“He’s gonna be a pussy machine.”
“Have some manners around my girl, asswipe.”
Listening to the way the guys describe the activity on the bus starts to make me think I was right for feeling unsure about things earlier. Dylan and I spent all afternoon together. His attentiveness and the simplicity of the day—shopping, walking around Atlanta incognito—had started to mollify the anxiousness I felt when Dylan first surprised me with my temporary job assignment. But now, apprehension is starting to creep up again.
“Why don’t you declare the bus a guest-free zone? That’s what my Dad always did.”
Every mouth silences and every head turns in my direction.
“What’s the point of being in a band if you don’t get laid?” Duff says, aghast at the notion.
“How about for the music?” a voice I recognize says from behind me.
It couldn’t be.
I turn.
Holy shit.
But how?
And Why?
Then the pieces of the puzzle all click into place and I’m able to see the whole picture. The kid. Voice issues.
I stare up at Flynn.
He stares back at me.
And I realize. I’m totally fuckstruck.
Chapter Thirteen
Flynn
Now this is going to be interesting.
The label told me they were setting me up with a voice coach. Even though I feel fine, the insurance company wouldn’t insure the tour unless I finished the mandated voice rest period my doctor had suggested on the physical he completed. He’d cleared me for In Like Flynn to open for Easy Ryder starting in two months, but filling in for Linc is much earlier than the doctor was comfortable signing off on. The coaching was how the label convinced my doctor and the insurance company I wasn’t a risk. I must be an idiot. It never once crossed my mind that they’d assign me Lucky.
Damn, she’s beautiful. It shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve been reminded a lot of that lately with how often I find my thoughts wandering back to her.
“Only a dude that’s as pretty as you can say you do it for the music.” Duff snorts. “Damn. I’m glad I’m behind a drum set. I wouldn’t want to stand next to you.”
Dylan’s jaw tenses. He nods in my general direction. “Take a seat, Flynn. You remember my girlfriend, Lucky?”
“I do. Nice to see you.” I smile and tilt my head, curious about how we’re going to play this.
She looks up at me, squints, assessing, and then smiles. “Nice to see you, too.”
There are two open seats, one between Duff and Mick and one next to Lucky. I choose the latter. Who wouldn’t?
“So, Flynn, ya snore?” Linc asks.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“What’s your fucking style?” Mick says, as if he’s just asked the time.
“My what?”
“You know, your fucking style? Are you loud? A slammer? Reverse cowboy? Ménage?”
“Cut the shit, Mick,” Dylan snaps.
“What? I’m gonna find out soon enough anyway. It’s a small sleeping area.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. I’ve had a dry spell of late.”
“The way you look? You must have been hanging out in a seminary.”
“Nah. Just haven’t found anyone interesting who’s available.” Lucky and I exchange fleeting glances.
“Well, one night on stage with Easy Ryder and my guess is your single ass finds someone interesting enough to help you ride the post-show high.”
Throughout dinner, I watch the interactions between Dylan and Lucky. He’s into her, there’s no doubt about it. The unmistakable possessive gestures are there; a part of his body always seems to be touching hers. An arm loosely around the back of her chair, his hand on the table brushing up against hers, the way he leans into her when even the waiter comes around to fill water glasses. A lion with a soundless roar.
But after two hours, I’m still not sure what to make of how Lucky is with him. It’s nothing out of the ordinary that makes me think she may not return the same level of worship…it’s just that what I see is…ordinary.
After dinner, the maître d’ comes to the table to tell us a crowd has formed outside. He offers the back door, but the band manager had already suggested the guys sign autographs outside before they leave. We’re pulling out of Atlanta right after the last show, so tonight is a local photo op. Dylan reminds me I’m not part of the band yet, and security escorts Lucky and me to the back door. We slip outside into a dark SUV undetected.
Alone in the car, neither of us says anything for a minute. Then we both start speaking at the same time. “Did you—” We laugh.
“You had no idea either?” Lucky says.
“Nope.”
“Why does our hanging out last week feel wrong to admit now?”
I know the answer—it’s a simple one. “Because it felt right.”
Our eyes lock, and I feel it. The shit that stirs through the air when I’m near her. Damn. And fucking A if she doesn’t smell incredible too. The oversized SUV suddenly feels pretty small.
I’m actually grateful when security pulls the SUV around to the front of the restaurant and Dylan and Duff hop inside. I’m not sure how much longer I could sit next to her and not touch. I think about it the whole ride back to the hotel. And I wonder, what would she have done if I had touched?
I load my stuff onto the bus before we head to the final show in Atlanta. Unsure where I’m bunking, I toss my bag under the table and take a look around. To the right, a long desk, equipped with a large flat-screen TV, various game consoles and two laptops securely affixed, dominates the living area. The rest of the space is taken up by a leather couch, capable of holding the entire band, a wide matching recliner, two tables, and compact, but efficiently equipped, stainless steel appliances.
A door separates the living area from the sleeping quarters in the back of the bus. Pulled back curtains showcase bunks that line the walls on both sides, two on each side, a top and a bottom. There’s a shower to the right and a bathroom to the left. Another door in the rear leads to the only private bedroom in the bus. Dylan’s room. The one he’ll be sharing with Lucky.
My band has toured before. Admittedly, our bus looked nothing like this, but I know from experience that walls are thin and groupies have no qualms about who might hear. Hell, the sounds that came out of the back were often the topic of ball-busting the entire next day. I smile, thinking of Nolan’s knack for mimicking a screamer he’d heard the night before. Yet the thought of hearing Lucky leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. The thought of anyone mimicking her downright makes me angry.
Eventually, the guys load onto the bus. Dylan and Lucky are the last to join, and the driver takes off for the arena as soon as everyone is situated. The only greeting I offer is a nod at the two of them. They disappear into the back of the bus.
“Welcome to our home.” Mick opens his arms wide. “If you don’t snore, you can take the bunk above me on the right-hand side.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you share?” Mick asks, plopping down on the recliner. He cracks a beer even though it’s only eleven in the morning.
“Share? Like one woman and crossing swords?”
“There’s no room for threesomes in this thing. Unless you use Dylan’s room, and I’m guessing that he’s on a sharing hiatus for a while.” He shrugs. “I meant if your hookup is interested in touring the band. Works both ways, of course.”
“I’m guessing you’ll get all his hookups coming to you, seeing as he can’t satisfy them anymore,” Duff taunts.
“Fuck off. You don’t share because you don’t want them comparing.” Mick grabs his crotch. “My kielbasa to your miniature hotdog.”
Lucky walks to the front of the bus, eyes Mick still holding himself, shakes her head and sits down at the far end of the couch.
“So. You in or you out?” Undaunted by Lucky’s appearance, Mick continues the conversation. I catch her eye before I respond.