Working for the Band Read online

  I cast out a line, casually saying, “Anyway, you’re with Andres, right?”

  She looked away and said, “After tour.” But something was off. Was she having second thoughts about which hot band member she really wanted? Andy certainly had his pros—already famous, TDH (tall, dark, and handsome), and that little bit of cockiness that made him somehow even more attractive. But Will had a lot of ticks in the pro column, too. He was actually a better musician, nicer, and humble in a way that was pretty adorable. Not to mention he looked like Zac Efron’s just-as-hot younger brother. As I thought about it, she actually made more sense with Will.

  Her being with Andy was not the slam dunk it had seemed to be. But maybe she needed a little something to make her realize how she really felt. A little nudge to move things along. A little nudge that her best friend could provide.

  I figured there was nothing like a little jealousy to make that happen.

  I started talking about all the chemistry I had with Will. That seemed to surprise her which made sense because while I liked him and thought he was hotter than he had any right to be and would have happily had a summer fling with him, there was exactly zero chemistry between us. I was totally making it up.

  To be honest, Andres with his swarthy good looks and his arrogant attitude was way more my type than sweet guy next door Will.

  Unfortunately, Nessa didn’t take my bait. I would have to work a little harder, but I was far from done.

  Not by a long shot. Not until she admitted she was into him. Or tour was over. Either way, I had lots of time to make magic happen, and I hate to say it, but I was looking forward to it. I mean, hey, a girl has to entertain herself somehow, right? Especially if it’s for the greater good—getting her bestie with the right rock star boyfriend.

  Then I would move on and get myself a rock star boyfriend.

  Though I guess my choices were down to two: Darren or Graeme, since going for Andy, even after Nessa was done with him, was against the girl code.

  Had I said I was down to two choices? Ha! Nope. That was before I realized the unexpected cool things that can happen when you’re on tour with an up-and-coming band. I mean, I expected to get to know the guys on a personal level and also knew I’d get to hear their music before anyone else.

  But I didn’t really think about the other fringe benefits that came along with being on tour. But now, thanks to the luck of having Zen Garden (ZEN GARDEN!) arrive at the Hall of Fame on the same day Wiretap was playing, I now had four more guys to add to that number, bringing me up to six, count ‘em, six potential rock star boyfriends to choose from.

  And really, if Vanessa was deadly serious about us not dating Wiretap guys while we were on tour (which it seemed she was) then this sudden band bromance with the already superstar Zen Garden crew was only going to work out in my favor. The downside? The next time we’d see them wouldn’t be until our stop in Portland where the two bands would be playing a festival together.

  But I could lay a lot of groundwork in an evening of hanging out and a week of texting.

  Planting Seeds in My Zen Garden

  It had been a long day at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. A very long day. But while what I probably needed most was a shower and my bunk, I was still wired from what had been an amazing, kickass performance. Sleep was a long way off, so when we were heading back to our bus after the show, and I noticed the Zen Garden guys hanging around outside theirs, I saw an opportunity.

  I wasn’t the only one, either, as they noticed us and quickly came over and started congratulating all of Wiretap, amid a ton of bro-hugs, manly back pats, and fist bumps.

  I snorted at all the testosterone floating around that parking lot, but I sort of loved that the two bands were getting along. I wished Nessa could have witnessed it, too, but she was still inside, helping with teardown. Tony and Kiki were off somewhere, too (last I saw they were mingling with Zen Garden’s management team—they all knew each other from way back) so I decided to put myself in charge, especially as we were standing in what felt like a rainforest, my hair wilting with every second spent in the humidity that had barely dissipated, even with the setting of the sun many hours before.

  “There’s snacks and stuff on the bus,” I said, loudly enough that they’d all hear me over their excited talking. “Why don’t we take this party inside where there’s AC?”

  Snacks was obviously the magic word. The guys all agreed, and I opened up the bus with my new key and led them aboard, thankful that someone had cranked the air.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Max muttered as he came up the stairs toward me.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, instantly getting my back up. Because just about everything he said made me get my back up.

