Going on Tour Read online

  I waved back and then looked down, realizing getting out of my bunk was going to be not only noisy, but a dangerous maneuver that I wasn’t sure I wanted to try for the first time in the middle of the night while the bus was moving.

  Plus, I wasn’t wearing any pants.

  “Can’t sleep?” I mouthed across the aisle at Dave.

  He squinted toward me, seemingly unable to read my lips. I pulled out my phone and held it up toward him. He nodded and grabbed his.

  Can’t sleep? I texted.

  I did for a while, he sent back. I get pretty bad insomnia sometimes. You?

  Same. These bunks are tiny, huh?

  I heard him snort and then he sent back, Very. I had to open my curtain—too claustrophobic. Like a morgue.

  I thought back to how I’d compared my bunk to a coffin. I get that.

  At least there are tvs.

  TVs? I looked up and sure enough, in the glow of my phone I could see there was a little screen attached to the bunk’s ceiling that I could pull down. Cool. Not that I imagined I’d have a lot of time to spend chilling out to watch The Bachelor, but I had a feeling there were going to be some times when coming to my bunk and putting on headphones was going to be a very necessary way to get some downtime.

  You had a good time at the gig? I typed, realizing I hadn’t had a chance to talk to any of the guys after. I didn’t count the little chat with Andres.

  Yeah, he sent. We were pretty tight and it was a rush. The crowd seemed to have a good time.

  They did. They didn’t want to leave! They love you, boy band.

  Another snort came from across the aisle.

  My heart did a bit of a lurch and not from us hitting a bump in the road. There was still something weird between us. Something I didn’t really want to address, but was going to have to—this bus was very tight quarters for the next however many days or weeks. For both personal and professional reasons, I couldn’t bear for it to be awkward between us.

  Are we okay? I sent.

  A second later, even as I looked at my screen, I could feel his eyes on me. I turned and met his gaze. He nodded.

  Good, I typed. I hated pissing you off.

  I wasn’t pissed off.

  I looked over at him and hoped he could see the withering look on my face.

  Either he did or guessed at it. He exhaled loudly and then sent: Okay so I was pissed off. You told me you don’t date musicians.

  I took a breath and held it as I thought about what to say. I really didn’t want to get into this here and now. I didn’t exactly feel like I owed him an explanation, since who I did or didn’t date wasn’t really any of his business. But...I guess being friends meant coming clean.

  It’s complicated. Can I explain later?

  I don’t need details, he sent back.

  I sent him a sticking-out-my-tongue emoji. You weren’t going to get any. Andres and I have a past. A rocky past

  Ah, so that’s why you hate musicians!

  Part of it, I sent before I realized I should have just said yes and left it at that.

  ??

  Another time, I sent. And by another time, I meant never. Like I said: complicated.

  But you’re dating him?

  I felt his eyes on me again, but kept mine trained on my phone. Not on tour.

  We should probably both get more sleep, he sent, abruptly changing the subject, which was both disconcerting and cause for relief at the same time. I really didn’t want to be having the whole dating conversation with him.

  We have another gig in...he looked up at me questioningly.

  14 hours, I tapped out.

  Right. Get some rest. Night, tour manager

  I smiled. Night boy band.

  I pushed thoughts of needing the washroom out of my head, hoping I’d be able to just force myself back to sleep. I tugged the privacy curtain back across the bunk and tucked my phone back between my mattress and the wall; it was a good place to store it where I wouldn’t risk kicking it off my bunk.

  Maybe it was the lull of the gently swaying bus, the fact that despite a few hours’ sleep, I was still bone-tired, or the relief over knowing that Dave and I were more or less okay, but whatever it was, I was asleep again within seconds.

  A Number Machine Might Not Be a Bad Idea

  The second my eyes snapped open, my brain started whirling with thoughts of everything I had to do: where the guys needed to be, prep for tonight’s gig, the itinerary for the next day, stuff I needed to buy, what my dad needed from me.

