Unwritten

by Jen Frederick

She waves a hand. “Of course he is. And he’s ambitious. But he doesn’t write lyrics or compose music. And while he’s crazy—all drummers are—he’s also shy. He prefers sitting behind the wall of drums and cymbals. Adam’s different. You know the difference because Davis is your brother.”

  She’s right. Both Adam and Davis have some quality that draws the eye. “I’ll be careful,” I promise. I bring up another subject that has me worried. “What about drugs?”

  “What about them?”

  “In Davis’s old band scene, there was a lot of hardcore use. Not weed, but other stuff.” I study my nails, as if this isn’t important to me.

  “What’s music without coke?” Berry jiggles Jack lightly. “It’s there. Just like it always is when you get a bunch of people together late at night who want to do nothing more than play music and party. The guys here aren’t into it, because that’s a quick way to ruin your career. But there’ll be plenty of temptations on tour.”

  “As there are everywhere,” I grimace.

  She gives Jack another pat. “Yup. The other piece of advice I have is to stay the hell away from Hollister.”

  “I don’t know him,” I admit.

  “He’s the promoter slash manager who set up this whole tour.” Jack finishes gnawing at Berry’s poor boob. She swiftly tucks everything away and flips the baby onto her lap. “Grab me a towel, will ya?”

  I reach inside the small bag she threw onto the table and pull out a Winnie the Pooh printed towel, which she places on her lap. Turning the baby to face me, she performs a strange series of pats and thumbs against the baby’s back. Jack’s tiny mouth opens and he gives the cutest burp.

  “Hollister hates it when the guys hook up. He thinks that the relationship drama fucks up the chemistry of the band. All the boys should be focused on one thing—music. If there’s a distraction, then the entire band isn’t firing on all cylinders. Women—or guys, depending on the band member—belong in the category of booze and drugs. To be done recreationally but not so much that it interferes with the music.”

  I stare in fascinated horror. “What about female bands?”

  “Hollister doesn’t like them and actively avoids booking bands with women. He’s a total misogynist. If anything goes wrong on tour, it’ll be your fault. Stay as far under the radar as possible.”

  “He sounds like a real prince. Anything else I should know about? Things to watch out for?” I try to hint at whether she wants me to report back to her any shenanigans involving Ian.

  “You mean, do I want you to make sure that Ian doesn’t stray?” Her dark eyebrows arch over pretty brown eyes.

  So much for delicate hints. “Not that I think he would, but would you want to know?”

  “If I don’t trust him, I shouldn’t be with him. I should definitely not be having babies with him. The music scene is tiny and everyone’s a huge gossip. I guess that’s a third piece of advice. If you hook up with someone, everyone on the scene will know about it. Some guys have bigger mouths than others. Just keep your ear to the ground. You’ll know which ones are which. Call me if you need anything. I have years of dealing with these guys. Keep them preoccupied. Remember, they’re like children.”

  “So give them someone else’s tit?” I joke.

  “That’s the spirit,” she encourages.

  As she packs up Jack’s paraphernalia, I want to ask her to sit down and tell me more about Adam. Where does he fall? In the loudmouth category? Is he a manwhore like Davis?

  I don’t ask any of these questions, though, because that would violate rule number one.

  Don’t catch feelings for Adam Rees.

  Chapter Eight

  Landry

  On the Road

  The band’s been brainstorming their set list. Adam and Davis have their guitars out and they’ve been playing on and off for the better part of the trip so far. They didn’t exactly kick me out but they weren’t welcoming, either. So I came up front to sit with the bus driver, Ed, who gave me a dirty look when I attempted to move stuff off the passenger seat.

  I abandoned that idea, sat my ass down at the little banquette behind the driver, and pulled out my laptop. While May’s been traveling around the world, I’ve been noodling around with a small bit of code to develop a ride share app for women. Since it’s not something I’m passionate about, it’s hard to stay interested.

