by Salsbury, JB
He’s smiling at me.
Bastard.
“Yo, Tommy!”
Fuck. He can’t see my eyes with my hat covering the top of my face, so I take the opportunity to scowl. He stops a foot away, and the scent of men’s bodywash hits me before his date’s too-sweet perfume. He’s looking at me, but she’s looking at him, gearing up to hang on his every word. Or maybe fantasize about his mouth. He does have a nice mouth. Motherfucker.
“What can I do for you?” I say. “Restock your condoms? New pair of rubber sheets perhaps?”
“How’d you like the show tonight?” he says with a cocky smirk.
Did he see me watching? How the hell did he see me watching? I shrug as though I don’t give a flying shit. “It was all right I guess.”
His smile widens.
I put my hands on my crate. “I need to get back to work.”
“Wait, I want you to meet my friend, Erica.”
“Monica,” the woman corrects him.
“Monica,” he repeats without the slightest hint of remorse. “This is Tom.”
I open my mouth to say hello so I can be done and get the hell out of here, but Monica beats me to it by squealing, “Your name is Tom?”
Fucking sigh. “It is.” I brace my weight and push the crate forward only to hit a sudden stop. What the hell? I shove it again. Must be stuck in a crack.
“I got it,” Ethan says and disappears to the far side of the crate. He lifts one end, proving those muscles aren’t just for aesthetics. “There, that should do it.” He circles back around to me and picks up my hand. “Here ya go.” He drops the front wheel of the crate into my palm.
“Son of a bitch,” I whisper.
He chuckles and loops his arm over Monica. “Have a great night, Tom.”
“Bye-eee!” Monica says as he drags her back toward his bus.
I’m grateful he doesn’t turn around or he’d see the steam billowing out of my ears. “That son of a bitch lollipop fucking cock—”
“Lose a wheel?” Bear says while pushing a crate twice as big by me.
“Something like that.” I circle to the front and try to figure out how the hell he popped the wheel off so quickly.
“I got it.”
“No! I can do it myself.” I struggle to get the weight of the crate up enough to slip the wheel under.
Without a word, Bear picks up the crate, and I’m able to return the wheel to its place.
“Thanks,” I mumble, hating that I needed the help.
I look back to search out Ethan, hoping like hell he’s watching while I push away the repaired crate. I want to smirk at him and say, “Nice try, asshole.”
I find him leaning against his tour bus, his hands tangled in Monica’s hair, and his tongue down her throat.
“Classless prick.”
I shove the crate forward and devise my retaliation.
Chapter Four
Ethan
The blackout curtains on the tour bus bunks make sleeping in easy. I never know what time it is when I wake up until I peel back those things and see how much of the sun is up.
This morning, I wake up to the feeling of something on my face. I open my eyes and—
“Jesus H. Poltergeist!” My heart goes from sleep to quarter-mile sprint when I see two wide eyeballs and an expressionless face staring at me.
“You’re awake.”
“I am now, you little psycho.” I put my palm on my chest. “How long have you been staring at me and where are your parents?”
With the wives and kids riding along on our tour, we’ve switched up the tour bus assignments. Bethany and Jesse have their own bus. Ryder, Jade, Katie, and the nanny share a bus. I bunk up with Ben, Ashleigh, and Elliot, which makes having sleepovers a little complicated. Not that I’ve been forbidden. Ben and his family have the entire back end of the bus with a door that locks; I have the front.
Last night, I could’ve invited Monica to ride with us to Kansas City. I’m sure we would’ve found a million different positions to pass the time, but she told me she was in love with me when we’d barely hit second base, so I never extended the invite. Love, or even the illusion of it, is something I want nothing to do with. I had security get her a cab home. I was happy enough to know she served a purpose, and replaying the look of irritation on Tom’s face had me grinning until I fell asleep.
“Ashleigh’s in the shower and Dad went to get food.” Elliot, the tiny human, hasn’t left her position at the head of my bunk. “What’s S and M?”
