by D. Kelly
“They’re bigger than I’d imagined. Can I have the bottom, or is someone else traveling with us?”
“Nope, you can have my room. I’m taking the bunk.”
What? No fucking way.
“Sorry, that’s not the deal. I’m fine on the bunk, really.”
“I don’t feel right about it. You’re the only girl on the bus, Mel, and you should have the room.”
“Noah, I appreciate the offer, but this is more than enough. I knew what I was getting into, and I’ll be fine. This is your job, and you need to be well-rested in your own bed.”
With an adorable smirk, he replies, “You know, I could say the same about you.”
“I’ve slept in worse places. This is fine, I promise.”
An unhappy look flickers across his face with my words.
“Well, maybe I’ll eventually be able to convince you to rotate.”
“Um, I think that’s going to depend on the number of skanks who go in and out of your room and Sawyer’s. No offense.”
He’s taken aback, and I feel awful.
“Is that what you think of us?”
“I’m sorry, Noah, I shouldn’t have assumed. This isn’t my first rodeo with musicians, so I just lumped you in with what I know.”
“Care to elaborate?” he asks, intrigued.
“Not now, but maybe someday. Again, I’m sorry if I offended you.” I turn to walk away, and he pulls me back.
“Not so fast. I still have more to show you.”
He opens Sawyer’s door; the room is spotless. They weren’t kidding when they said he was a neat freak. Then again, the buses haven’t left yet, so we’ll see. There’s soundproofing on all the walls in here. With a raised brow, I look to Noah and he chuckles, pulling me into his room, where there’s also soundproofing on his walls.
He sits on the bed and pats the spot next to him. I’m hesitant to sit, but at least I know the sheets are clean—for today.
The room is large enough for a full-size bed, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a dresser that runs across the wall under the TV. Yet it’s small enough for him to reach over and kick the door shut with his foot. My heart speeds up a bit.
“Amelia, I’m not into random hookups, and I haven’t been for a few years. I’ve always been more of a relationship kind of guy. It’s important to me that above all else you know that about me, okay?”
I nod, not really able to find my words.
“Sawyer is a different story. He doesn’t bring different girls in every night, but once in a while, he needs to let off steam, and having sex is how he does it. We have a rule on this bus and always have. Sex on the bus is only allowed in the bedrooms, and we’ve never broken that rule. Hence the oh-so-decorative soundproofing on the walls. It’s not pretty, but trust me, it’s necessary. It also helps mute freeway noise.”
“Trust me, I already know the scene.”
“I know I’ve said this before, but I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”
“Me, too. I mean, you know, getting to know you.”
He’s shaking his head and laughing. “Has anyone ever told you how fucking cute you are?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but I’m not sure cute has ever been one of them.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to change that,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. As we exit the bedroom, Belle runs up onto the bus with Darren and Sawyer is right behind her.
“You’re leaving now!” she squeals as the engines fire up.
She runs up to me and hugs me tightly. Belle is so petite; I always feel like a giant next to her. I’m about six inches taller than her, and I swear she can’t weigh more than a hundred and five pounds.
“I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too, but I’ll see you in a week, and I’ll be texting you constantly. I love you, Mel. Live today like there’s no tomorrow.” She kisses me on the cheek and runs off the bus. Typical Belle.
Belle’s First Tour Update
Slammers!
It’s your girl Belle here, and I literally just got off the BAD tour bus as they embark on their farewell tour. If you read my last article you know the deal, but in case you missed it, I’ll forgive you this once and recap it for you.
Bastards and Dangerous are heading out on their farewell tour for their final album. The Just an Illusion tour is like nothing you’ve ever seen. All your favorite Bastards getting all acoustical and shit on you. It’s the fucking bomb. Just an Illusion, the album, goes live tomorrow, and tickets for the first show go on sale on Monday.
Tickets will be released three days before each show and will only be sold at the nearest Top Hitz Music locations to the venue. These venues will be smaller than ever, and the crowds more intimate, so be sure to click the link at the bottom of the page for all the deets on upcoming tour locations.
Trust me, this is one you don’t want to miss. If you do, no worries because my girl Mel is covering the entire tour from the first day to the last in the only official book to ever be written about BAD. That’s right. My best friend Mel is spending 365 glorious days with the Bastards herself. Imagine the secrets she’ll be able to tell!
That’s all for now.
Don’t forget, live today like there’s no tomorrow!
Xs and Os,
Belle
On The Road Again
The last time I was on a tour bus, I was sixteen years old. I’m twenty-eight now, and I’ve recently discovered all the guys are the same age as I am. I knew we were close in age, I just didn’t realize how close.
Yesterday was our first day on the bus, and everyone mostly kept to themselves. I’m assuming it’s a routine of some sort, getting acclimated to life on the road again. Or maybe they were being mindful of me because I slept a good part of the day and into the night.
