Unwritten

by Jen Frederick

  “Good.” He kisses me again. This time, his lips linger and his hands on my arms slow until it’s less about keeping me warm and more about enjoying the press of his flesh against mine. “Let’s go, Landry,” he says in a husky voice that promises more if I just follow him.

  “Where we going?”

  “Home.”

  I nod, my body vibrating with anticipation. We walk a few feet, then it hits me. He stops abruptly, too, and judging by his sigh, he’s come to the same realization. Home is a bus full of drunk, rowdy people.

  “How about a hotel?”

  “What about Davis?” I counter. I hadn’t fully thought this through, but I know that Davis isn’t ready for the news that I’m hitting the sheets with Adam. This thing with Adam might only last for a hot second. I don’t want to ruin Davis’s band over that. The whole point of me coming on this tour was to make sure Davis’s dreams could come true.

  “What about him?”

  “I’m not telling him about this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Adam, come on.”

  He sighs again. “Fine. We don’t have to say anything for now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get a hotel room. I’ll get one for everyone and say it’s because of the success we had.”

  That sounds like a good plan for me. “I’m good for half.”

  I’m not used to throwing money at a problem to make it go away, but I can see the appeal.

  He chuckles. “I’m good for it. It’ll be my treat.”

  I reach for my phone to text Davis, but a message pops up. Before I can read it, I see Adam pulling his phone out of his pocket.

  Davis: Where are you? You with Adam? He needs to haul ass to the bus. Amazing news.

  I show the screen to Adam. He flips his around for me to read. He’s got several missed messages, but the one showing on his screen is from Rudd.

  Dude. Get back here. Hollister has something for you.

  Adam texts back. Don’t need a girl.

  Rudd: It’s not pussy. Better than.

  Adam: Tell me tomorrow. Thought we’d get some hotel rooms. Sleep in a real bed.

  Rudd: You’re gonna be too excited to sleep.

  Adam stares at his phone for a second, then at me. “I don’t think they’re going to stop bugging me. Why don’t we go back, find out what they want to tell me, and then go to the hotel?”

  Before I can answer, my phone buzzes again. Davis again.

  Srsly grab his ass and drag him back here.

  Adam drops his head in sad resignation.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Adam

  Can you die from an erection? I’m currently testing the theory. At the green, we find Bo and Noah studying the chutes and ladders contraption. A young, gangly kid is standing to the side wearing a neon-green polo with the logo “Our sticks work in the dark” in black lettering over his left breast. He’s glaring at the two former Marines. Ah, the precociousness of youth, given that my two roommates could snap his thin neck like a twig.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to charge us two hundred bucks for this thing,” Noah grouses, waving his broken putter around.

  “Finn could’ve fixed it for five,” Bo adds.

  “Well, he’s not here,” says AnnMarie, exchanging an exasperated look with Grace.

  I pull my wallet out and hand two hundred-dollar bills to the attendant. “Sorry about that.” To Bo and Noah, who look peeved I’ve paid the guy off, I say, “I need to get back to the bus.”

  “That’s a ripoff,” Noah grumbles.

  “Gosh, Adam, thanks so much for taking care of that for us. I’m sorry I suck so bad at mini-golf that I broke the putter,” Grace chirps in a spot-on imitation of Noah.

  “You’re welcome,” Landry says before I can respond, doing a spot-on imitation of me. “I’m happy to do it and I’m not going to rub it in or be an ass about it.”

  The girls dissolve into a fit of giggles.

  “Very funny.” Noah slaps Grace on the ass as she climbs into the rear of the Escalade.

  “Thanks. I thought it was.”

  “Me, too.” Landry joins Grace in the back and they exchange high-fives.

  The humor helps to take the edge off. Concentrating on something other than the taste and touch of Landry works, too. But it’s not enough. I’m acutely aware she’s only a couple inches behind me and that if it were just the two of us, we’d still be in the parking lot, only we’d be horizontal and we’d both be wearing substantially fewer clothes.