  “You’re not Tony. Are you authorized to allow non-crew on the bus?”

  I had barely opened my mouth to respond when Graeme hooked an arm around Max’s neck. “Leave off, man. It’s cool. It’s not like we’ve got drugs and hookers on board.”

  “Right,” Eddie, the lead singer of Zen Garden said, his face serious. “We’ll have to order in, then.”

  At Max’s wide eyes, Eddie broke out into a smile. “We’re kidding, Max. Lighten up. Believe me, our manager runs a pretty tight ship, too. My parents are bigger partiers than Billy, and they’re hardcore Christians.”

  “Truth,” Ted said, nodding at Will in thanks as he handed him a soda from the fridge. “You guys have a ‘clean’ contract, too, don’t you?”

  All the Wiretap guys nodded.

  Andy said, “Tony’s straight up serious about us not getting into any sort of trouble. That’s why I signed on, to be honest. I needed to clean up, or I was headed to where they’d find me dead in a pool of my own puke on tour one day.”

  I glanced over at Will, who was looking down into his soda like it held all of life’s secrets. It must have been hard for him, hearing stuff like that when his grandfather had gone down that road. Not that he’d died on tour, but he easily could have with the partying life he lived back in the day.

  “Tony and Billy used to work together,” Eddie said. “And I would bet our contracts look similar, maybe even identical. No one wants to ruin their lives by OD’ing or ending up with lawsuits.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at Max as if to say, “See? All good.” Though I guess he had a point that it wasn’t really my place to bring people onto our bus. The one that was our home and was supposed to be secure. Not that these guys were groupies, but rules were rules.

  Max grumbled something I didn’t catch but made no further objection, opened the fridge, and stuck his head in it.

  Whatever.

  Eddie went on, “Anyway, all that to say we’re not going to trash your bus.”

  Pete added, “But we might eat all your chips.”

  Which was a hint if I’d ever heard one. I gestured toward the couches for the guys to sit down and, avoiding the fridge area, reached into the pantry and pulled out several bags of snacks: chips, pretzels, cookies. I put everything on the table so the guys could grab what they wanted.

  Trying to look casual, I scoped the lounge area, getting the lay of the land as they claimed spots before deciding where to put myself. In the end, I dropped on the couch between Pete, the dangerous-looking, tattooed guitar player, and Ted, the bass player who fit the cowboy archetype, complete with his tall, chocolate-colored cowboy hat.

  Eddie, the rocker lead singer with long hair was pretty hot, too, and day-um, it was hard to choose (I know, right? What a problem to have.). Anyway, he was out for the moment since he was at the table and sitting on the comfortable couch, flanked by two hot guys seemed a better option.

  Pete was traditionally what I went for in a guy. That dangerous look was especially appealing on him because while he looked badass, he was still funny and seemed like a really nice guy—best of both worlds. At the moment, though, he was busy stuffing his face with chips and texting on his phone. Normally, I would be offended by him not paying attenti
on to me, but with so much man-candy around, I simply had to turn my head to get an eyeful.

  As I smiled at Ted, I presumed the giant cowboy hat was part of his everyday outfit, since it had been a travel day for them and they were in their own casual clothes. I’d read the guys’ bios, so I knew he was a legit cowboy, having left his family’s cattle ranch to join the band. There was something to be said for that kind of rugged authenticity. Actually, there was a lot to be said for it.

  “I like your hat,” I said, flicking my eyes up to the curved brim that often shielded his eyes when he was on stage, giving him that mysterious quality (I hadn’t just read bios; I’d watched a lot of concert footage, too). In fact, I hadn’t seen him without the hat in any of their videos or promo shots, and I suddenly wanted to see him without it. Really, irrationally, badly. “But aren’t gentlemen supposed to take their hats off indoors?”

  He took my teasing in stride. “Yes ma’am,” he said in a southern twang that maybe was fabricated for my benefit. Or maybe it wasn’t. “But as this is a vehicle, it doesn’t count.”