  But then came the impossible-to-ignore biological need.

  Despite it still being pitch black and quiet, my bladder told me with great urgency that I was done sleeping. A glance at my phone told me it was time to get up anyway. For me, at least. The guys could afford to keep sleeping—they’d earned it and had a big day ahead. It was technically still early morning, but I had a lot to do.

  The bus was still moving, so, staying horizontal, I wiggled into my jeans from the day before and then, using the light app on my cell, I found the bunk’s light switch. Once the bunk was lit, I opened my backpack and found my toothbrush and phone charger. I plugged the phone into the outlet on the wall over my bed, wishing I’d thought to do it the night before.

  Then, as quietly as I could, I pulled back the curtain and peeked out into the aisle. All the other bunks were closed up. I listened, but other than some heavy breathing and a snore coming from the other side of the bus, all was quiet.

  Good: I needed some quiet time to get myself organized.

  Still lying on my side (because there wasn’t the clearance to sit up) I slipped my toothbrush into my jeans pocket, stuck my head out into the aisle again and looked down. I was disappointed to find the little folding ladder I’d used to get into my bunk was gone. Crap.

  No help for it, I thought, knowing I was going to learn to get up and down without it. I swung my legs over the side and then rolled onto my stomach, blindly moving my feet until my toes caught on the edge of the bunk below me. Grabbing onto the ledge, I climbed all the way down.

  I’d have spent a moment or two being proud of myself for making it down without incident if my bladder hadn’t been about to burst. I took the few steps toward the bathroom and lifted my hand to pull open the door, but stopped halfway to the handle when I saw the little red light that told me the bathroom was occupied.

  Figures, I thought, every curse word I knew (and a few I made up for the occasion) whirling around in my head. Of course, the waiting just made it a thousand times more urgent. I resisted the urge to knock, not wanting to wake everyone else up. Mind over matter, I told myself and turned away toward the lounge at the back of the bus that would function as my and my dad’s office for the tour. Dad’s laptop was secured on a shelf and there was even a printer (also secured) and a tray of office supplies beside a filing box filled with various folders. A closer look showed me that each of the files was neatly labeled with a date and city; this was all of the venue and tour information. Obviously Linda had put all this together before our weekend in the Hamptons that had ended with her injury.

  I was about to reach for the one with today’s date on it when the bathroom door opened behind me.

  Thank God.

  So desperate for the bathroom, I hadn’t given any thought to who might be in there, just that there was someone in the way. That is, until I turned to see Andres standing there.

  I’d thought that we’d worked things out the night before: that we were going to put our relationship on hold. But now, standing there, looking up at him, at his chiseled, stubbly face and his lush, full lips, I realized things were going to be strained between us. Because all I wanted to do was curl my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down until those kissable lips were on mine.

  And the way his eyes drifted down to my mouth told me he was thinking the same thing.

  The only thing that saved me in that moment was my biology, and not the reproductive kind.

 
“I have to use...go...” I muttered, nodding toward the door behind him.

  His sleepy, half-lidded eyes came up to mine then and almost undid me.

  “Please,” I said, not entirely sure if I was begging for him to let me get to the bathroom or for him to stop looking at me that way. Probably both.

  He moved aside. “Sorry.”

  Without another word, I pushed past him into the tiny bathroom, remembering only at the last second not to let the door slam closed before I locked it.

  Was my entire time on tour going to be like this? Were Andres and I going to be constantly circling each other, working to keep a distance? It was going to be impossible for us to do our jobs properly if this was what it was going to be like. Too much was riding on us staying platonic—this was why I never wanted a love life. I never wanted to lose focus. Back at Rosewood all that had mattered was school and riding. Boys were never a part of the equation. Life was so much less complicated that way.

  Though I had to admit, I did miss kissing. If only kissing didn’t always complicate things so much.

