by Kacey Shea
I look to my uncle for help, but he only shrugs. “I’m with the guys on this.”
“What’d I miss?” Sean trots down the last few steps and pushes past me to where everyone else is gathered. “I didn’t think I was gone long enough for hell to freeze over, but I swear I just heard Bedo agree with us.” His eyes dart to the plate at the center of the coffee table, “Are those Opal’s cinnamon rolls?”
“New kid pooped in our bathroom,” Austin says matter-of-factly.
“I didn’t—” Once again I argue, but at this point no one’s even listening.
“Just now?” Sean mumbles through a bite of food, and lifts his gaze to where I’m standing. “Not cool. You gotta wait till we’re bros before you shit in our toilet.”
“My bad.” I shrug and finally relent. At this point they’re never going to let it go, and I don’t have any other reason for taking so damn long unless I want to admit to my kitchen detour with Opal. I walk over to Sean and reach for one of the remaining sticky buns.
“New kid.” He nods and his gaze zeros in on my cheek. “You got a little something there.”
I swipe my face with the back of my hand, a smudge of flour coming off. “Thanks.” I lift my gaze but Sean’s still staring, calculating, as if he knows I stole a cookie from the cookie jar—or an almost kiss from Opal—but how could he? I shake my head and laugh it off with a shrug. “Messy eater.” I shove the sticky bun into my mouth and take a bite.
Fuck, that’s decadent.
Country, sweet, and she can bake. Of course she can.
Sean nods, but his eyes narrow as if he doesn’t believe me. Crap. I don’t need to draw suspicion, or be on the outs with my bandmates. Not after the way I earned my spot in the first place. With the North American tour starting tomorrow, I need to be extra careful. Keep a safe distance from any personal assistants.
This gig may be a dream come true overnight, but it can be ripped away just as quickly.
No girl is worth that.
9
Opal
Trent leans back into the plush leather seat of our town car as it rolls to a stop. “So, I synced my schedule and email to your phone. I’ll need you to keep me on task. Coordinate with our team at Off Track. Bring important information or potential opportunities to my attention. Manage my time at the meet and greets. Tell people no without pissing them off, which shouldn’t be a problem. Oh, and don’t say yes to anything without my approval.”
Outside the buses wait—giant looming hunks of metal, one wrapped with Three Ugly Guys latest cover and the second with the signature Off Track Records logo. Austin and Sean will arrive in a second car, a few minutes behind us.
“Got it.” My head spins with the magnitude of my new responsibilities. I want the job. I’m not here for a free ride, but the stress of running concessions during Friday football games hasn’t prepared me for a job like this. I’m not sure what I expected when I agreed to this role, but it wasn’t this much power.
Trent slides out of the car and holds his hand out for me. Our driver unloads the bags from the back and carries them to the waiting crew as I take it all in. Everything is all so intimidating. My stomach clenches with doubt and fear but beneath the surface stirs a tiny bit of excitement. I try to hold on to the feeling.
“It’s all good, Opal. We’ll figure it out together.” Trent nods to where a crowd of people gathers.
“You sure?” I force my legs to move and keep up with his long easy strides. “I mean, you won’t hurt my feelings if it doesn’t work out. I have no experience with this.”
“You’ll be good. Have a little faith.” He turns and gives me a wink before sliding his shades over his eyes. “Just don’t fuck it up.”
Don’t fuck it up. Sure. Yeah. No pressure at all.
I stay out of the way, observing conversations and memorizing names. Tour manager, drivers, assistants—there’s a ton of people. This alone is overwhelming, but I learn it’s only a small part of the team. The equipment and another team of roadies left yesterday to get the stage set for tonight’s show.
Sean and Austin roll up in another car and join the group. Beneath the heat of the sun I also feel Austin’s gaze on me, and I’m proud of myself for staying cool, collected. It helps to have the protection of my dark sunglasses.
Just when I begin to wonder when exactly we’re gonna stop the chit chat, another black sedan approaches from the far end of the otherwise empty parking lot. It pulls right up to the group and out steps Bedo, two women dressed like executives, and . . . Leighton?
