needed to end it.
“We're here!” Gerald grunted. Our bus driver was a cantankerous man, easily unlikable and often in a sour mood. All I cared about was that he was the most reliable driver I'd ever seen.
Rocking from my chair, I adjusted the hoodie I'd thrown over my tank-top. I'd left it open, the zipper teeth grating across the thin, white cloth beneath. “Come on, let's get some food.” I needed to dig my teeth into something.
A hot meal would have to do.
The air outside was crisp. It was a far cry from the earlier heat in the day, but I was still amazed that the weather had shifted so fast. We were still a day and half out from Colorado, could the warmth flee so easily as the time vanished?
Craning my neck, I saw the line of cars parking behind us and across the street. The restaurant was about to get slammed by the groupies trailing the tour. I felt a glimmer of pride over knowing we could hide in our private room and avoid most of it.
“Wow,” a soft voice whispered at my elbow. Lola had come up beside me, hands shoved deep in her pockets. “I'm so used to being near the end of this caravan. Look at all those headlights.” Her attention darted up to me, making me aware of her nearness, how thick her lashes were. “It's kind of intimidating, huh?”
My heart jabbed into my ribs. Intimidating? No, what's fucking intimidating is how much I need to rely on someone like you to make sure the rest of my shows even happen. That knowledge was making me anxious.
“If you think that's scary,” I said in a low tone, “You'll piss yourself when we play in front of them all later.” Brushing past her, I made a beeline for the front door of the building. I didn't look back to see if my words had hurt Lola. I didn't care. I couldn't fucking care.
Dressed in a tight, dark jacket and matching leggings, I almost didn't see Brenda. She had arrived ahead of us, a security guard for the Griffin Bar and Grill at her side. “Drezden, hey!” Her arm snapped side to side.
I said, “Hey. Everything okay for us to go inside?”
“It was such short notice,” she groaned, juggling her phone up to her ear for emphasis. “Couldn't you just let me order you some catering and have it delivered to the bus?”
The familiarity of her exasperation brought a smile to my lips. It was comforting, a status quo returned in my recently turbulent emotions. “Sorry, we were all sick of stale pizza and sandwiches.”
“Whatever, whatever.” Her sigh was dramatic, her heavy-makeup coated lashes swishing at the guard. “Can you show them to the room in the back?”
Something bumped into me. For a second, I'd hoped it was Lola, but no; Porter had squeezed past, impatiently walking in front of the security guard. “Yeah! Show us. I'm starving, let's go.”
We formed a sloppy line through the restaurant. To our sides, I saw and heard the flashes from camera phones. We were probably the biggest stars the building had had in some time.
Wanting to see Lola's reaction, I glanced backwards. The young guitarist was walking next to Brenda, the two of them speaking with their heads close. My manager had swept her long arm around Lola's sharp shoulder blades like they were old friends.
If I knew Brenda, she was probably getting a kick out of feeling important, informing Lola about this or that as we moved through a sea of excited people. It was the ease in which they were touching and talking that was making my neck throb.
My attention stuck on Brenda's nails digging into Lola's side. I wanted to be the one bending my lips near her ear and making her grin. I ached to swallow Lola in my arms and smell her hair, to feel her shiver.
It took all my strength to rip my eyes away and look ahead.
The guard led us into a side room, a door blocking it off entirely from the restaurant. There was a game area attached with some pool tables and flat screen TVs. Along one wall was a series of tables that had been pushed end to end.
Porter dropped
“We're here!” Gerald grunted. Our bus driver was a cantankerous man, easily unlikable and often in a sour mood. All I cared about was that he was the most reliable driver I'd ever seen.
Rocking from my chair, I adjusted the hoodie I'd thrown over my tank-top. I'd left it open, the zipper teeth grating across the thin, white cloth beneath. “Come on, let's get some food.” I needed to dig my teeth into something.
A hot meal would have to do.
The air outside was crisp. It was a far cry from the earlier heat in the day, but I was still amazed that the weather had shifted so fast. We were still a day and half out from Colorado, could the warmth flee so easily as the time vanished?
Craning my neck, I saw the line of cars parking behind us and across the street. The restaurant was about to get slammed by the groupies trailing the tour. I felt a glimmer of pride over knowing we could hide in our private room and avoid most of it.
“Wow,” a soft voice whispered at my elbow. Lola had come up beside me, hands shoved deep in her pockets. “I'm so used to being near the end of this caravan. Look at all those headlights.” Her attention darted up to me, making me aware of her nearness, how thick her lashes were. “It's kind of intimidating, huh?”
My heart jabbed into my ribs. Intimidating? No, what's fucking intimidating is how much I need to rely on someone like you to make sure the rest of my shows even happen. That knowledge was making me anxious.
“If you think that's scary,” I said in a low tone, “You'll piss yourself when we play in front of them all later.” Brushing past her, I made a beeline for the front door of the building. I didn't look back to see if my words had hurt Lola. I didn't care. I couldn't fucking care.
Dressed in a tight, dark jacket and matching leggings, I almost didn't see Brenda. She had arrived ahead of us, a security guard for the Griffin Bar and Grill at her side. “Drezden, hey!” Her arm snapped side to side.
I said, “Hey. Everything okay for us to go inside?”
“It was such short notice,” she groaned, juggling her phone up to her ear for emphasis. “Couldn't you just let me order you some catering and have it delivered to the bus?”
The familiarity of her exasperation brought a smile to my lips. It was comforting, a status quo returned in my recently turbulent emotions. “Sorry, we were all sick of stale pizza and sandwiches.”
“Whatever, whatever.” Her sigh was dramatic, her heavy-makeup coated lashes swishing at the guard. “Can you show them to the room in the back?”
Something bumped into me. For a second, I'd hoped it was Lola, but no; Porter had squeezed past, impatiently walking in front of the security guard. “Yeah! Show us. I'm starving, let's go.”
We formed a sloppy line through the restaurant. To our sides, I saw and heard the flashes from camera phones. We were probably the biggest stars the building had had in some time.
Wanting to see Lola's reaction, I glanced backwards. The young guitarist was walking next to Brenda, the two of them speaking with their heads close. My manager had swept her long arm around Lola's sharp shoulder blades like they were old friends.
If I knew Brenda, she was probably getting a kick out of feeling important, informing Lola about this or that as we moved through a sea of excited people. It was the ease in which they were touching and talking that was making my neck throb.
My attention stuck on Brenda's nails digging into Lola's side. I wanted to be the one bending my lips near her ear and making her grin. I ached to swallow Lola in my arms and smell her hair, to feel her shiver.
It took all my strength to rip my eyes away and look ahead.
The guard led us into a side room, a door blocking it off entirely from the restaurant. There was a game area attached with some pool tables and flat screen TVs. Along one wall was a series of tables that had been pushed end to end.
Porter dropped
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