Tour buses were my home for a long time. The lull of the bus as it moves along has always been comforting to me. Our tour bus was pretty much the only home I ever knew. We spent more time on it than we ever did at our actual home. I never realized how much I missed it until yesterday.
Now, it’s five in the morning, and I’ve already successfully brewed a cup of coffee in the Keurig. I’m sitting on the couch in my pajamas, with my feet curled up under me, watching the sunrise over the desert. Belle always tells everyone to live as if it’s your last day, but my favorite thing is waking up in the morning and watching the sunrise with the knowledge yesterday wasn’t my last day. It’s what brings me hope.
One of the guys is up; I heard him stumble to the bathroom a minute ago, but I’m selfishly hoping whoever it is goes back to bed.
No such luck.
Sawyer walks out in his boxers and nothing else and works on making himself a cup of coffee. His body is so perfect; it takes everything I have not to stare. Even still, it’s impossible not to flick an occasional glance his way.
When his coffee finishes brewing, he sits at the opposite end of the couch and sips it slowly, looking out the window the same as I am. I wouldn’t have pegged him as a morning person.
“Good morning,” I whisper softly, hoping not to make too much noise and wake Noah.
“Morning, Princess,” he says before sipping his coffee again. I hate the nickname, but what I hate even more is how much I love hearing him call me Princess.
“Are you ever going to call me by my name?”
He flashes me a smug grin. “Nope.”
“Great,” I mumble, and he laughs. “Shhh. Just because you’re up doesn’t mean you need to wake up Noah.”
For some reason, he laughs even harder. “Noah could sleep through one of our concerts. He doesn’t wake until he’s had enough sleep. Most days that’s about ten a.m.”
That’s weird. I would have pictured them completely opposite.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a morning person.”
> “Never used to be, but it’s something about the bus.”
I nod in understanding but don’t elaborate. Sawyer fumbles around and opens a cabinet next to the couch.
“Want one?”
He’s holding out a pack of Pop-Tarts.
“You eat Pop-Tarts for breakfast?”
“I eat Pop-Tarts whenever I want a fucking Pop-Tart, and Noah always steals them, so I hide them all over.”
This is probably the first normal thing I’ve learned about him, and I decide then and there it must go in the book.
“What flavor?”
“The only one that matters … cinnamon.”
“Yeah, I’ll take one.” He’s about to toss me a pack and thinks better of it.
“Toasted?”
I feel like this is a quiz, but toasted Pop-Tarts aren’t my thing.
“Eww, no.”
With a smile, he passes it to me. “I knew I fucking liked you for a reason, Princess.” His words give me the feels but I can’t let them. He and I are not going to happen, no matter how fucking sexy he looks sitting next to me in his boxers.
“So what do you usually do in the morning?”
“Read, write, sing, practice, whatever I feel like. At some point, usually around lunchtime when we stop for a break, all the guys will get on one bus for a few hours and practice or just hang out.”
“What do you like to read?”
“Different things, I guess. Biographies, books on history, mystery or suspense, I guess whatever grabs me when I’m browsing.”
I bet he looks sexy as fuck while he’s reading.
“What do you like to read? Romance?” he teases.
“Not really. Sure, every once in a while, I might want to read something with a happy ending and romance is usually where it’s at. I’m more of a paranormal or suspense girl.”
“But don’t you write romance?” he asks, surprised.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m a huge romantic. Quite the contrary, actually.”
He turns to face me. “How does that work? I figured all these romance chicks all had this fairytale idea of life and shit.”
“Hardly. I mean, who knows, maybe some of them do. I don’t really know any other writers. For me, growing up, things were different. Real all the time, shitty some of the time, and romance pretty much never, or at least never in a functional way. I’m sure most relationships aren’t so loving and sweet, which makes reading about people who do have that an escape for people who don’t and never will.”
“Anna likes your book,” he counters.
“Ah, but I’d assume Anna is happy and in love, and Wyatt is probably pretty romantic. It’s the other side of the coin. Happy people don’t want to read sad stories, they want to read happiness and happily ever afters so they can stay in their happy bubble.”
“So happy people want to stay happy, lonely people want to believe it’s out there for them, and people who aren’t happy want to escape to happy every once in a while?”
“Pretty much.”
“But if you take that analogy to music, it doesn’t work.”
“Doesn’t it?”
He wrinkles his nose a little as he thinks. “No, it doesn’t. If it did, people would be listening to love songs all the time.”
“Not necessarily. Music is different. It’s filled with memories and emotions. Certain songs and beats trigger good and bad memories. Blues can make you swoon, love songs can make you reminisce or even cry. Rage metal and grunge are both great outlets for any aggressions you may have, rap … Well, oddly enough, rap encompasses it all. R & B and soul allow you to unleash your inner Whitney. No matter what the fuck she sings, Adele just gives you the feels. Don’t even get me started on Prince, Michael Jackson, and Madonna … they’re fucking gods. All of it makes you want to dance. Think about how you feel when you write. Do you think that reflects in your music?”