I groan and rub my eyes. “Too early for questions. Google it.”
“Okay,” she says with way too much perk for—I check my phone—eight o’clock in the morning.
I crawl from my bunk and stretch my sore muscles. “Coffee.”
Without taking her eyes off the laptop, Elliot points toward the kitchenette. “It’s still hot.”
I stumble over, pour myself a cup, and take the seat across from her at the table. From out the window, I can see we’re at the venue in Kansas City. Buses and semi-trucks with shipping containers are lined up and already unloading equipment. I squint and search for Tommy. How long did it take her to fix the wheel on that crate last night?
“Who cares,” I mumble. However, I can’t seem to pull my gaze from the window.
“Saay-doh-mass-a-kiz-em…”
And now I’m awake. I press the laptop closed with a shake of my head. “I wasn’t aware you could read.”
She tilts her head, brown curls falling over one eye. “I’m seven.” Her little eyes squint. “What does fetish mean?”
“Ash! You almost done in there?”
The tiny human girl continues to stare at me, waiting for an answer.
I say, “Hurry. Please.”
Seconds later, Ben opens the door with a paper bag in his arms.
I drop my head back in relief. “There is a god.”
“You thought there wasn’t?” the good pastor says as he unloads and pops open Styrofoam boxes filled with eggs, bacon, fruit, and muffins. “If you have faith-related questions, Ethan, you can always ask me.” He moves Elliot’s laptop and places breakfast down in front of her.
“Your daughter here wants to know what fetish means.” I sip my coffee, waiting to see Ben’s head explode.
He blinks at his daughter one, two, three times, then turns toward the back of the bus. “Ash! I could use your help out here!”
I chuckle as his wife steps into the kitchen. She’s dressed more conservatively than usual in a pair of hot pink ass-hugging leggings and a white cut-off sweatshirt. She kisses Ben, biting his lip as she pulls away, which makes him grab a handful of her ass, growl, and kiss her again.
They’re so fucking gross.
“What’s up?” she says when Ben finally releases her mouth. She kisses Elliot’s fluffy hair then goes about making herself a plate of food.
“Elliot asked Ethan what fetish means.” Ben’s eyes are huge.
Ash doesn’t even flinch. “Oh, that’s easy.” She crunches down on a piece of bacon. “I love it when your dad wears sweatpants, right?”
Elliot nods.
“It could be said that your dad wearing sweatpants is my fetish. For other people, they may like their partner’s feet. That’s called a foot fetish. Some fetishes seem really weird and hard for us to understand since we don’t have them. It’s like someone’s personal thing that gets them… excited.”
Impressive. And right off the cuff. I would’ve fucked that up royally had I given it a shot. I share a look with Ben, who seems satisfied with his wife’s explanation.
There’s a knock on our bus door.
“Come in!” I call.
Bethany comes up the steps. “Who's ready for school?”
Jesse’s wife has a teaching degree, so Bethany homeschools Elliot when she’s on the road with us.
Elliot jumps out of her seat.
Ashleigh fills her spot. “Never seen a kid so excited for school.”
I sip my coffee. “No shit.”
School was never my thing. The day after I graduated high school, I moved to LA with a few guys I was in a band with. We had platinum record dreams that, for most of us, died in a haze of white powder and Hollywood parties. I was lucky enough to meet Jesse’s manager, Dave, or I’d probably be dead right now.
“Come on, there’s a room in the arena that has a big white board. We can work on our math in there.” Bethany takes the kid’s hand. “Did you have a good morning?”
“Yeah, I woke Ethan up and we talked.”
“Fun.” She leads Elliot down the stairs to the door of the bus. “Ethan must really like you to get out of bed this early.”
The door opens, and just before it closes, Elliot says, “Ethan has a kid fetish.”
“What! No!”
Ashleigh and Ben snort-laugh their ways into hysteria.
“Maybe”—Ash says between breaths—“I should’ve… clarified.”