  Next to me, Bo is rambling about how we all need to play real golf. I hate golf, but I throw myself into the conversation because I don’t need my mind wandering back to that patch of fake grass and trees where I kissed Landry until we were both too weak to stand.

  It works, because my hard-on subsides by the time we roll into the parking lot where the bus is still stationed. It’s lit up, but it appears the crowd has dispersed.

  “Thanks for coming down,” I tell my roommates and their girls.

  “Wouldn’t have missed it,” Noah says. He gives me a back slap and hug. Bo does the same. The two girls throw themselves into my arms.

  “I like her,” Grace whispers. “She’s perfect for you.”

  AnnMarie nods. “I agree. Don’t mess this up, hotshot.”

  “Not planning to.” I give them both a kiss on the cheek. Another time, I would’ve kissed them on the mouth, mostly to rile up their boyfriends. But now I feel that part of me belongs to Landry.

  Landry also gets hugs from everyone before my roommates hop into their vehicle and speed off to their hotel. I watch the SUV with a little wistful longing.

  Landry punches me lightly in the arm. “Come on,” she says, “We have tomorrow.”

  I perk up immediately. So does my dick. “Tonight, you mean.”

  She glances at her phone. “So it is.”

  “Dude, my fucking God, did you walk from the joint or what?” An excited Rudd tumbles down the stairs. “Get in here.” He motions with his arm.

  Landry arches her eyebrows but says nothing as she follows Rudd inside. Davis is seated across from Hollister. Leaning against the counter is Ian, his tattooed arms crossed in front of his chest and an impassive expression plastered on his face.

  Davis is vibrating with excitement. He explodes out of his seat when he spies Landry and me. “Fuck, why the hell did you two take so long?”

  Because your sister and I were busy trying to rip each other’s clothes off.

  I rub a hand across my forehead. Landry averts her eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He waves a hand. “Come on, Hollister. Tell Rees the news.”

  Hollister gets to his feet. A genuine smile curves his lips upward. I’ve seen that shark smile before. It’s the one Hollister’s wallet generates when it senses an influx of cash.

  “Yeah, tell me,” I say, although I’m fairly sure I’m not going to like whatever it is he’s going to try selling me. Ian’s lack of emotion is not encouraging.

  “A guy from InMotion was at the bar tonight with his girlfriend and he really liked your music. Said your sound was ‘fresh and clean.’”

  “Sounds like he’s describing a mouthwash.” I lean my hip against the edge of the banquette. At my back I can feel the warmth of Landry’s body as she stands just over my right shoulder. She chuckles, but no one else does. In fact, I catch Ian wincing slightly.

  “It’s not a mouthwash,” Rudd says. He’s tired of waiting. He pushes by me, throws an arm around Hollister and says, “Our man Hollister is going to hook us up with a tech company. Some fruity company wants to use ‘Classic’ for their next commercial. Is that amazing or what? We’re the new Fitz and The Tantrums!”

  He raises his arms and forms devil’s horns with his fingers.

  “A commercial?”

  “I told you he wouldn’t go for it.” Ian turns and heads for the back as if he doesn’t want to hear any explanation or excuses.

  “Come on, Rees.” Rudd drops h
is arms. “Seriously? This is a big-time opportunity. Fitz didn’t get big without all its pop culture creds.”

  “It’s true,” Hollister adds. “Commercials are one of the primary methods of discovery for new bands. These tech companies love using little known musicians and pushing them into the mainstream. It makes them look cool and hip. My guy says they’ll pay well. You’ll have national exposure, which means your band can headline instead of being backup.”

  “No.” I push by a disappointed Rudd and a confused Davis to find an angry Ian in the back, shoving empty beer cans and red Solo cups into a trash bag. Behind me, I hear some cursing and Davis saying, “What just happened?”

  “You said no, didn’t you,” Ian says.

  I crouch on the floor to grab some trash. “Yeah, you mad?”