  What intrigues me is about thirty feet away. I thought the bus would seem claustrophobic, but instead it’s too long. There’s too much space between me and Adam Rees. Oh yeah, I shouldn’t think that way since I’m not supposed to fall for him, but…it’s been so long since I’ve felt even a flutter of attraction that I can’t help wanting to fan it.

  Marrow’s stalking did a number on me, scarring me mentally and making me wary of all penis owners. A boatload of therapy has helped, but I haven’t met anyone who moved me. I guess it’s not surprising that a guy who Berry said could tempt a nun to sin is the one who catches my eye.

  My therapist would probably say that’s because he’s unattainable and therefore a safe focus for my crush. He’s not going to like me back, let alone develop an unhealthy obsession for me.

  Sooooo…crushing on him isn’t a bad thing, right? It’s the opposite, really. I won’t take it to the next level. I’ll keep it to myself and enjoy the flutters in my stomach and the way that his presence makes me both hot and cold. And maybe at night, when the band is bedded down for the night, I can play out a few fantasies. That wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  As long as I keep it to myself, my little secret won’t have any effect on Davis.

  “What’s the smile for?”

  I jerk up my head to see Adam leaning against the small kitchen counter. A smile lurks at the corners of his mouth. My heart rate speeds up and my face grows hot. He definitely notices the latter, because the smile gets broader.

  Stupid pale skin. Every bit of awkwardness I experience is broadcast across my stupid face.

  “Nothing.” I try for nonchalant and gesture toward the screen. “Just a piece of code.”

  He saunters over. “Must be an interesting set of commands you’re writing if it gets you this worked up.” He reaches out and tucks a bit of my hair behind my ear.

  If possible, I blush even harder. My heart is thumping so loud, he must be able to hear it. “Um, what can I say?” I stammer awkwardly. “Code turns me on.” Oh God. Code turns me on? This is my idea of flirting?

  He rubs a few strands of my hair between his fingers before letting it fall back to my shoulder. “I get it. You’re passionate about your work. I get lost in my work, too.”

  He’s so close to me that his hip is rubbing against my shoulder. If I turned my head, I could probably lick his zipper. It takes so much effort not to turn my head. So. Much. Effort.

  This never happens to me. I’m a computer geek—I don’t go around fantasizing about licking a guy’s zipper. This attraction to Adam is starting to freak me out. It hasn’t abated at all since the night at the bar.

  “Uh huh,” is all I can manage as I blindly stare at the computer screen. Since I don’t trust myself not to touch him, I pin my hands under my thighs.

  There’s a moment of silence, then I swear I hear a small sigh before he backs away. “I came out to tell you we’re stopping in about fifteen minutes at a gas station. It’s a big one and has a restaurant, bathrooms. Take your time. We aren’t playing until tomorrow.”

  I give a small nod, unsure what to say.

  There’s another beat of silence before he moves off. I wait until I hear the swoosh of the door, a sound I missed when he first came in, before pulling my hands out from under my legs.

  I should’ve spent more time in clubs than in the computer lab.

  * * *

  We pull into the gas station minutes later. I shut the laptop and nearly break a nail trying to open the door before I realize there’s a fancy button that releases the latch. Davis and the boys spill out of the second door across from the bathroo
m.

  Adam doesn’t spare me a glance, but Ian and Rudd wave in my direction, and Davis walks over to check on me.

  “How’s it going?” he asks.

  “It’s going.” I don’t want to complain, especially since we’re only three hours into our first day of a two-month road trip. “I’m going to need to do some running in the mornings or whenever it is that we stop. I can feel my butt getting bigger as every mile passes.”

  We walk toward the entrance of the gas station. Davis says, “The guys were telling me that you sleep whenever you’re able, shit in every can that’s not attached to the bus, and try and eat some decent food from time to time.”

  “Maybe I could learn to cook,” I suggest.

  Davis rears back in horror. “Nah, let’s order out.”

  “Come on. I’m not that bad.”

  He continues to stare at me in disbelief.

  “Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll keep my dirty hands off the camp stove.”