“Oh, that’s just great.” I down the rest of my coffee and drop the cup in the sink. “Real funny, guys. Real fucking funny.”
I lock myself in the bathroom, wondering if this tour will continue to be pure hell or if my luck will finally change.
Taylor
My retaliation plan came easily last night as I went through the pick bin.
At every show, fans throw all kinds of things on stage—most of it useless, unless someone is in need of thirty-seven pairs of thong and crotchless underwear. As part of my job, I go through the bin to pick out fan letters for the talent. My dad had me do it as a kid, probably to keep me busy, I don’t think the items I picked out ever made it to any of the band members—but the idea that someone took the time to write down their feelings to share with a total stranger who made music that impacted that person’s life? How could anyone just throw those away?
And so, as I sifted through the pick bin, I saw what I needed lying there like a medieval sword of retribution. The item called to me. Inspired me.
As I stand side-stage in the dark as Jesse Lee and his band have just been called to take the stage, my stomach is a knot of nerves and giddy excitement. My timing has to be perfect. I have my payback currently tucked beneath my oversized sweatshirt, and if it weren’t so dark, someone might notice because of the sheer size of it.
I swivel my head to see if I can spot the band yet. They’ll be here any minute. Now is my chance.
I dart to Ethan’s mic stand on stage, slip the object from my sweatshirt, and pull out a heavy-duty wire tie to fix it into place. I’m gone maybe ten seconds before I race back to side-stage as Ethan and Ryder walk around the corner.
“What the fuck, Tommy?” My dad’s disapproving voice rumbles in my ear as I sidle up beside him.
“Had to double-check the mic wire. Gut feeling.”
“And?”
“It was fine, but better safe than sorry.”
He gives me a quick squeeze on the back of the neck. I only pray once the stage lights come up, my dad doesn’t put two and two together and fire my ass.
The walkie at his hip goes off and he turns without excuse to answer the call, leaving me all alone when Ethan walks by. Creeper hands him his bass, and he loops the strap over his head, then spots me. Shit. And now he’s coming my way.
“What’s up, Tom? You back to have your world rocked?”
“Quite the opposite. I’m hyped on caffeine and your music always manages to put me to sleep.”
A wickedly evil grin spreads across his face, as if something I said triggered images he enjoys.
“Ethan, go!” the stage manager calls.
I give the motherfucker a little finger wave. “Don’t choke on it!”
Confusion twists his features, but he doesn’t ask for clarification before he heads out to the stage. It’ll all make sense soon enough.
I slip backward, sinking deeper into the dark so I can run like hell at the drop of a dime. Ryder plays a quick intro, and soon the stage lights blare to life and the band hits the first note in unison. Jesse’s smooth voice comes through the speakers—just a line or two before he laughs. Hard.
The music stops.
The crowd goes nuts.
Panic floods my veins. My prank is too much. I went too big. I’ll be on the first flight back to Los Angeles as soon as Ethan rats me out to Brent, the tour manager.
If that’s the case, I may as well enjoy the fallout.
“Ethan, bro…” Jesse’s laughing so hard he can hardly speak. “I can’t hear you, dude. Speak into the mic.”
Ethan moves close to the gigantic dildo wire-tied to his mic, but when he opens his mouth to talk, he shakes his head, laughing, and says, “I can’t do it.”
I take a relieved breath when I hear humor in his voice.
“Oh, come on…” Jesse’s still laughing hysterically. “Put your mouth on it, the crowd can’t hear you.”
Ethan points at the gigantic rubber dildo in front of him. The crowd roars. He grips it and tries to pull it off his microphone, making it look as if he’s jacking the thing off. He finally puts his mouth close to it, laughing. “It won’t come off.”
Ryder throws his head back laughing.
“It’ll take more than tickling it to get it off, man, you should know that,” Jesse says, still grinning.
“That thing is like a fucking rocket,” Ethan says into his dildo-mic. “I don’t want it anywhere near my mouth.”
“That’s what she said,” Jesse quips.