  “Frustrated,” he says tersely. “You fucking love that company. Every piece of tech you own has that damn brand on it, but you’re turning it down because of some musical ideal that no one even cares about anymore.”

  “We’re three weeks into this tour and we’re already growing our audience.” I stuff some gross wet napkins and a couple bottles into the bag. “Let’s see where we are at the end of the tour. Growing our audience organically makes the most sense. We’ve both been around long enough to know that one hit makes zero difference.” Fuck, everyone is so shortsighted. Threat Alert has no staying power and Ian knows it. “In a year, no one’s going to remember TA beyond their single song. Even now, the audience doesn’t care about their music. They only want to hear the hit on repeat.”

  Ian grits his teeth. “That’s because their music sucks on the whole. We don’t suck, Adam. With Davis, this is the real deal. You know it and so do I, but if we don’t take every advantage offered to us, our chance will dissolve. In two months, this offer isn’t going to be on the table anymore. Hell, it might not be on the table in two days. You can do stuff with this offer that other bands can’t.”

  “He’s right,” Rudd says from the doorway. “The other guys on tour would kill for this opportunity.”

  Over my bandmates’ heads, I spy Landry. Her face is filled with confusion. To a girl who didn’t hesitate to sell her work, my attitude makes no sense. When I start talking, it’s more for her sake than anyone else.

  “We let ourselves be defined by one song, and we’ll never be the band we can be. This is the only song our crowd will want to hear. I don’t want that for us. Look at Threat Alert.”

  Davis’s eyes soften in understanding. Landry looks thoughtful. We’ve been peeling away the other band’s audience, one night after another. It’s making everyone on the headliner’s group testy.

  They try to hide it, but the snarky remarks they shoot in our direction have more than a little truth to them.

  I press my advantage. “I’ll subsidize this band for however long it takes for us to gain the right audience that can keep us playing for years. If we take a shortcut, we’re cutting ourselves off at the legs. We’ve got a great sound. Let’s not sacrifice that for some quick money. If you need a loan, I’m good for it. Hell, it doesn’t even need to be a loan. I’ll just give you the money.”

  “It’s not about the money for me,” Davis says. “The idea of national exposure sounded good, but I’ve never done anything but play at a few local bars and fraternities. If you think turning this offer down is the best thing for us, then I’ll back you.”

  Relief fills my chest. Feeling about a hundred pounds lighter, I turn to Ian. “You in, man?”

  He shakes his head and snorts before holding out his fist. “I’m in.”

  “Rudd?”

  My bassist makes a face but puts his hand in the middle. “I think we’re stupid as fuck to turn it down, but I’m in.”

  Davis’s hand lands on top. “No shortcuts.”

  “No shortcuts,” we all yell.

  It’s not until I’m in my bunk that I remember Landry didn’t stick her hand in.

  And it bugs me. All night long.

  * * *

  The next morning, she’s waiting for me. We go to breakfast. We talk about everything but last night. Not the almost sex we had at the mini-golf and not the offer from Hollister. I wait for her to bring it up, but she doesn’t. Not once.

  “We still on for tonight?” I ask as we walk from the IHOP back to the bus.

  “I don’t know, are we?” A pair of metallic aviators shield her eyes.

  “It’s all I can think about.”

  Her head swings in my direction. “Same.”

  I push away any feelings of unease. Or rather, my lust does. This morning, my phone was full of texts from my roommates.

  Finn: Heard you’ve been bagged by the redhead. Nice.

  Mal: Still working on our project. Keep in touch. Sounds like this one’s a keeper. Thumbs up.

  Bo: We like this one.

  Noah: Don’t fuck it up.

  The challenge is, I’m not sure what fucking up entails. For a moment last night, I wondered if not selling my music to some ad company was the fuckup, but since Landry hasn’t uttered a word about it, I chalk up my unease to an overactive imagination. There wasn’t disapproval in her eyes, and she didn’t chime in because she doesn’t feel like she’s part of the band.

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to tell Davis,” she says, breaking into my train of thought.

  “Huh?” I must’ve missed something. “Tell Davis what?”