Holy hell.
What’s he doing here? I wanted to ask who he was yesterday, but never mustered the nerve. Trent, Austin, and Sean worked late and by the time they emerged from the basement it was time for a special dinner Deb cooked. I assumed he was Bedo’s assistant, but now as he hauls a large duffle over his shoulder and greets the guys with that half hug, half back slap thing guys do, I don’t know.
“This the kid? He can really play?” The tour manager points at Leighton but turns to Sean to raise his brows.
“Had my doubts too, but he’s an animal.” Sean tips his chin at Leighton.
“No shit?” The tour manager nods his head and shoves his hands into his pockets “Welcome to the madhouse.”
Wait. Leighton’s their new drummer? How oblivious am I? I’ve been in my own head and didn’t even think or ask who’d be filling the vacant spot.
Oh. My. Lord. This means he’s coming on the tour. On our bus. We’ll be spending the day together . . . every day together. In close quarters. The memory of yesterday and how sweet he was to help me clean the kitchen steals my breath. Then how badly I wished he’d kissed me afterward—and how foolish I felt when he didn’t. Lord. I’m not prepared for two more freaking months of him.
As if he can read my thoughts, Leighton lifts his gaze and finds me staring. I wish I knew what he’s thinking. Or if he notices how much I don’t belong.
“Opal?” Bedo’s question and close proximity startles me so much that I jump.
I smooth my hair back from my face and resume the tight grip on the notebook I hold in my hands. “Yes, hello.”
“Trent’s personal assistant.” Bedo’s smile seems genuine, but after everything the guys have warned, I can’t help but imagine it’s more like a shark’s before taking a deadly bite.
I swallow the fear that he’ll see me exactly for who I am, proud of myself for holding his gaze. “That I am.”
“I’ve never seen you around before.” He tilts his head and narrows his gaze. “Where exactly did he find you?”
“You already trying to poach my PA?” Trent drapes his arm around Bedo’s shoulders.
Bedo steps out of his hold and straightens the pressed linen of his dress shirt. “We’re getting to know each other.”
“Yeah, I know how that works. Next thing, I’m out an assistant.” Trent rolls his eyes in the most disrespectful manner. Seriously, I can’t imagine speaking to anyone this way, let alone a business manager. “Run along, this one isn’t for sale.”
“What? I was only saying hello.” Bedo flashes another smile, but this time I notice the tension around his eyes. “Isn’t that right, Opal?”
“Yes.” I wave them both off, not wanting to be caught as a pawn in whatever power game this is. “It’s fine, Trent.”
Trent holds my gaze, undoubtedly unconvinced.
“You can’t keep me from talking to your assistant, Trent. It’s necessary.” Bedo laughs and I get it now. There’s something in my gut that churns with this man’s bravado. As if he knows best and Trent should stay out of it. He’s hiding something.
“You have her number. So does the studio.” Trent raises his eyebrows. “I’m sure you received my email last night.”
“Sorry, Bedo,” the tour manager interrupts. “We need to hit the road if we’re gonna get to San Fran by four.”
“I’ll be in touch, Opal.” Bedo smiles before turning to the group. “All right boys, hit the
road. I’ll catch a flight up later.”
“Later.” Trent waves but hangs back with me as everyone else climbs into the bus. “He wasn’t being a dick, was he? Because you need to tell me if he is.” His overprotectiveness, much like an older brother, warms my heart.
“I’d tell you. He was really only saying hello. I’m good. Promise.”
“Good.” Trent nods at the bus. “Let’s get you a spot.”
“Spot?”
“Bed. I’ll apologize now. There’s not much privacy. If it gets to be too much, you can kick me out of my room. I mean that. I’d let you take it, but that’d automatically set off warning bells. Everyone knows how much we fight over it.”
“You guys fight over a bed?”
“Privacy. The only bedroom. A door that locks.” He winks and jogs up the steps that lead inside.
