’ll take the balcony in the dark with the hot girl.
“That would be great.” I look at Lucky and wiggle my eyebrows.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” she says as we settle into the front row of the otherwise empty balcony. “What are the numbers for?”
“The contest.” I shrug.
“Care to elaborate?”
“The local theater club for kids is putting on a Frozen musical. After the movie, the finalists for the lead role are singing.”
“And you’re trying out?”
“I got lucky, the organizer’s daughter wanted to come to tonight’s Easy Ryder concert, but it was sold out. Traded tickets for this movie and auditions for the Easy Ryder show tonight. Figured Laney would love it. She’s obsessed with the soundtrack. Thought she’d get a kick out of me singing, too.”
“That is so sweet.”
“I’m glad you think so. Because you’re singing later, too.”
Her eyes flare. “What?”
The lights dim for the movie to start. She’s still staring at me, expecting an answer. I lift my pointer finger to my lips, shhing her, and whisper, “The movie is starting, no talking.”
Ignoring her glare, I take her hand and mesh our fingers together. They stay intertwined for the entire movie.
When the lights come up, the theater applauds and Carolyn walks to the front of the stage. “Okay, everyone. We’re going to take a five-minute bathroom break and then we’ll get started.”
Looking down, I see Laney jumping around. “Laney’s doing the pee-pee dance. I better grab her.”
“I’ll take her. You can get me some popcorn for your Elsa audition. I have a feeling it’s going to be amusing.” She bumps my shoulder as we stand, but doesn’t let go of my hand until we get to the restroom with Laney.
With a popcorn bucket bigger than my damn head, I wait outside the ladies’ room. When the two of them walk out hand in hand, I realize for the first time what I’ve been missing, what I want more than anything. I thought it was having the world at my feet, singing up on a stage, being a rockstar. But the reality is…I want Sunday afternoon movies with these two.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lucky
The little girls giggle at the man on stage singing his own version of “Let It Go.” He’s turned the epic ballad into more of a rock anthem—singing it without a single beat of music. I’ve watched him up on stage before; his talent is undeniable and his sexiness is utterly swoon-worthy. But watching him today, as he sings a song for a five-year-old he adores, puts the whole man into perspective. His beauty shines through from the inside out.
I’m leaning against the wall on the other side of the theater, taking it all in. A gaggle of moms stand nearby, as riveted as their daughters, only the look on most of their faces tells me their interest is far less innocent.
“You think he likes older women? I mean, we’re more experienced.”
“Look at him. Do you really think we have more experience? Giving Harold a BJ on his birthday and your anniversary doesn’t equate to the type of experience that man must have. I bet he fucks like the devil.”
“Victoria! You’re so bad!” They both giggle.
“I’d like to be bad with him.”
The women sigh loudly. “Do you think having all that rhythm makes him better in bed?”
Flynn’s song ends, and the place erupts in applause that by far overshadows the clapping the end of the movie garnered. He winks at Laney in the front row and heads toward me. Through my periphery, I see the horny moms follow his steps as he strides closer to where I’m standing.
“Back to the balcony?” He offers me his hand.
I take it, walk two steps, and then stop, turning back to whisper to the moms, “The rhythm definitely makes him better.” I wink and walk away, leaving their mouths hanging open and their eyes green with envy.
“What was that all about?” Flynn asks as we make our way back up to the balcony.
“Nothing.” I smirk deviously. We settle back into our seats and he guzzles a full bottle of water. “Thirsty?” I tease.
“How did I do, coach? I did everything you taught me. Tilted my head so my throat was open, leaned back instead of forward. I think I earned an A.”
Shit. I was supposed to be watching him for professional purposes. “You did great. You’re a model student.”
He smiles. “I had a good teacher.”
“I don’t even think you really ever needed me.”
He stares at me for a long moment with his beautiful blue eyes. “Funny. I was just thinking you’re all I really need.”
My heart sighs and the entire world fades away as he slowly leans in and, ever so gently, brushes his lips with mine. We’ve been intimate, but this moment is at an entirely different level. He rests his forehead against mine, and I hold my breath while he speaks. “Lucky,” he groans. “I want you. I keep trying to distance myself, but it’s impossible. I wake up with your name on my lips every morning. I want you next to me during the day and beneath me at night.” He closes his eyes, and when he reopens them, the pain I see crushes me. “Tell me to walk away and I will. But if you don’t right now…” He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”
The thought of losing him sickens me. It’s not a difficult decision. “Don’t walk away. I just need more time to figure things out.”
He closes his eyes, and I watch his face visibly relax. We sit hand-in-hand in the balcony until the last person sings. Then we go down to a very excited Laney. Carolyn is by her side, a hesitant look on her face. “Ummm…Laney told the girls you would sign some autographs.”
Flynn’s dimples appear along with his adorable crooked smile. “No problem.” I’m pretty sure Carolyn blushes.
A half hour later, he signs the last autograph and thanks Carolyn. A few workers from the theater come to carry the portable stereo that acted as backup for the singers today. “Would you mind if we borrowed that for five minutes and I’ll carry it out to your car?” His smile is less innocent this time—he absolutely knows it will get him what he wants. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes when Carolyn gushes that she’d be delighted.
