He nods to confirm my answer. “Is Davis getting laid?”
I make a face. “Probably, but I don’t want to think about it.”
“Is Rudd in the back, enjoying a swarm of girls?”
“Definitely.”
“And Ian’s sitting, taking it all in.”
He was. “I’m guessing that watching is okay with Berry, but not participating?”
“Yeah, she’s cool with that. It’s their thing.”
“Is it your thing?” I ask without thinking. Adam bursts out laughing. I can feel myself turning bright red. “Oh shit, don’t answer that. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why it came out.”
He chuckles. “I’m not into that. And don’t apologize. You can ask me whatever you want.”
He squeezes my hand once before withdrawing. I want to grab his hand back and place it on my thigh. Or maybe higher.
“You’re obviously not cramping a damn thing,” he assures me. “Everyone’s doing exactly what they want right now. Your being here hasn’t affected anyone.”
I sigh, a full sigh of contentment. I didn’t want to come on this tour, but now that I’m here? I can’t imagine another place I want to be. Right here with this man. This honest, gorgeous, sexy man—
“Did you just moan?”
I jolt in surprise. Did I? No, of course I didn’t. “No,” I say way too emphatically.
“Thinking about anyone in particular?” There’s a slight edge to his tone now.
“One, I didn’t moan—”
“You totally did.” His lips curl slightly. “Thought you weren’t into Man Bun.”
My jaw falls open. “I’m not!”
“Then who are you all starry-eyed and moaning about?” The edge has become a bite, as if the thought of me fantasizing about anyone is absolutely not cool with him. “Rudd?”
“No way,” I say instantly. “I told you, there’s nothing there with Rudd.”
“So then we’re back to Man Bun,” he says flatly, getting to his feet. He shifts so that his back is half turned to me. “Just so you know, a lot of managers have the rep for being sleazebags.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. “I am not lusting over Threat Alert’s manager!” I burst out. “Jeez, if you must know, I was thinking about you!”
I regret it the second the confession leaves my mouth. Damn it! Why did I have to go and say that? We were having a nice moment!
Adam pivots toward me. A shaft of light hits the top of his forehead, illuminating his face enough that I can see he’s frowning. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. Perfect. Maybe he didn’t hear me. I was talking pretty fast, so there’s a chance that he might have misheard—
“You were thinking about me?”
No, he heard me loud and clear.
“Maybe a little bit,” I mumble under my breath.
“What was that?”
I peek up from under my lashes and see that he’s no longer frowning. He just looks stunned.
I take a deep breath. “Oh, fine. In the interest of full disclosure, since we’re getting along so well right now, you should know that I have this tiny crush on you.”
“What?” he says again, and he sounds as if he’s choking.
In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. “Look, it’s not like I want to jump you. It’s that there’s this warm, fluttery feeling I get when you’re around.”
He gives a strangled laugh. “That sounds like a condition that I should take you to the hospital for, not a crush.”
There’s a crinkly sound. In the dim light, I see his hand crushing the matchbook. I pluck it from his grip and smooth it out. All but one match is broken. I pull it out and scrape it against the striking strip. When the flame flares, I hold it up to Adam’s mouth. The flame highlights his gorgeous lips and cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass.
He stares at me, two pools of dark against his too-handsome face. Then, with a sigh, slides the cigarette between his lips.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him, cupping my hand around the flame. “Davis told me you’re not a relationship type of guy, and I’m not looking for a relationship, either. I’m not going to act on the crush. I’m just enjoying how it feels. It’s…safe. It’s like…” I struggle to put the words to the emotions. “It’s like evidence that I’m really over the fear that I felt after Marrow attacked me. The first time,” I clarify. “God, I sound like a nutcase. It played out perfectly in my head. Listen, I’m harmless.”
He shakes his head slightly before lighting his cigarette. I drop the match to the ground and he stamps his big boot on top of it. He inhales deeply and then pulls the cigarette out. “You know that I have a dick, right?”
“Yes?” I don’t know what he means by that.
He sighs, sticks the cigarette in his mouth again and puffs on it heavily. “Let me get this straight. You have a crush on me because I’m…safe?”
“That’s about right.”
“That’s a hell of a confession, Landry. What would happen if I told you that I wasn’t safe? That I think you’re gorgeous and I’ve spent my fair share of moments fantasizing about what you’d feel like underneath me?”
My jaw drops. Adam Rees has had fantasies about me? That can’t be right. I haven’t sensed any sort of interest on his part. He’s glared at me. He’s been kind. We had this nice moment before I went and ruined it, but not once did I feel lust on his part. Well, maybe I felt a bit of lust the first night at the bar, but it faded fast after he found out I was Davis’s sister.
“Are you saying that to make me feel better?” I demand.
He sighs again and sits down next to me, covering my small hands with one of his big ones. “Yeah, I’m saying it to make you feel better. Crush away, baby. You’re safe with me.”
His tone is resigned, as if he can’t believe he has to deal with me, but he’s going to because I’m sharing a bus with him for the next two months.
“I promise to never speak of this again,” I say helpfully.