“Oh.” I nod and follow after him, but when it dawns on me what exactly that means, my eyes widen. “Oh!”
Trent waves me off and chuckles. “Which is only important when Lexi’s here, but more than that, it’s bragging rights.” He calls over to Austin who’s mid-climb into one of the sleeping spots. “How you like your bunk? Enough space in there?”
“Fuck you!” Austin pulls shut the curtain, but his middle finger protrudes.
Trent chuckles louder. “So, that bunk is taken.”
“I’ve got the one on top.” Sean glances up from his cell and points above Austin’s bed.
“So, take the one you want and little drummer boy gets what’s left.”
“Oh, I’ll take the one he doesn’t want.”
Trent glances around. “Sean, where did the new kid go?”
“Bathroom, I think.” Sean settles back into one of the reclining chairs, pops in his ear buds, and shuts his eyes.
The engine of the bus rumbles to a start and Trent stretches his arms overhead, letting loose a yawn. “If you’re good, I’m gonna catch some Z’s.”
“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.” I don’t know what I’m going to do for the next six hours, but I’ll figure it out. I don’t need a babysitter, and I don’t want Trent to feel responsible for my entertainment. He’s done more than enough.
“Cool.” He runs a hand through his hair, tucks the loose strands behind his ears. “Come get me if you need anything. I mean it. Anytime. Whatever.”
“I will.”
Trent struts the length of the bus until he disappears behind a closed door at the rear.
I could claim my bed now, settle in and try to fall asleep, but I don’t think that’s fair. Leighton is a member of the band and I’m just an assistant. He should have first pick, and besides, it’s not like I could sleep right now. Not wanting to look stupid standing here next to two empty bunks while I wait for Leighton to come out of the bathroom, I decide to check out the kitchen.
I take a few steps but the bus surges forward and throws off my balance. Before I can fall or trip, someone’s hand grips my waist and holds me steady against his long, lean body. I have to lift my chin to guess who it is, and when I do. Leighton.
“You good?” His hand doesn’t move and without meaning to, I turn into his embrace. His eyes, which I didn’t notice before, swim with a molten amber, so much more than the plain brown they appear from afar. The color reminds me of marbles I collected as a child.
“Yeah.” But that’s a lie. My heart hammers in my chest with so much force I swear he can probably feel it. My skin prickles with awareness, and as the bus slows to a stop and then increases speed again, I press into him.
“Sorry.” He takes a step back, and I instantly miss the safety that comes from his body. Which is ridiculous. I’m not so helpless I can’t stand on my own two feet. He nods to the bench that wraps around a table near the kitchenette. “Shall we?”
“Thank you.” I take care not to fall, this time paying close attention to the shift in movement from the bus. I slide into the bench seat. “Still getting my sea legs, I guess.”
Leighton takes a seat at the other end, stretching out his legs and leaning back into the padded backing. “Yeah, me, too. Not used to traveling like this.”
That surprises me. Sure, he’s young. Or at least appears so, but getting hired as the drummer for a band as big as Three Ugly Guys, I assume he comes with tons of experience. “You’ve never been on tour before?”
“Oh, I have, but not by bus.” His glaze flicks to his hands.
“How did you get around then?”
“Plane.”
“Oh, wow. That must have been challenging. Do you check your drum set? That’s got to be expensive. And a pain.”
He glances back at his fingers and taps them on top of the table. “Oh, yeah, well. I’ve played other instruments or borrowed them for concerts, but yeah, it is a pain. This is much better.”
“Don’t feel bad. It’s my first time, too.” I immediately regret the words, their overtone shameless. He probably thinks it was my intention.
Leighton raises his gaze and a wicked grin takes over his face. He lifts one eyebrow. “Should I be gentle?”
My face floods with heat and it takes everything not to look away. I opened myself up for that one, and he’s teasing. What guy doesn’t love a good sexual innuendo? But still, this one hits a little close to home. Yeah. I am a virgin.