  “Good. You can come to the back and listen to us jam.”

  I make a face. “I don’t think Adam wants me back there.”

  “Let me ask.”

  He moves to open the door, but I grab his arm. “No. It’s fine. Really, I’m completely fine.” I don’t want Adam to think I’m some spoiled brat who is forcing myself on them.

  “There’s no reason you can’t hang with us in the back,” Davis insists.

  He has that look in his eye that says he’s not changing his mind. It’s the one that he had when he threatened to leave the band unless I came on tour with them.

  “Fine. Do what you want.” I drop his arm.

  After I use the bathroom, I wander around the store. It has everything from a snack aisle to an open cooler selling specialty meats and cheeses. There’s a whole wine section in the back. Is this what truckers do? Eat brie and crackers and wash down the whole thing with a glass of red wine? I buy a bottle of water and a snack pack before moseying over to Rudd, who’s staring at a menu board with a serious expression on his face.

  “Want something?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but I haven’t decided. Hey, Ian. Want to split a pizza?” he calls over his shoulder.

  “Sure. No black olives, though,” Ian yells from the other side of the store.

  “You want some, princess?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Princess? What’s wrong with Landry?”

  “Dunno. You don’t seem like a Landry to me.” He gives me a cheeky once over.

  “I have a feeling that whatever I say is going to set me up for some naughty remark for your benefit,” I answer, taking my purchases and backing up.

  ”All my remarks are naughty, and they’re for your benefit, not mine.” He winks.

  Not touching that, either. “I’ll see you back in the bus.”

  “See you later, darling.”

  I flick my middle finger up, which makes him laugh. Outside, both bus doors are open, but the only member of FMK around appears to be Adam. He’s got one leg bent at the knee, his foot flat against the side of the bus while he lights up a cigarette. Jesus. Why is that so sexy?

  I take some comfort in the fact that he’s not running away at the sight of me. But he’s not waving me over, either. Still, my feet point in his direction and I find myself stopping in front of him.

  “Hey,” I say stupidly, because I can’t think of anything else to say.

  He gives me a cool nod and all that nervous anxiety I had when I was a nerd in high school bubbles up in my throat and I start babbling like a fool.

  “So thanks for allowing me to come along. The bus is gorgeous. I didn’t even know a bus could be that nice. They should have a different name for them, like limobuses.”

  “Coach.”

  “What?”

  “It’s called a luxury coach.”

  “As in football coach?”

  “As in.” The left side of his sexy mouth quirks up. “But it’s just a bus. In a few weeks, you’ll hate it. It’ll stink. You’ll get tired of looking at the same interior for hours at a time.” He takes another drag. “You’ll be so used to having an engine under your ass that you’ll feel the phantom vibrations for hours afterward.”

  “That last one doesn’t sound so bad,” I assure him.

  “Going on tour sounds fun, but it’s a long grind.”

  “Well, um, thanks anyway for having me. I know you didn’t like the idea of me coming.”

  His eyes darken and his fantastic lips turn down at the corners. “I like you just fine. Who said I didn’t? Davis?”

  “No!” I exclaim. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea and be mad at my brother. “Davis never said a word about you. I could just tell. I mean, that you didn’t like me here because, you know.” I wave a finger at my lips, trying to indicate that he hardly ever smiles around me. Except for the fact that he’d smiled just now, and I ruined it. “I’m going to shut up now.”

  “It’s fine. You’re fine. Having someone on the bus who’s not part of the band is unusual, but we’ll get used to it.” He inhales again until the cigarette is nearly all ash. “Davis says you’re bored.” He lifts one eyebrow. “And we’re only a few hours into the trip. Doesn’t bode well for the next two months.”

  I feel myself blushing again. “I’m not bored.”

  That eyebrow shifts higher. “So your bro is lying?”

  “No. I mean, I was bored before, but mostly because of the boring code I’m working on. Not because of you guys or anything.”

  “Well, like I said, the tour is a long grind. If you want something, speak up and ask for it. If you want to come back and hang, do it. The bus is your home, too.”