Adam takes another drag, then releases a cloud of smoke into the dark night. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter Fourteen
Adam
Tour Stop: Tallahassee
She trusts me.
If there was one thing she could’ve said to put the brakes on my behavior, that was it. I can’t violate her trust by making moves on her now. But knowing the girl you want would crawl into your bed at the snap of a finger is like your mom dangling your favorite dessert she just made in front of you and telling you it’s for company only.
“Are your pancakes not cooked in the middle or something?”
I flick my eyes up to meet Landry’s. They’re green, like I first imagined, but light with flecks of gold. Right now, the early morning sun makes them glow.
It’s not like I’ve lived a life of restraint. I’ve had money, girls, things for the taking. Now I’m supposed to sit on my hands and do nothing. Actually, worse than nothing. I’m supposed to sit across from her and return her seductive smiles with bland ones.
“No, my pancakes are just fine.”
“Fine” is becoming the only word in my vocabulary. It stands for this sucks, let’s toss everything in the garbage and go fuck until the world burns down. But Landry’s not fluent in my language.
“I love dives where I know everything is full of fat and calories but it’s all too delicious to resist.”
Like you.
“Will we be at a place like this tonight?” she asks.
I struggle to pull myself together and answer her innocent question instead of hauling her across the table and kissing those cherry lips until every part of her is hot and flushed. “Not in Tallahassee. It’s a smaller place, but has a long history of supporting new and undiscovered bands. Hollister’s done a good job of picking places that aren’t so large that it looks like we’re a failure and that have enough capacity to make sure all the guys put a little money in their pocket.” I allow a hint of a smile to surf
ace. “Rudd really does do marketing for us. He’s in charge of our electronic press kit. He runs the Facebook, Instagram, Twitter accounts. We give him hell, but he takes care of a lot of shit the rest of us can’t stand.”
She forks a little of her omelet between her lips, a flash of white teeth peeking out. Even her teeth are sexy—small and white and straight. Holy shit, I’m losing it. I’m getting hard watching her eat. That’s a first. But then, everything Landry does turns me on.
When she smiles, when she flicks her hair out of the way, when she sticks the stupid fork between her lips. This is ridiculous. I force my attention away.
“I don’t like interacting with people, either,” she says. “When we sold our app, May handled everything. Her and a lawyer my dad hired. I like my basement setup.” The last bit is said with a tinge of longing. “I couldn’t do what you and Davis do. Maybe Ian. I could hide behind a few drums.”
“Would we need to pile up a few more cymbals so no one could see your face?”
“Yes, that would be perfect. I prefer the booths in the corner. No one is running into me, and I get to see it all. My favorite bit is when you do the song ‘Dark Riots’ because everyone starts jumping up on their feet and screaming.”
I could make you scream.
“That’s one of my favorite parts, too.”
“What’s it like? Standing up there?”
Focus on the music and you won’t make a fool of yourself here.
“It’s great when you’re locked in and finding the groove. It’s terrible when the songs are flat and the crowd is booing you. One of my first gigs was up at State and the students started throwing their trash at us. We’d played a few times in the dorms and at one frat house and thought we were hot shit. Ben Tausch was my singer and he felt that rehearsing would make our sound stale and since our jam sessions were so lit, we should wing it. But he forgot the lyrics to the Radiohead song we were covering, and Ian broke his drumstick halfway through the set.” I can’t help but laugh at my own hubris and idiocy. “We’re lucky they didn’t throw the chairs at us.”
“May and I wrote three apps that failed before we wrote Peep. And even then, we thought it was too similar to other stuff out there,” Landry shares.
“What set it apart?”
“File compression. We reduced the file transfer size of a high-quality video so that it uses exponentially less data. Streaming videos are the future and any tech that can deliver it faster and cheaper is going to be popular. We stumbled on it almost by accident.” She shrugs like her thing wasn’t some huge deal.
But it is. I did my own share of googling. Her little app sold for eight figures. She might have more money than me.
“May took off about three months ago to tour the world,” Landry adds. “She’s currently in Asia.”
“And you feel like you should’ve gone with her?” There’s a wistful quality to her words.
“Maybe?” Her mouth twists into an uncertain curve. “I’m a bit of a homebody, and the idea of riding wild ponies through Mongolia is something I don’t mind reading about, but I can’t say I want to do it.” She peeps at me under a set of long, pale lashes. “That probably sounds boring to you.”
“I can’t say I’m interested in riding ponies, either.”
“But you’re on tour,” she points out.
“No one likes going on tour. It’s a necessary evil. A musician likes to perform. He likes the feedback loop between him and an appreciative audience. He might even enjoy the different crowds, but touring itself is the devil. You’re tired all the time. The cities start to blend together. By the time we reach Arizona, someone’s going to think we’re still in Texas.”
“Is that why Davis has the name of the city inked on his palm?”
“That’s right.” I gave that tip to him after the second night. You never want to get caught thanking the wrong town. It’s a surefire way to turn locals against you.
“Still, this is the most adventure I’ve had my entire life.” She shoots me a rueful smile. “The one good thing Marrow did is push me out of my comfort zone. If it weren’t for him and Davis—and you, I suppose—I’d still be in my parents’ basement.”