The old me, Opal from Destin who doesn’t disappoint her grandparents, would shame him for not acting a gentleman and stomp away. But since I’ve already broken the mold, run away from that life, I can say whatever I want. I don’t have to be scandalized by such a joke, even if my blush gives me away.
“Leighton. You should always be gentle the first time.”
“Yeah?” If his smile could grow any wider, it does. “What about after that? How do you like it after the first time, Opal?”
Lord. The way my name falls from his lips has me squeezing my thighs together. Bad news. This boy is bad, bad news. But I can’t help shift toward him, closing the distance between us by a few inches. “As long as it’s good, I’m open to anything.”
That does it. His smile disappears and in its place . . . lust. Desire. Want.
“What’s this?” Austin must be a ninja, because I never hear him approach. He nudges my shoulder with his hand. “Scooch.”
I can’t even look at him, feeling very much like a child busted for doing something wrong. Which I was. What the hell was I thinking, flirting back with Leighton? I don’t know him, but he’s their freaking drummer. I can’t mess around with him, not even a little. Not that I want to.
Liar.
“So, what’cha talking about?” Austin kicks his legs out and I don’t miss how he bumps Leighton’s in the process. He reaches his arm across the back of the booth, and his fingers brush my shoulder in just the slightest.
I straighten in my seat and glance at Leighton. “Just how exciting this is for y’all. The tour. The bus. It’s so fancy.”
“Not a bad way to ride, yeah?” Austin’s lips spread with his smile. “Give it a few weeks, though, and you’ll be over it.”
“I can’t imagine it gets any better than this,” Leighton says.
“No, it doesn’t, but it sure makes us appreciate those nights when we sleep in a hotel.” Austin chuckles. “Just you wait and see. After a few weeks in close quarters, we’re ready to kill each other. Literally.”
10
Leighton
I’m beginning to wonder if Austin and Opal are an item. That or he’s hell bent on being a cock block. Austin doesn’t leave Opal’s side the entire ride to San Francisco, not that there’s a ton of space or places to go on a tour bus, but given it’s a solid six hours, that’s commitment.
Just before lunch, Opal asks me which sleeping spot I want. Of course, Austin’s sitting next to her so I can’t make a dirty joke about which position she prefers, top or bottom. Okay, maybe it’s not so much a joke. I really want to know. I want to know everything about her. She screams innocence, and as bad as it sounds, there’s a part of me that’d enjoy
corrupting her.
Or maybe it’s an act. There’ve been moments, like yesterday when I caught her shaking her hips in the kitchen, or today when she said she was open to anything, that make me wonder. In prep school it was always the goodie two shoes who were hellcats in the sack. Would she be like that? My interest is piqued.
After lunch I climb into my bunk. I selected the top one since I doubt Opal wants the hassle of getting up there to sleep each night. Settling into the bed with my headphones, I pass the final hours of our journey in a restful sleep.
Once we pull into the stadium, everything is chaos. Orchestrated, but hectic all the same. Lots of introductions. Sound checks. The band goes over last minute changes with our tour and stage managers before an assistant named Dave whisks me off to wardrobe. Bedo sent my measurements ahead of time, but because of my last minute addition, and the fact I don’t already have a celebrity persona, he gave the stylists free rein.
Dave pushes open a door and holds it for me to walk through first.
“This him?” A man who must be one of the stylists smacks his lips and stares with greedy eyes.
The woman behind him stops working to peer over his shoulder. Her smile grows as soon as she spots me. “Oh, he’s just a baby.”
I’m not so sure I like the wardrobe department.
The space is filled with clothing racks, trunks, and one of those makeup vanities you find on a movie set.
Dave chuckles and nudges me further into the room. “Yeah, Bedo said to . . . un-pretty him up?”
“Oh, honey. It’ll be my pleasure,” the man coos, and his eyes narrow at my chest. “Shirt off.”
Okay. Not gonna lie, I’m feeling a little self-conscious. Not that I don’t have a good body. I run and do pushups on the regular, but the way these two are unabashedly staring causes me to pause. Fuck it. Blowing out a rush of breath, I peel my shirt off my back.