Maybe (17 page)

She doesn’t notice the first one, and it lands in her hair, which makes Shawn lose his cool. He’s bright red, shaking, holding himself together. Jon is giving him the straight mouth and wide eyes that means he should shut up. Tyler has his legs pulled up to his chest where he sits on the floor, and his hand covers his mouth before Hollis turns to glare at Shawn and a paper ball goes flying, landing on Hollis’ chest. It sticks to her sweater like a tiny white nipple. Cam licks his paper first, wagging his tongue like he’s an expert, but he’s not.

“Are you listening to me?” Hollis looks like she’s about to kill someone. Her face is bright pink, and her hip is out as far as it can go. Maybe back in Austin she had some control over these guys, but on the road in this tin can, she’s overruled by the opposite sex.

When a ball goes sailing and hits her on the nose, she figures it out and lunges at her husband until they’re scrapping on the floor. Both Tyler and Shawn side-step the action. If boys can giggle, that is what they’re doing. Cam stays behind and watches, which I find to be a bit creepy.

“What’s up?” Tyler’s finally stops laughing hard enough to acknowledge me.

Shawn’s head pops up behind Tyler’s shoulder. “Want to watch
Spinal Tap
?”

“I have a blog to start. Maybe later?”

“Sure. We’ll probably play it a few times this week.”

I wish he was joking. A few hours in that bus and they’ve already watched
Spinal Tap
and
Almost Famous.
When they start playing video games, I have to leave and go to the front. It’s quiet up there, and the driver doesn’t speak much. Cities pass by while I look out the window into the night, and I wonder if I can count these states as places I’ve been.

The refrigerator door opens, and I glance over to see Hollis’ face illuminated by the light. It occurs to me that she deserves more credit than she’s getting. Her face is drawn, and she looks tired. I think about calling her over to talk, but something stops me.

Maybe it’s my conscience.

I try to fall asleep there, but the movement of the bus makes me queasy, so I crawl into my bunk and dream that I’m in a coffin.

Chapter Twenty-Six

From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy

Being this close just to refrain from touching her is making me want her more, and I didn’t think that was possible.

I need to write.

I want to write on her.

—M

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Everyone is banging around, and the noise startles me. I hit my head on the bunk and roll into the fetal position, seeing blue spots behind my eyelids. The curtain that separates me from civilization is pulled back abruptly, and Shawn is staring.

“Do you have a concussion?”

Possibly, but it’s too early to tell. I rub my head and give him a pained grimace. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good. We’re getting some breakfast.” He’s smiling like there’s something else he wants.

“I assume Shae is getting breakfast as well?”

Jon steps out of the bathroom and gives me the once-over. “Have we broken you already?”

“I’m
fine
.”

I’m on my way into the restaurant when I see Cam and Shawn standing at the back next to the restrooms. Shae is talking about God knows what, but all I can focus on is that it’s ten o’clock in the morning and she looks like she’s about to walk the carpet for the VMAs.

The bathroom is empty, and while I’m washing my hands I vaguely register the sound of the door opening before I feel a body slam into mine and push me into the bathroom stall. The lock clicks into place, and I’m about to scream when I feel a hand press to my mouth and Tyler’s smell envelops me. His breath is hot in my ear while he presses me flat against the bathroom wall. He releases me just before his mouth covers mine, and he slips a knee between my thighs, securing me with his weight.

“Son of a bitch,” I say against his lips when he pulls back a bit.

His left eyebrow goes up, and he smirks. “You only met her once. That’s not nice.” His tongue traces my lips, and I give in while his hands settle at the hem of my shirt, teasing the sensitive skin of my sides. Calculated circles of his thumbs ascend until he’s in direct contact with my nipples. I fist his hair, and he pinches in return.

“Are you gonna go around without a bra for the next six weeks?” he asks with a ragged breath when I pulled back.

My legs tighten around his thigh and squeeze, gaining a bit of contact and easing the heavy ache he’s created. “Yep. Just to drive you crazy.” My words stagger out of my lips when he shifts his leg with force. He dips his head and raises my shirt to access my breasts with his mouth. His tongue darts out, and his teeth scrape against the sensitive flesh, making me stifle the unnecessarily loud moan that is threatening to give us away to the whole dining area.

“I’m not having sex with you in this nasty-ass bathroom,” I hiss between my teeth.

“Oh, no . . . I just wanted a taste,” he whispers and brings his lips to mine again. I tremble when his hand moves lower and settles in between my thighs, against the thick seam of my jeans. His thumb presses against it, and I whimper into his neck, my thought processes completely going to shit in a matter of seconds. “It wouldn’t take any time at all for me to get you off.” His voice is filled with cockiness while he continues to press his fingers against the damp denim.

I slide my hand down in between us and palm him through his jeans, applying pressure against the base of his shaft and causing him to rock forward.

“You’re evil.” I gasp while he kisses and licks his way down my neck.

“Maybe. But you’re the one who established the no touching rule. Not me.”

With a flick of my wrist, my hand is inside his pants, and my fingers are wrapped tightly around his cock. Pulling it straight, I adjust it until the tip is peeking out the top of his jeans. Slowly I circle the head with my thumb. He grunts and bites down roughly on my bottom lip.