  “I’ll give you that point, though it’s a technicality,” I allowed with a tilt of my head.

  Pete leaned forward to look at his bandmate on the other side of me. “Do not get him started on his hat,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Unless you want to hear all about it, from the fact that it’s made of fur to the entire history of the Stetson company. Year by freaking year.”

  Ted also leaned forward and glared right back at Pete across me, but the corner of his mouth was turned up, so it was clear that this was just the kind of good-natured ribbing that I was getting used to occurring between bandmates. I was the meat in their banter sandwich, and I totally loved it. “There’s a lot of history there. Stetson is an American institution.”

  “You should be in an institution,” Eddie said, plucking the bag of chips out of Pete’s hand.

  Ted turned back toward me, “Don’t mind them. They have no appreciation for quality. I, on the other hand...” his words trailed off, but he winked at me, and there wasn’t much room to miss his double meaning.

  It suddenly felt very warm on the bus. Or maybe it was just me and my reaction to Ted’s intense gaze and innuendo because there was no way his hat was the only thing of quality he was referring to.

  It was flattering, but at the same time, a little too intense for a group setting. Not that I didn’t appreciate it, but: time and place.

  To diffuse some of that sizzling tension, I reached out and grabbed the hat in question, pulling it off his head and putting it on mine.

  “Hey,” he said, but it was more sexy drawl than give that back. In fact, he didn’t even reach for it, instead pushing his fingers through his flattened brown locks that were surprisingly curly. He looked weird without the hat, but cute. Younger than I would have expected. Though, thanks to my research, I knew he was twenty.

  “Waddaya say, pardner,” I said out of the side of my mouth. “Do ah make a guuud cowguuurl?”

  He laughed. “All depends on how you ride.”

  At my smirk and widened eyes, he actually blushed and shook his head. “Ride a horse, I mean. I didn’t mean...”

  “Smooth one, cowboy,” Pete said with a laugh, shoving the last of his handful of chips into his mouth before wiping his palms on his thighs. “Epic flirting fail.”

  Ted closed his eyes, still shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he said in a soft voice. “That was...I swear I didn’t mean... Can we start again?” he asked as he looked up at me.

  His face was so red, I almost took pity on him.

  Almost.

  “Oh no,” I said, crossing my arms. “No starting over. I’m really enjoying this. Please, continue your flirting.”

  “Can’t get much worse,” Pete said.

  I gave Pete a withering look. “Maybe it’s the audience that’s affecting his game.”

  “It’s not,” Eddie said. “He’s just not very practiced at it. You know those cowboys spend all their time alone on horseback, right? They practice their flirting on cows and write bad country songs.”

  “Not true,” Ted said indignantly, reaching over and swiping the chips from Eddie. “I only write good country songs.”

  Eddie grinned at him, and Ted then turned to me and winked again. Okay, so his game was clearly back. That wink heated me up again and, even in the AC, I had to resist the urge to fan myself.

  I never, ever would have pegged myself to be the kind of girl who would ever be attracted to a cowboy, but this one? Adorable. Sexy. And not a sleazy rock star player. All I have to say to that is yee-freaking-haa!

  Emojis are Overrated

  The next few days were ridiculously, crazily busy, but at the same time, were somewhat managed chaos as we got into the routine of tour: travel, sleep, pull in to a venue, media stuff, concert, get on the bus.

  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

  It got to where I had to tape a list of shows on the wall in my bunk, so I knew where I was when I woke up in the morning. Seriously, it was that nuts that I literally didn’t know the day or what city I was in without the list. In speaking with some of the lifers on the crew, apparently it was a pretty common problem to have no idea where you were, and it was one of them who actually gave me the list-in-the-bunk idea.

  Excited about ZG playing with Wiretap in Portland? I texted to Ted from my bunk late one night after we’d rolled out from Kansas City. Or maybe it was Minneapolis. Whatever, it was late and way past even my bedtime. Everyone else on the bus (except for Gary, who was driving) was in their bunk and had been for some time.