They go back and forth until Bear comes out with a pair of wire cutters. Ethan grips the freed sex toy, acts out lewd gestures with it, and tosses it into the crowd.
They eventually stop laughing and Jesse says, “Let’s try this again.” They hit the first note and play as if nothing happened.
Feeling a little vindicated and also thinking I should disappear before my dad asks questions, I decide I’d much rather sleep than watch Ethan—I mean, Jesse’s band—play.
I don’t need another reason to hate Ethan less. And watching him play makes me forget what a piece of donkey shit he really is.
* * *
I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to catch a quick nap, but I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. I set my alarm for thirty minutes before the band would be finished, which gives me enough time to hit the restroom, wash my face, and down a Red Bull. Tonight we drive to Indianapolis, where we’ll get twenty-four hours off in a hotel room with a big bed, hot water, and nowhere to be.
“Hey, Rodger, they wrapping up?” I say as I come to the back door of the venue.
Rodger is part of Jesse’s security and he’s been in the business as long as my dad. The two are always talking about the old days and covering my ears for most of the stories they tell.
He opens the door for me. “Sounds like it.”
I pull my ball cap farther down on my eyes and head through the corridor to backstage, where most of the crew is waiting idly for the music to end and the house lights to go up.
Paul creeps up to my side and leans in so close I feel his breath on my neck. “Did you get a nap?”
“I did.”
“Did you hear about the mic prank?”
I frown and shake my head.
“Someone put a dildo on Ethan’s mic,” he says, laughing.
“Do they know who?” I knot my hands together in front of me.
He shrugs. “Probably one of the guys in the band.”
“Totally.” Phew.
“Hey, once we get to Indianapolis, you want to go out and grab a drink?”
I turn toward him. “I’m eighteen.” He knows this, but I often feel like he needs the reminder.
He shrugs. “We’ll drop Jesse’s name. Someone is bound to serve you.”
“I don’t think so. If I got caught, that would be really bad for Elite. And Jesse and his band.”
“Who gives a fuck about these guys? They’ve got more money than they know what to do with and lawyers who make shit disappear.”
> I roll my eyes even though he can’t see them. It’s more for me than him anyway. “No thanks to the drink.”
The band walks off stage.
“Dinner?” Paul’s voice is barely audible over the roar of the crowd so I ignore him.
The house lights come up and every crewmember around us takes off to break down the stage.
Saved by work.
“We’ll chat about it later.” I take off at a jog to pull cords and load crates.
A hand snags my arm. I expect to find Ethan or Paul with a hold of my elbow, so I glare when I whirl around—only to frown when I see Jesse Lee’s hazel eyes dancing with humor. “That was fucking hilarious.”
“What was?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Tom.” He’s still smiling, so the semi-shitty phrasing sounded more playful than asshole-ish. “I know you planted the dildo.”
I don’t deny it. I knew it was a risk.
He releases my arm and jerks his head for me to follow him to a more secluded area on stage. “First the gay groupies, now this. I hope you keep that shit up for the rest of the tour.”
“You’re kidding.” He’s kidding, right?
“Ethan hasn’t been himself, and it’s upsetting my wife.” He rolls his eyes. “Frankly, I couldn’t give a shit as long as he’s playing kick-ass shows, ya know?”
I feel my eyes tighten. Of course. Who cares about a person’s mental health when you’ve got an entire show revolving around you to play?
“But Bethany has a tender heart and she worries about that asshole.”
“I don’t think I follow.”
“Keep fucking with Ethan.”
A free ticket to fuck with Ethan? Yes, please. Except…
“What about Brent?”
“I’ll take care of Brent. Your job is safe. You just keep up the good work.” He gives me a quick once-over. Not in a skeevy way, but more like he’s seeing me for the first time.
And with that, he’s gone.
Chapter Five
Ethan
After the show, I went straight to my dressing room so Tommy would think her dick prank didn’t bother me. Truth is, she got me good. And publicly.