  I turned on the tap to wash my hands and looked up at myself in the mirror. I nearly barked out a laugh at my reflection. There was a birds’ nest of hair on the left side of my head and I looked like Alice Cooper with what had happened to my makeup overnight. Throw in the morning breath and Andres had just been hit with the trifecta of morning awfulness.

  And he’d still looked like he’d wanted to kiss me senseless. I grinned at my reflection: Take that hot groupies who dolled up to throw themselves at him.

  It felt like a victory that he wanted me when I looked like this. But then, as I washed my face, did my best to finger-comb my hair into place, and brushed my teeth, I realized that while it was validating that he wanted me, it was really freaking inconvenient.

  “This is going to be a very long tour,” I told myself in the mirror.

  When I came out of the bathroom, the aisle was clear. Relieved to find myself alone, I wondered if Andres had gone back to his bunk. I wasn’t sure which one was his, and wasn’t about to start checking, so, making a mental note to learn which bunks were whose, I headed up the front of the bus to where Gary sat at the wheel.

  “Good morning,” I said, dropping into the captain’s chair next to him.

  “Hey, Nessa,” he said, glancing over with a smile. “We’ve just about another half hour on the road—there’s a truck stop up here where we can get breakfast and gas up before the final leg into Cleveland.”

  “Great,” I said. “You must be exhausted.”

  He chuckled and nodded, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “It’s been a good night of driving, but it’ll take a few to get used to the overnights.”

  “No doubt,” I said. “But once we get to the venue, you’ll be off the clock for the day and we’ll all be out of your hair.” I’d make sure he wouldn’t be disturbed—our lives depended on him being well-rested.

  “You know,” he said as he gave me a quick look. “Though I wish it was under different circumstances, I’m glad you’re along. And not just because it makes your dad a happier guy, either.”

  I laughed. “I’m sure that has something to do with it, but thanks.” I heaved myself out of the chair and stretched my arms up to the ceiling until something in my back popped satisfyingly. “I’d better go get ready for this crazy day ahead. I’m thinking while the guys are at the Hall of Fame, I should do some shopping to stock the pantry.”

  “Linda had a grocery order delivered yesterday,” Gary said. “I put everything away while you were all getting ready for the gig, so you should be good for a few days.”

  That, I hadn’t known, but it was a relief. I thanked Gary and headed back to the kitchenette, quietly unlatching and opening cupboards and the fridge to see that, indeed, the galley was fairly well stocked with snacks, drinks, and staples. We wouldn’t need food for cooked meals, since we’d get most of those on the road, but snacks, especially for five hungry guys, were an absolute necessity. Plus, it was nice to have at least coffee to start the day with.

  I made my way down the aisle to the lounge-slash-office and grabbed today’s file folder along with a pad of paper and a pen before sitting down at the banquette that would be my desk for the foreseeable future. I opened the file and instantly thanked Linda for being the most organized person on the planet—the entire day’s itinerary was planned almost down to the second.

  As he’d already mentioned, Gary would take us to the truck stop for fuel and food, then we’d drive through to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame where he’d park the bus with the other crew vehicles in the secure lot. After that, she’d arranged for the guys to head to a local YMCA for a workout and showers, and then they’d return and spend the afternoon at the Hall of Fame. They’d get a chance to check out the exhibits where Sandy could get some publicity shots. Then, sound check and a rest before tonight’s event which wasn’t just the gig, but a meet and greet with a bunch of fans (mostly of Andres, probably) who had won tickets and backstage passes via a local radio station. After that, the boys would return to the bus and we’d get back on the road, this time to Chicago.

  It was going to be a full day; I felt tired just reading about it.

  But before all that started, my father’s voice came over the bus’s PA system: “Everyone, meeting at the front of the coach in fifteen minutes.” His announcement was followed by a bunch of groans coming out of bunks, making me chuckle.

  I leaned forward and looked down the aisle to see Dad in a pair of shorts, an old U2 band shirt, and old man slippers coming toward me.