  “About us. I don’t want him to know.”

  “Why not?”

  She shoots me a skeptical look. “You really think Davis is going to be okay with you and me hooking up?”

  Oh, right. No touching his sister. But he’s going to find out at some point, because she and I aren’t a one-time deal. I’m not going to hide in dark, secret places every time I want to make her come. Landry’s the one who I see my future with.

  She’s smart, honest, and doesn’t only want to be with me because I’m a musician. I can talk with her for hours without a single awkward silence, and I can’t see that ever changing. When I look at her, I see a future full of laughter and easy conversation. And yeah, sex. Lots and lots of sex.

  “I don’t think that lying to him and sneaking around behind his back is the right thing to do. I don’t mind talking to him.”

  She grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop. “I don’t want to lie to him, either, but there’s no reason we have to rush out and plaster it all over the side of the bus. You said yourself that this band has something special. That’s why you agreed to this tour, recruited Davis, and why you’re turning down this big deal commercial thing.”

  And there it is. I hate when my arguments are used against me. I place my hand over hers. “Davis knows this band is special, too. He quit his job and he won’t give up simply because you and me have gotten close.”

  Landry glances toward the bus and back to me, her beautiful features drawing tight. “Davis is a hothead. The minute he found out about Marrow, he went and beat the guy up. He didn’t think about the consequences for a second.”

  “That’s what you’re basing your worry on? I’d have done the same thing.”

  She drops her hand from my arm. “Ugh, you guys. Violence is not the answer. It didn’t stop Marrow from stalking me. Instead Davis got thrown in jail and Dad had to pay a lot of money in legal fees to get the charge reduced from a felony to a misdemeanor.”

  “I doubt Davis was sorry for standing up for you. I sure as hell wouldn’t be.”

  “Does standing up always have to include your fists?”

  “Sometimes it does.”

  She shakes her head in dismay. “You once told me that you know things. You know when songs will be hits. That Threat Alert is likely a one-hit wonder. That this band has magic and the potential to be great. I want that for you. I want that for Davis.” As I absorb this, she adds, “I’m not going to be here in another month. Let’s wait until I go and then we’ll tell him. Four weeks. That’s all I’m asking. Four weeks for you to build your conne
ction to each other.”

  Four weeks? My mind balks at this. “There’s no reason for you to leave the tour after two months.”

  “My parents will be back by then.”

  “So?”

  “So the danger of me being alone will be gone.”

  “Again, so? You should stay with us the entire tour.” She’s part of the band now, in some strange way.

  “You know I can’t.”

  “I don’t know a damn thing.”

  As we get closer to the bus, Davis waves us over. He has a guitar on his lap. “You two okay?” he calls out.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” Landry laughs lightly. “Aren’t we?” she asks, and she’s not merely asking if we’re all right, but whether I’m buying into her subterfuge.

  “Is this an ultimatum?” I say quietly.

  “No. It’s a request.”

  I pull a cigarette out of my pocket and jam it into my mouth. At this rate, I’m going to be smoking a carton a day and dying of lung cancer before the end of the tour.

  “We’re fine,” I say as we reach him.

  “You guys looked like you were in an intense discussion.”

  Is that suspicion in his voice?

  “I was telling Landry we should stay in a hotel tonight. Get out of the bus and get a decent night’s sleep.”

  Davis perks up. “Hotel, huh? That’d be awesome. Not that the bus isn’t great,” he hurries to assure me. “Can we afford it?”

  I look to Landry. “Don’t think we can afford not to.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Landry

  Tour Stop: Austin Night Two

  Tonight’s show drags. The first two bands get almost no attention, and what little crowd there is seems unenthused. Only a few diehards are on the dance floor. I gaze up at the lead singer and wonder how demoralizing it is to stand up there and sing when no one is interested. Adam is standing at the edge of the dance floor, a bottle in one hand, tapping his foot and nodding his head to the beat. I don’t know if he really enjoys it or is putting on a good show.