When the theater door closes behind her, Flynn turns to me. “You ready?”
“Ready for what?” I ask nervously.
“Our duet.”
“Ummm…I don’t think so.”
He leans in so that Laney can’t hear him. “‘Let It Go’ was the number-one karaoke song last year. You’re not going to try to bullshit me that you don’t know it like you did in the car, are you?”
Shit.
There may be no stage, but the big room is nerve-wracking nonetheless. I look around and swallow.
“We got this.” He squeezes my hand and stares into my eyes. The way he looks at me, assuring me, I believe his words.
We do have this.
He smiles, knowing I’m giving in before I even do. Then, together, with an audience of one little princess smiling from ear to ear, we stand at the front of the theater and sing the shit out of the Frozen song.
Laney babbles almost the entire way back to the hotel. It’s clear she adores her uncle, and he is most definitely wrapped around her tiny little finger. After we park, she insists on holding both our hands. She squeals with delight when we swing her into the air between us, and demands, “Again.”
Busy entertaining the little tyrant, none of us even notice we walk smack into a row of three men as we enter the hotel lobby. The middle one being my very unhappy-looking boyfriend.
His eyes hard, he takes in the full scene before him. We must look like a happy couple playing with their child. The smile drains from my face along with the color. His jaw flexes. “You haven’t answered your phone.”
I fumble in my purse and fish out my cell, turning it on. There are five missed calls. “Sorry. I turned it off in the movie.”
“The movie?” he snaps.
Shit.
My stomach roils. When I see the angry glare he directs at Flynn, I worry what might happen next. “We. I…”
Luckily, Flynn steps in. “I asked Lucky to come with us to a kid’s event I sang at for my niece. Take her coaching on the road. This is Laney.” Flynn locks eyes with Dylan and then points his down to the little princess we’re both still holding hands with. It serves as a gentle reminder of her presence. After a long hard glare, Dylan’s eyes drop down to Laney and it takes the tension down a notch.
“We’re going to look at a new bus. I was trying to reach you so you could come look at it.”
“A new bus?”
His jaw clenches and he searches my face. “I’m thinking about upgrading. So you have more space to put your things. You’re going to want more than just a few outfits when we’re gone for two months at a time.”
He’s assuming I’ll agree to what he asked of me last night. But now is definitely not the time to point that out. I feel Flynn’s eyes on me, too.
“You ready?”
“Umm. Sure.” I look down at Laney, who is unusually quiet. “It was very nice meeting you.”
She tugs at my arm, telling me to crouch to her level. When I do, she wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes a big hug good-bye.
I walk out of the hotel with a different man than I just walked in with, and an enormous ache in my chest. Turning back, my eyes meet with Flynn’s. How much longer can I do this to him?
Neither Dylan nor I say another word about the encounter in the lobby. Oddly, it felt like we had just moved the discussion to the back burner, where it would simmer for a while, rather than letting things come to a boil in the moment. I also didn’t mention, as we looked around at luxury buses that cost more than an apartment in Manhattan, that I hadn’t agreed to go on tour with him. The conversation was coming, I just needed to figure a few things out first.
The next morning I wake even earlier than usual. I didn’t have a chance to speak to Flynn after the tense exchange in the lobby and, taking the cowardly course of action, I went to bed before any of the guys returned to the bus after last night’s show. Mick spent the night in Austin and is flying to meet us at the next stop in Vegas, and Duff had a woman with him, so that left just me, Dylan and Flynn. Not a trio I wanted to sit around with in the tight confines on the bus.
After failing miserably at trying to get back to sleep, I decide to head out to the lounge area and do some writing. A quick stop in the bathroom and then I tip-toe through the dark sleeping-berth area. Halfway, an arm reaches out and grabs me. Luckily, the other arm wraps around my mouth and stops the bloody-murder scream that was beginning to wail from my lips.
“Shhh,” Flynn whispers into my ear and then hauls me up into his sleeping berth, drawing the curtain closed behind us.
My heart is pounding in my chest.
“You might want to keep quiet,” he growls in my ear.
“But—” His hand comes back to my mouth, pressing gently.
“I thought I would help you figure things out.” He glides his other hand down over my body and beneath my sweatpants, fingers coming to stop over the lace of my panties. “Can you keep quiet?” he asks, his voice strained and low.
I nod, but he doesn’t immediately move the hand covering my mouth.
“When I slip my fingers inside you, can you keep quiet then?”
A muffled whimper escapes when he presses his fingers against my clit and begins to slowly rub tiny circles.
“When I fuck you with my fingers. When you’re soaked and I’m pumping in and out of you. Can you keep quiet then?” His gritty voice at my ear sends a shiver through my body.
It’s pitch dark in the small, curtain-concealed bunk, but I see the flash of need in the glow of his eyes. Longing ripples in my belly. One finger slips inside of me while his thumb continues to massage my clit—everything tingles, straight down to my toes.