“If I have to squirm until I get some release, so do you.” My breathing is erratic, and I feel lightheaded.

“See? Now that’s evil, Portman. I stayed outside the clothes.” He removes his palm from between my thighs and cups my cheeks with both his hands, resting his forehead on mine while he tries to breathe through his nose. “You want to play a game today, Peach?”

“You started this, Mace. I know for a
fact
that I have more willpower than you.”

There’s the sound of a door opening, and we both freeze at the shuffling feet approaching the door. I grimace at the unfortunate timing and jump a little when there’s a soft knock.

“Just a second,” I call.

What are the chances that someone would actually need the handicapped stall?

Tyler’s eyes grow wide, and he looks around while he tries to figure out an escape route. I think hard before straightening my shoulders and deciding to bite the bullet. I open the stall door to the disapproving face of an eighty-year-old woman with a walker. Smiling politely, I pull Tyler behind me, and we leave with guilty looks on our faces.

There’s one more hour before we reach the venue, and I’m working on my computer, sitting next to Tyler in the back room. He’s writing and humming, intermittently reaching between us to run a finger over my back where my shirt has ridden up while I lean forward. I don’t think anything of it, and I’ve lulled myself into believing that no one else has noticed when Shawn speaks up.

“What are you doing?”

Tyler snatches his hand back and puts it over his mouth to appraise his bandmate, who is standing at the refrigerator with a beer in his hand before noon. “I’m writing music, and she’s working.” He looks back down at his paper while his cheeks glow red.

Suddenly all eyes are on us.

“What, man?” Tyler’s eyebrows come together, and he loses what little cool he had to begin with. “Have you not noticed that her hair is everywhere? She had a piece stuck on her back. I was—”

“You were rubbing her and composing. I saw it. Is that what you do now?” Hollis’ voice takes on a tone of disbelief, and she lays down the hand of cards from the game of rummy she and Cam are playing.

I feel like lying, but I like these people and maybe we’re doing a shit job of hiding this. “It’s a thing. Like the finger tapping he does on the tables. I guess it helps him think. I’m okay with it. You know. For the sake of the band.”

“I don’t know why you would even care if I was touching her.”

“I
don’t
care, but I was watching you earlier, and you kept rubbing her back. When she moves, you look like you’ve lost your place, but when your hand reaches under her shirt, you start writing again.”

Tyler stares at his paper and then lifts his head to look at me like he wants me to make the move. He wants permission to say it. I press my lips together and shrug.

“It’s a thing.” It sounds so lame when he says it aloud.

Hollis plants her elbows on her knees, delight in her eyes. “Please elaborate.”

“Like, when I touch her, I hear . . . music,” Tyler mumbles and palms his face. “Can we drop it?”

Shawn looks at me for a second and tentatively reaches a hand out to touch my arm. I flinch a little and then laugh at his facial expression.

“I don’t hear anything,” he muses.

Hollis crawls over and presses her hands to my face and neck.

Jon walks in and stops short. “Are we laying hands on Emily? Is she sick?”

Hollis shakes her head. “We’re trying to see if touching her makes us hear music.”

He’s intrigued and crosses over to palm my face. I wriggle from underneath his hand, slapping it away. “You could suffocate me.”

He snickers. “My wife never complains.”

“If he writes music with his hand up your shirt, what the hell happens when you’re fucking?” Shawn is truly interested in the answer.

“I write it on her ass,” Tyler says dryly.

“That’s pretty hot, actually.” Cam appears to be picturing it in his mind.

“He’s lying. We’re not . . .” My mouth won’t stop moving like I’m gasping for air. “That’s crazy. It’s . . .”

Hollis holds her hands in the air. “Obvious? Is that the word you’re looking for?”

Jon puts his arm around his wife and pulls her close. “It makes it easier if you admit it. Just stop lying.”

Tyler glances back down at the page in his hand, and I can see the beginnings of a smile. “You’re right. I
was
lying. I’ve never written on her ass.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy

I am terrified.

I am ecstatic.

These old feelings lie just beneath the surface, and I push them down until I’m sure they’ve been buried. But in this case, the doubts and fears are crawling up my spine and lodging in my throat.

I am not afraid of failure. I’m afraid I won’t fail just because she’s here.

—M

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Arizona is on the list of places I’ve never been before, and even though we won’t be staying long, I’ll put an X right over this city.

Shawn pats me on the shoulder when he rushes to get out the door. “Enjoy your day in Tempe.”

Not likely if there’s a sex bomb inside the building, but I’ll try.

I chide myself for thinking this way. Shae hasn’t done anything to warrant my dislike. She’s really beautiful, and that makes me feel insecure, but that’s on me, not her. I’ll need to get over it. Soon.

I wander for a bit, walking around and getting a feel for the area. I make notes on the venue and take a couple of pictures with my phone to put a filter on later and add to the blog.

My job has only taken up two hours of time.

I walk the perimeter of the venue, and when I’ve finally admitted to myself that I’m bored, I go inside. It’s a pretty big space, and the roster of bands that have played there impresses me. It’s the usual run-around. Instruments set up. Tuning. Sound. Lights. A roadie named Bryson is behind the drums, flawlessly recreating Shawn’s solo on “Break Me.” I stand in the back and stare off for a minute before I remember to start taking more pictures.