“I think it’s important,” Sed said. “With the right woman, of course.”
“Eric and Rebekah rushed into it, but they work. I think it was inevitable between the two of them. And then Jace…” Trey’s gaze shifted to their quiet bassist. “He asked Aggie to marry him and she said yes, but they don’t seem to be in any hurry to make it official. So yeah, it depends. I don’t think all couples have to get married or even should get married. Though it would be nice if all kids had a nice stable home to grow up in.”
“Single parents can do a good job too,” Reagan said.
Inwardly cringing, Trey wrapped an arm around her stiff body. He’d forgotten that she’d been raised solely by her father. “I didn’t mean to suggest that they couldn’t. Why are you thinking about marriage?”
“Everyone keeps talking about it.” She turned her face into his shoulder. “It’s not my favorite subject, trust me.”
“So if I asked you to marry me, you’d say no?”
She looked up him, her eyes wide. “You wouldn’t!”
“You’re right. I’d never ask a woman to marry me before she got to experience the power of my tongue piercing.”
She laughed and relaxed into his side. Yeah, the marriage talk made him uncomfortable too. He was glad they were on the same page again. Trey’s phone rang. He discreetly slid it out of his pocket and was careful to hide the screen from Reagan as he checked who it was. If it was one of his exploits, he wouldn’t answer. He was surprised to see Dare on caller ID. Not that his brother didn’t call him on a regular basis, but he’d just seen him that morning, so he wasn’t likely calling to shoot the breeze.
“What’s up?” Trey answered.
“Is Reagan there?” Dare asked.
“Nope, left her passed out in the jet’s bathroom.”
“Let me talk to her. Sam is pissed and I figured I’d better warn her.” Sam was Exodus End’s manager. Trey was pretty sure that Reagan hadn’t even met him yet.
“Why is he pissed?”
“She is his publicity stunt. Hard to publicize her when she’s there with you.”
“Does she have to go back?”
“Just let me talk to her.”
Trey passed the phone to Reagan. “Dare wants to talk to you.”
She gave him a puzzled look and accepted his phone. Trey wasn’t sure why the thought of her returning to L.A. so soon gave him a sinking sensation in his stomach.
“Give him my number. I’ll talk to him,” Reagan said. She recited her number for Dare several times to make sure he had it. “Thanks for the heads up.” She laughed at something Dare said. “I think I can handle him. Do you need to talk to Trey again?” She smiled at Trey and shook her head at him before telling Dare good-bye and trying to figure out how to end a call on Trey’s phone. Trey took his phone and buried it in his pocket.
“Are you going back to L.A?” he asked.
“Not if I can help it. The dude wants to dress me up, take pictures, and do some sort of publicity campaign with Exodus End’s hot, new, chick guitarist.” She rolled her wide blue eyes at him. “No thank you.”
“You’re probably going to have to do it anyway.”
Her nose curled. “What part of tomboy don’t these people understand? I don’t like to be fussed over.”
“I bet you clean up real nice,” Sed said. It was impossible to have a conversation on the bus without everyone knowing about it.
The icy glare she sent in Sed’s direction made it perfectly clear that she did not consider his statement a compliment.
“My wife makes hand-embroidered corsets,” Jace said. “If you’d like, I’m sure she’d be happy to make you some for your stage attire.”
“Wife?” several bus occupants chorused.
“Girlfriend. Fiancée. My woman. Whatever you want to call her,” Jace said.
“I’m not sure I have the right figure to pull off a corset,” Reagan said.
There was a general mumbling of disagreement, though everyone seemed to have their eyes focused conspicuously elsewhere to avoid her ice-glare.
“What part of hot chick don’t you understand?” Trey said. “I think I need to fuss over you more.”
Her phone rang and her stomach fluttered with nerves. She pushed against Trey to get him to stand up out of the booth. “I’ll take this in the bathroom.” She hurried into the small room near the back of the bus and slid the door shut.
Reagan’s hands were shaking as she answered the call. She’d pretended to be cool about Exodus End’s manager calling, but it was far from the truth. If he was thinking of exploiting her looks, he was going to be sorely disappointed. She didn’t have any aspirations to look like the ideal beauty. She just wanted to play her guitar. Sometimes she wished she’d been born with balls.
“Hello?” She hoped her voice wasn’t shaking too badly.
“Is this Reagan Elliot?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “I wasn’t sure if Dare gave me the right number. He likes to fuck with me. Thinks it’s a good time. I’m Sam Baily, your manager. Well, manager by way of Exodus End.”
She had a manager. Feeling a tad overwhelmed by all the changes in her life, she closed the toilet lid and sat down. “Dare said you had an issue with me touring with Sinners.”
“It’s not that I have an issue with Sinners. I just found out you’re a woman and I swear I could not have devised a better outcome to that contest. The fans will love it.”
“Do you really believe that? It’s really hard to get metal heads to take a female guitarist seriously. It might be best to hide me behind the drum kit so they don’t know I’m there.” She hated that people saw her as female first and musician second. She’d loved that Exodus End had conducted the contest blind. She doubted they’d have chosen her if they’d known she was a woman. And if they had chosen her knowing that, she’d have always wondered if they’d really liked her music or were more interested in her ass.
“Are you kidding, doll? We’re going to work this from every angle. The band thinks you have star potential, both as a musician and a performer.”
Reagan rubbed her eyebrow with one finger. “They’ve never seen me perform.”
“Something about band practice. Anyway, doll, you need to get back as soon as you can. I’ll set up some appointments. Fashion consultant. Hair designer. Makeup artist.”
“I’m not really the kind of woman who likes that kind of thing,” she said.
“Don’t worry. You won’t have to pay for any of it.”
“I won’t be back to L.A. for thirteen days,” she said, “and then I’ll be rehearsing with the band for the shows. I don’t think this will fit into my schedule.”
“You’ll make it fit, Reagan.” His carefree tone suddenly turned hard. “It’s in the contract you signed.”
She probably should have consulted a lawyer before she’d signed that contract. For all she knew it might say she had to have her brain transplanted into a cyborg body. “Well, you’ll have to wait until I get back to L.A. Technically, my contract doesn’t start until then anyway.”
He paused for a long moment. “Suit yourself. I’ll have your itinerary prepared for when you’re back. You’d better clear your schedule.”
“I should thank you for coming up with that contest. I’m not sure how you got the band to agree to something like that.”
“I can be very persuasive.”