“When I bury my face in your sweet pussy. Licking and sucking until I feel your body convulse around my tongue. Can you keep quiet then?”
His hand at my mouth clamps down harder, barely able to stifle my groan. My hips buck when he slips another finger inside me. He shifts to lie beside me.
“I’m going to take away my hand for a minute,” he warns and waits for me to nod before moving.
His hand inside me slows while the other manages to undress me from the waist down. He pushes up my shirt and growls when he finds my erect nipples.
“Bend your knees. Pull your legs up and spread them wide for me.” His head dips, his mouth sucking harshly on my nipple as he resumes the speed of his pumps between my legs. Wisely, the other hand moves back to cover my mouth.
My fingers dig into his hair, grasping handfuls, desperate to let out the burn flaring inside of me. Everything begins to spin, my mind forgetting anything exists except this moment.
Forgetting where I am.
Forgetting we could get caught.
Forgetting what’s right and wrong.
My entire focus on one thing. This man.
The way he touches me.
His fingers inside me.
His heavenly, greedy mouth.
Biting.
Sucking.
His fingers pump harder. Furiously in and out.
The hand at my mouth clamps firmer.
I think I might burst.
And then abruptly his fingers slip out of me and his mouth leaves my breast. Only to drop lower, settling between my legs. There is no teasing first lick or promising suck. No. He just devours me. His tongue lashing out at my clit, sucking, licking, nuzzling.
“Oh god,” Flynn’s hand clamps down harder and catches the rest of my incoherent words. My body screams for release, stifled moans build. It’s as if keeping it all silently inside me only increases the intensity at which I’m about to explode.
He spreads my knees wider, opening me completely to him as his fingers join his tongue and he licks in rhythm with his pumps. “You taste so fucking good.” He pushes deeper and deeper.
My breaths grow short and shallow. Eyes roll toward the back of my head as I feel the wave crashing down upon me. My body trembles as I unfurl. Unravel.
The most powerful orgasm of my life takes over, everything else ceasing to exist. I cry out, sound muffled under his hand.
It takes a full five minutes before the last tremor runs through me and Flynn senses it’s safe to free my mouth.
“Morning.” He grins wickedly at me. “I just wanted to show you what I plan to have with my morning coffee every day.”
Now that I could get used to.
Unfortunately, the twelve hours we spend on the bus after I slip unnoticed from Flynn’s bunk are not nearly as incredible as the breakfast Flynn decided to have in bed. Dylan is in a bad mood, and the guilt I feel turns into a blaring headache. I throw together a quick dinner in the small galley of the bus, even though I don’t really have an appetite.
Watching me push food around my plate with my fork, Dylan huffs loudly. “Not hungry again?”
“Not really.”
“Did you take something for the headache?”
Do they sell anti-guilt pills? “No.”
“The medicine cabinet in the bathroom is stocked. Take something. We should get in around nine. I have to do an appearance at Club Sixty-Six. Would be nice to go out and actually spend time together for a change.”
I nod and force a smile.
Flynn walks in from the back—it’s not a very big bus, but he seems to have successfully avoided us most of the day. Until now.
“There’s ravioli in the pot on the stove top if you’re hungry,” Dylan grunts.
“Thanks. But I had a big breakfast.”
I catch the glint in his eye, but Dylan seems oblivious. Flynn grabs a beer from the fridge and sits on the couch across from us. The closeness of the two men makes me nervous; the smirk at the corner of Flynn’s mouth as he takes a long draw from the bottle makes me downright panicky. “Do you ever have breakfast for dinner?” he asks while I’m drinking from my water bottle. I almost choke. “I like my morning meal so much, sometimes I eat it twice a day.”
A frown pulls at Dylan’s lips. He wasn’t in a good mood to begin with, and Flynn’s presence doesn’t do much to enhance it. “I skip breakfast most days,” he mumbles, as if it’s an annoyance to even have to respond.
Flynn’s lips twitch as he brings the bottle to his mouth again.
Ten minutes later, Dylan declines a Rockband video game challenge in favor of taking a nap.
The minute the door to the back closes, Flynn grabs another beer and plops down next to me at the table. “Skips meals. Naps.” He shakes his head ruefully. “Must suck to get old.”
I crinkle up my napkin and throw it at his face. “You’re in a devil mood tonight, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Must have been the way my morning started.”
“I think you should sit on the other side of the room.”
“Can’t keep your hands off me this close?” He takes my fork and pops a ravioli into his mouth.
“I thought you weren’t hungry?”
“I wasn’t. Guess I just get hungry for a good meal when I come closer to you.”
A loud female moan comes from the back of the bus. Duff and his date were at it half the afternoon; guess he caught his second wind. The female voice gets louder. “Oh. Oh. Ohhhhh.”
“Sounds like Duff might be having a late breakfast.”
I feel my cheeks blush.
Flynn surprises me by getting up and pulling the door closed. Then he turns on Rockband, letting the sounds drown the rest of the moans out. He hands me one of the plastic guitars and waits for the game to start, not looking at me when he speaks. “New tour bus, huh?”