“That would’ve been a real shame.”
We dig into our breakfasts after that, talking more. She shares a little more about her family and how she hopes her folks return with their relationship glued back together. I tell her about my mom, living out in LA, trying to win a contest on who can have the most plastic surgery done to her body.
I’ve never met another person so easy to talk to. I could sit here all morning, doing nothing but watching her smile and eat.
By the time breakfast is over, I’m throbbing with need, but I do the only thing I can—I get back on the bus, change into running gear, and sweat out my lust as best I can.
I run the next morning. And every morning after for the next two weeks. It’s the only way I can cope. I don’t allow myself time alone with Landry. It’s too dangerous. During the day, I crash or jam with Davis or talk to Rudd about the marketing.
It’s the early morning hours that are a problem.
Like me, she’s up early. I don’t know if she can’t sleep or she just enjoys the time out of the bus. For me, it’s getting my ass off the sardine can. The run tires me out.
She waltzes around innocently, blissfully ignorant of how she’s tearing me up inside.
Only Ian guesses that my balls are bluer than a Smurf.
It’s cold comfort that Landry’s having fun. She doesn’t hesitate to get out of the bus anymore. No dark shadows lurk behind her eyes. Her smile is ready and beautiful.
Objectively, I know I shouldn’t be having breakfast with her each morning. I don’t do this sort of thing with any other band member and I wouldn’t be doing it if it weren’t with her. But I can’t give it up. These are the only times I have with her away from it all. In random cafes across the south, out in public so I won’t be tempted to put my hands all over her.
So I suffer. It’s exquisite torture.
We’ve fallen into a routine. We know each other well enough to order breakfast for each other. Large stack of blueberry pancakes for me, syrup on the side, accompanied by hash browns and an extra order of bacon. She never orders meat with breakfast but enjoys stealing two pieces from my plate. She only orders a Denver omelet.
“Mike told me you were a creative genius,” Landry says during today’s breakfast.
“Who’s Mike?” I blink because she’s so damned gorgeous. Idly I wonder what she’d do if I dragged her across the table and onto my lap, then kissed the daylights out of her.
“Mike, the Man Bun.”
“Oh, him.” I hate him. He joined us a few weeks ago and spends more time in Landry’s company than I like.
“Yes.” She leans forward. “Did you know that he and Keith are seeing each other? I think that’s a recipe for disaster, don’t you?”
“Keith? The lead singer for TA?” I lean back in surprise.
“Yup.”
“No. I had no idea they were seeing each other.” Thinking back, though, I guess I did see the two of them together. “Mike talks a lot of shit.”
She bobs her head in agreement. “At first I didn’t like him, but he’s grown on me. I guess we’re friends now. Like you and me. He told me you went to Juilliard.”
Great. I’ve now been slotted into the gay best friend category. My dick presses urgently against my sweats to prove how hetero he is.
“Nah. I got accepted and turned it down.”
She looks at me expectantly. “Why would you do that?”
“My dad had a stroke and I didn’t want to leave him.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry. When did that happen? Because I didn’t see it on his—” She breaks off with a guilty expression.
I grin. “Snooping?”
“A little.”
“Find out anything?”
“That you don’t have a lot of pictures out there. I tried to se
nd one to May, but all I could find were band photos.”
“Do you have a lot of pictures on the internet?”
She thinks hard. “I guess not. Too creepy.”
It feels good that she’s looked me up. A nice ego stroke.
“My dad’s thing was kept quiet,” I tell her. “It happened at home, and he has a doctor friend that I called. Medical stuff isn’t supposed to get out anyway.”
“But things get leaked all the time.”
“Mostly by people who can’t keep their shit locked down. Anyway, he’s better now. “
“Do you regret not going to Juilliard? That seems like an amazing experience.”
“Nah, I went to State, roomed with my friend, Finn. You remember him? He helped reno Bessie. I started my own band in college and that was better than going to Juilliard.”
“How many bands have you had?” The question is asked lightly, but it sounds like Mike talked about more than my Juilliard past.
“This is my third. I had one in college. It broke up after we couldn’t get any decent gigs in Chicago because of behind-the-scenes stuff.” No way am I telling her what really went down. She’d think I was a dirty, rotten bastard. “I was in another band right out of college, but I broke my leg at a show. While I was recuperating, the singer took my music and played it with another band. I had to sue him to stop it.”
“God, what a dick!” she exclaims.
“This is my third.” And last, I think.
“Which one do you like best?”
I give her a look. “Landry,” I say with exaggerated patience. “You always tell the girl you’re with that she’s the best you ever had.”
“Even if you don’t mean it?”
“Would you want to hear something else?”
“Yeah, I think I’d want the guy to be honest. If we were dating and he thought that his third girlfriend was his best girlfriend ever, then I’d want to know.”
“And you’d do what with that information?”
“Well, I think I’d throw a pot at his head and storm off, telling him that he might as well be with his old girlfriend if she was so awesome.”
Unwritten Page 11