  He noticed me and smiled. “Morning,” he said before he ducked into the bathroom.

  Seconds later, boys began to emerge from bunks and I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh, but holy hell, it was amusing watching them. Moaning and scratching, rubbing faces, and running fingers through messy hair with eyes barely open, they resembled zombies emerging from their crypt-like bunks. Witnessing them as they forced themselves up was surely going to be one of the highlights of my day—maybe even the highlight of tour.

  Darren made his way to the office and dropped into the bench seat across from me. “Morning,” he said in a thick voice. “I don’t suppose there’s a number ticket machine for the bathroom.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Nope, sorry. Dad’s in there now, but since you were first up, I think it’s fair to say you’re next.”

  “Good.”

  “Ladies should get to go first,” Kiki said from behind him, looking even sleepier than Darren, if that was possible. But it made sense—she’d still been in the venue packing up the guys’ wardrobe and makeup when Dad had sent me out to the bus the night before. Who knew how late she’d been up working?

  “Amen to that,” Sandy said as she shuffled up, looking surprisingly awake with brushed hair and full makeup. She obviously wanted to look her best first thing in front of the boys. I wondered how many mornings that would last; it could not be easy to put on makeup and brush her hair in her bunk. She nudged Darren until he moved over, making room for her to sit down.

  “Morning, sunshine,” I said to my best friend.

  She didn’t bother responding with a greeting. “Please tell me there’s coffee,” she said.

  “We’ll be stopping soon for breakfast,” I said.

  Dad emerged from the bathroom then, tossing out a “Good morning,” to no one in particular and then, in a louder voice, said, “Everyone gets a quick turn in the washroom, then let’s meet up front.” Everyone nodded and then Dad turned to me. “Can you go over today’s itinerary?”

  I nodded and tapped the papers in front of me with a finger. “Yep, got it right here.”

  “Hey!” Darren exclaimed suddenly as Kiki ducked into the bathroom before he could climb over Sandy.

  “Sorry!” came Kiki’s muffled-by-the-door reply. “Too slow!”

  “She did not sound sorry,” Sandy said.

  “Not even a little,” Darren said, lif
ting an eyebrow and narrowing his eyes. “Did she pay you to block me in?”

  “Nope,” Sandy said with a laugh. “But I like how you think. I’ll have to remember that tomorrow.”

  Darren exhaled loudly, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Let me out,” he said, leaning into Sandy.

  “In a minute. Kiki’s still in there,” Sandy said, not budging. “Relax.”

  Of course, two minutes later, when Kiki emerged from the bathroom, Sandy got up off the bench, but instead of moving out of Darren’s way, she quickly ducked into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door before he could even protest.

  “Fuuuu....udge!” he said, catching himself before he swore out loud. “Come on! I was up first.”

  “Did you take a ticket?” Dave asked as he leaned on the wall beside the bathroom and crossed his arms.

  Darren looked from him to me, edging closer to the door, surely in case Dave got any ideas. “Is there a ticket thing?”

  “No,” I laughed. “When did you get so gullible?”

  “When my back teeth started floating.”

  We all laughed but I was glad I had gotten up first and used the bathroom. Waiting for a bunch of people to use it first thing in the morning would be torture—I totally empathized with Darren.

  Sandy finally emerged and gave Darren a sweet smile and a wink. “All yours, Hill.”

  “You’ll pay for that, T-bow,” he said, an approximation of her last name as he turned sideways to get past her.

  She laughed but then I saw something in her eyes that scared me: interest.

  Crap.

  We were definitely going to need to have a chat later. Not that I had any right to judge her for being into someone on the bus (actually, maybe even two someones in her case). In fact, I was sort of hoping she’d have some advice on how to cool things with Andres. Although the more I thought about it, the more I worried she’d tell me to go for it and just make sure my father didn’t find out.

  That wasn’t happening—I’d never do that to my dad. He’d had to deal with enough betrayal to last a lifetime already.