  Very, he sent back, almost immediately. It’ll be cool.

  I loved that he was a night owl like me. Or maybe he was a light sleeper, which made me feel a little guilty if I was waking him. But if he was pissed about losing sleep because of my middle-of-the-night texting, he had yet to say anything.

  Where are you?

  In my bunk. No idea what city, he sent back, which made me smile. Apparently, it was the scourge of the rock star tour. You?

  Same, I typed back, rolling to my side to get more comfortable because my arms were tired from hauling equipment earlier in the night. Actually, they’d been sore since we’d started tour, but I didn’t mind so much. It was well worth it. Not to mention I’d leave tour with pipes of steel.

  What? he sent. Not up partying?

  I chuckled. Nope. Living life of...person with no life. ;)

  Hardly. You’re having a blast.

  Truth, I admitted. Even after only a few days of texting back and forth, Ted already seemed to know me pretty well. He’d admitted he’d watched a bunch of videos on my Vlog series and told me he was impressed with what I’d done already. He’d even said that I could easily turn what was—so far—a dedicated hobby into a killer career. I liked that he’d been interested enough to take time out of his crazy schedule to watch my videos and I more than liked that he was impressed by them. Especially since Zen Garden had a huge publicity team putting together their videos and media when right now, all Wiretap had was me.

  Though, modesty shmodesty; I was rocking it, helping build the buzz around Wiretap in the organic and grassroots way I’d hoped for. It was the plan I’d sold to Tony that he’d been eager to try out, so thank God, but it was working.

  I was also now leveraging the pretend rivalry between them and Zen Garden that was going to explode around the Portland gig next week.

  So, Portland, he sent, like he was reading my mind.

  It’s going to be a great show.

  That, too, he sent. But looking forward to seeing u.

  My insides fluttered, and I blamed him, not the gentle sway of the moving bus or the gross frozen burrito I’d scarfed after teardown and before rolling into my bunk. Okay, maybe I should blame the burrito a little.

  Ditto, I returned, wishing I had something better to say, but feeling a bit weird about it. Like, what if I was wrong about him? What if this was just mindless flirting and I was just a g
roupie hookup, like what Nessa had been for Andy when they’d first met? I’d always said I wanted a rock star boyfriend, but now that I was neck deep in the life, there were so many complications that I’d never really thought about.

  After a few long moments of staring at my phone, I figured what the hell. can I ask u a question?

  Sure.

  Do you hook up a lot on tour?

  There was a long moment when I held my breath, waiting for his response. Long enough that when I got back the one word, the delay felt very telling.

  No.

  But then I thought, if he did hook up a ton, would he tell me?

  So I asked that, too.

  His response was a smiling emoji and then: I suppose if I was the kind of guy who hooked up a lot, no, I wouldn’t tell you. But you can ask the guys. I’m practically a monk. A very awkward one who practices flirting on cows and writes GOOD country songs.

  Right, I typed, glad he couldn’t see my grin right now, but I still had to ask: Like the guys wouldn’t cover for you?

  Not that I didn’t trust him. Well, I guess I didn’t, but he was a rock star, after all, and I barely knew him beyond that one meeting (with a ton of people around) and what I could gather from social media (which everyone knows is either made up or only a fraction of the real story). He’d been on tour for months; he couldn’t tell me girls weren’t throwing themselves at him constantly. I did not want to be one of those girls. There was a time when I would have been happy to have been, but not anymore. I didn’t want to be a forgettable one-night thing.

  I guess they would, he sent. There’s no real way to convince you. But when Eddie said I didn’t have much practice flirting, he wasn’t kidding. I’m just not that guy. I’m normally pretty shy. I grew up sheltered. The other guys are way better at flirting. They got to practice with real people.

  Before I could lose my nerve, I typed: So why me?

  Because...

  Again, I held my breath waiting, this time having to let it out and take another because he was taking so long to respond.