The skeptical look on his face makes me smile, but at least he answers the question.
“At times it does. Other times, my lyrics are based on the past or maybe even thoughts about the future. You might actually know this if you ever listened to my music. If you knew anything about us. Why are you so opposed to our stuff anyway?”
His question hits too close to home for me to give him an entirely truthful answer. But the fact of the matter is, I want to be open to them because they’re being open with me for the book. It only seems fair.
“Number one, I’m here to get to know you. I’m sorry if I bruised your delicate ego by not already knowing enough to be able to write my own tell-all book on BAD.”
His brow raises with my sarcastic answer, but this is me and he’ll just have to get used to it.
“Number two, I’m going to answer your question, but I’m not going into details about the whys of my ways, okay?”
With a lifted brow, he nods and continues to drink his coffee while awaiting my response.
“The music you play takes me back to a part of my life I’ve been trying to bury for years. It’s not your songs in particular, so I’m not singling you out. It’s the entire heavier rock category as a whole.”
“You should listen to our practice today. We’re focusing on the new album. Some songs are new and some are old, but all of them are acoustic. I’d really like to know your thoughts. Maybe see if we might be able to make a fan out of you yet.”
I thought Sawyer would be the last one of the guys to want to have a conversation with me. But we’re actually sitting here conversing over our morning coffee. I could get used to this.
“Sure, I can do that, but calling me a fan is reaching. I’m not typically a fangirl over anything.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My tone is light, but I’m genuinely curious.
“You’re just not like anyone I’ve ever met, Princess.”
“Is that bad?”
“I’m not sure. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
We fall into silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I’m already realizing there’s so much more to these men than I ever thought possible.
A short time later, Noah emerges from his bedroom wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt, his hair is messed up, and he flashes me a sleepy smile.
“Sawyer, what the hell?” he suddenly yells across the bus.
Sawyer looks up, obviously confused, and Noah uses his hand to gesture up and down his own body.
“Clothes, dick. Have some manners and put on some clothes.”
“Are you seriously giving me shit for walking around the way I do every single day of my life?” He shakes his head, obviously frustrated.
“It’s okay,” I interject before they really start fighting. “Really, I’m used to it, and it’s not like I’ve never seen a man in his underwear before. It doesn’t bother me. To be truthful, it actually makes me feel better to know you’re not acting differently because I’m here. I don’t want to intrude on your lives any more than I have to.”
“See, Noah, she doesn’t care.”
“Dude, I care!” Noah exclaims.
I’m pretty sure there’s more to this than just me, so I’m going to excuse myself and let them work this out.
“Since everyone is awake, I’m going to go take a shower. Excuse me.”
Noah moves into the kitchen area as I pass by. When I reach my bunk, I grab my toiletry bag and the clothes I pulled out last night for today and duck into the bathroom. I hope Noah can get over trying to act differently with me around. The last thing I want is for him not to be comfortable enough to be himself for the next year.
After showering, I feel much better. The shower on this bus is better than the shower in my apartment.
There’s a knock on the door; I figure it’s my cue I’ve taken too long. Noah is waiting outside the door.
“Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to let you know
the second drawer on the left is all yours.”
“You’re giving me a drawer?”
“Well, yeah, I don’t need too much stuff, and you can’t be on the bus for a year living out of your suitcase.”
I’ve actually got two drawers under my bed, which are a godsend because they’re super deep, but I know what he means. It’s still hard to believe the two of them are brothers. Other than their similar looks, they’re nothing alike.
“Thanks, Noah, that’s really sweet of you.”
“Nah, I’m just a guy with two sisters and I know how I’d want them treated.”
“You guys have sisters?”
“Yup, one older and one younger. I reminded Sawyer of them when you got in the shower. I’m sure he wouldn’t want some guy walking around in his underwear around our little sister.”
“Really, it doesn’t bother me.”
“It bothers me,” he states firmly, leaving no room for discussion.
He’s so stubborn, but his gesture is appreciated. When I turn to unpack my toiletries into the drawer, I catch him smiling at me in the mirror.
“So Sawyer says you’re going to listen to us practice today. We’re working on the new song since we just finished it. I think you’ll like it, even if it’s probably the saddest song we’ve ever done.”
“I’m looking forward to it, actually. We had a nice talk this morning. It’s nice to get to know Sawyer a little bit without his guard up.”
“I’d like to say you’ll see more of that, but the truth is, he’s been guarded for a long time, and you should relish those moments when you get them.”
“Well, maybe that will change,” I answer softly.
“We can only hope.”
He steps back so I can put my stuff back in my bunk, but it’s not far enough, and I end up brushing against him. His hand finds its way to my hip briefly before he releases me and steps further out of the way. I could get used to his touch; for some reason, it exudes safety, security, and comfort. Too bad musicians aren’t on my to-do list anymore.