  Either I’m imagining it, or there’s a glint of heat in his eyes as he says that.

  “As long as it’s not a bother,” I murmur. “I’ll be so quiet that you won’t even notice I’m there.”

  He drops the cigarette on the ground. As he grinds the stub out with his boot, he says, “Right. Like that’s possible.”

  I don’t know what that means, but it makes me hot all over.

  Chapter Nine

  Landry

  Next Stop: Lexington

  I don’t go to the back and join the band. I crawl into Davis’s bunk, pull the curtain closed, and force myself to nap. It turns out to be a good skill to acquire.

  When Adam told me that the tour was a grind, he wasn’t kidding. The first stop was exhilarating. The band played in a huge club with an actual stage. The biggest crowd Davis ever sang to was at the Central City summer festival, and even then only a few people were actually listening. The rest were off getting food and drink or standing in line for the portable toilets.

  At these clubs, the crowds are pressed right up to the stage, shouting the lyrics along with him. And at each stop, it seems like the audiences are getting bigger.

  Davis’s band plays second-to-last, with Threat Alert closing out the night. Personally, I think FMK should be the closing act. They get people out of their chairs and onto the stage. Threat Alert has only the one song that anyone appears to like.

  I’m a computer nerd, not a musician, so I keep my observations to myself, but Rudd makes the same observations each time we kick out the last of the partiers.

  “Why don’t you ask Hollister to move us to the end of the rotation?” he says to Adam as we roll toward Evansville, Indiana. Three shows are behind us: Kansas City of the great barbecue; Springfield, the birthplace of Lincoln; and St. Louis, where we stopped so that the band could take pictures next to the base of Arch.

  “Time’s not right,” Adam answers cryptically.

  I shoot a questioning glance at Davis, who shrugs. He doesn’t know any more than I do.

  After Evansville, we move on to Louisville.

  “Threat Alert’s bringing the whole vibe down,” Rudd complains over breakfast.

  Adam merely shrugs and continues eating his pancakes.

  The sixth show takes place in Lexington, Kentucky. The accents here are
thick and charming. I spend an inordinate amount of time chatting up the bartender as the bands set up, mostly because I’m so thrilled to be out of the bus. So thrilled that, for the first time, I’m not nervously waiting for Marrow to waltz through the door.

  It helps that I haven’t gotten any text messages from him since I left, which means he doesn’t have my new number and quite possibly still thinks I’m in Central City. Besides the monotony of the miles that pass between tour stops, I’m the most content I’ve been in a long time.

  The band gets along great. When they’re not sleeping, they either play music or cards or video games. The bus has satellite so we can watch Netflix at any time. It’s pretty much a rolling hotel. Food’s not great. No one on the bus can cook much of anything and after I burned some toast, Davis won’t let me near any of the appliances.

  I wrinkle my nose. I don’t blame him. The smell of burnt food didn’t leave the bus for two days. The only person not hassling me about it is Adam.

  Adam. I sigh moodily. I had hoped that in close quarters, with so much forced closeness, I’d end up hating him. At the very least, I’d be irritated by something he did. Like he’d talk too much or he’d be moody or he’d pick his nose. I pray for some dirty habit, but one hasn’t shown itself yet. He’s been nothing but generous and kind and thoughtful. He’s always checking in to see if I’m bored—as if he’s worried I need entertaining. I’ve pretended that my current project—one that involves debugging an update for Peep—is all-consuming, when in reality I can’t concentrate on anything but him.

  “Don’t like your drink?” Scott, the bartender, asks me.

  He wipes down a nonexistent spot next to my hand.

  “No. It’s great.” I take a giant sip to show my approval and end up choking on it.

  Scott smirks, but drops the cloth to pour me a glass of water. “Here you are, slugger.”

  “Thanks,” I sputter. I pat my throat. “Went down the wrong tube.”

  “It happens.” He settles his meaty forearms on the counter. “How’s the tour going?”