A Bleu Streak Christmas (5 page)

“No. Thanks though.”

Blake keeps walking in her wake, but I
reach my arm out and block the aisle. “Off limits.” The look I give him should
leave no doubt, but the fool keeps on anyway.

“What? No way. I called dibs first,” he
whines. Seriously. The punk just whined.

“Not gonna repeat myself. And stop
following her around like a flipping puppy. You’re bordering close to stalker
status.”

The other guys agree, so Blake huffs a
few times and plops back down in his seat.

I decide to give the book a go, but by
the time the plane is minutes away from landing, I hand the device back over to
Izzy with my own grunts of aggravation.

“Should we send the definition of
suspense
to the author?”

“No. He’s new on the book scene. I’m
sure he’ll figure it out.”

“Ah. You’re one of those people.”

Izzy’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“You always give the benefit of the
doubt. Bet you look for the good, instead of hunting down the bad in people.”

Her pretty little cheeks paint up all
pink. “What’s wrong with that?” She asks this with no confidence.

“Stop worrying what I think of you,
doll. Didn’t we talk about this earlier?” I wait for her to acknowledge me with
a head nod. “For the record, there’s nothing wrong with that. I find it really
appealing.”

The urge to hug her hits me out of
nowhere. Instead, I offer her my fist and am stoked when she hesitates none to
tap her tiny one to it.

“Welcome to Texas,” I say as I feel the
plane touch down.

Chapter
Six

I
zzy

Things
have been going relatively easy so far with the exception of my tongue not
wanting to unstick most of the time. This group is flat-out overwhelming. One
on one is easier, but not many words escape then either.

Last night was the first concert in
Texas, which was held in the southern part of the state at Cooper Stadium. The
band and the stadium owners went in together to make the concert free. All the
fans had to do was donate a canned food item. I spent the event helping pack up
box after box of cans, and it felt good to be a part of something important.
I’m just blown away by the impact this good deed will have on the local food
bank.

I’ve been sticking to the shopping
routine Tate has me on. Each day, he hands me a list and calls me a driver and
I tackle it. I’m guessing he handles the shipping of the gifts, because they
disappear overnight. I offered to take care of that, but he keeps saying it’s
already handled.
 
I don’t get why they
didn’t take care of their Christmas shopping before the tour, but it’s really
not my concern, so I do as I’m told.

Something else peculiar happens at
night. The band sneaks out for an hour or so, thinking they are getting away
with it. They aren’t privy to me being a night owl, so I hear them whisper and
sneak around in the dark. It’s none of my business, but my mystery solving
instinct has been kicked on.

Shaking my head of that bafflement, I
try focusing on the task at hand. This task is to figure out the labyrinth of
corridors of this venue to deliver a shoebox to Jewels. I’m getting right
flustered. Texas certainly does do everything bigger. This concert hall,
located in the northern part of the giant state, is massive. And I’m lost! Ugh!
My nerves are skittering all over the place as I wander around. The last three
doors have been incorrect and only produced Dillon coloring with Grace, Trace
meditating or more likely napping, and Will and Mave practicing their routine
for the night with drumsticks and a poor unsuspecting leather sofa filling in
for drums.

A quick glance at my watch indicates
only ten minutes before show time. Relief washes over me when Jewels pops her
head out of a dressing room down the hall.

“Hurry, Izzy!”

I set out in a jog and hand over the
shoes. She rushes in and I follow, but stop when she scoots into the bathroom.

“You have lovely skin. You know that,
Max?” Jewels says from the other side of the door.

What?

He grumbles something I can’t quite
make out, but I do hear his next statement very clearly. “I want this dress
off.”

“Tough. It’s staying on. Now, hold
still before you smudge the makeup,” Jewels snaps.

Her statement worries and confuses me
at the same time. I’m pretty sure she was wearing jeans when she entered that
bathroom a few seconds ago.
What is going
on in there?
I think maybe I should leave. I want no part in whatever that
is…

My cheeks heat instantaneously as the
door bangs open, producing Marilyn Monroe in full Christmas glam—a striking
red-sequined gown with white fur trim and silver stilettos that I’m guessing
were in the shoebox I just delivered. She’s even got a sparkling hairpin tucked
into her fair locks.

“I’m gonna break my neck in these
stupid shoes,” Marilyn grouches out, sounding a lot like Max King.

“What’s going on?” I stutter out to
Jewels.

“Lost a bet, gorgeous,” Max answers as
he struts out of the room with a bit of a wobble to his stride.

I swear to you, the man could totally
pull off impersonating the iconic actress. The only clue it’s Max under all
that glitz is his gruff voice and the sheet music inked along his right arm. He
makes one killer drag queen, that’s for sure.

His stunning form disappears down the
hall, so I tear my eyes away and focus back on Jewels. “What was that about?”

She snorts. “Max plays with fire. Got
himself burned again by making a bet with Dillon on some silly dare. Max
obviously lost, so he gets to perform in all of his beauty tonight.”

“He sure is pretty,” I say in awe.

“Who’s pretty?” Mave asks from behind
us, causing me to jump and Jewels to laugh.

“She’s talking about your sexy twin.”
The tease is evident in her tone.

An odd expression registers on Mave’s
face before he stalks past us and in the direction Max just headed. In black
jeans and shirt with drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket and dark hair
perfectly tousled, I would describe Mave beyond pretty—downright dazzling.

Jewels snaps me out of my gawking by
grabbing my arm and rushing us after him. “Come on. I don’t want to miss it
when the band sees Max.”

When we reach the group backstage, they
are howling in laughter.

“You’re right, doll. Max sure is
pretty.” Mave grins at me.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I
hand him a stick of gum instead.

“Come on, hot mama. You get to strut
out first tonight,” Dillon says as he waves for Max to proceed. As Max stomps
by him, Dillon smacks him none too politely on the backside, causing the guys
to lose it again.

Seconds later, we hear the audience go
wild. Curious, I edge closer to the stage to get a look at him. And there he
is, center stage wielding his guitar, in all that drag queen glory—totally
owning it.

Max strums the first chords of a sultry
rendition of “Santa Baby” and the place is eating it up. Bringing his glossy
red lips to the microphone, he croons out, “Santa buddy, just slip a paddle
under the tree for me. Been an awful naughty boy, Santa buddy.”

The crowd goes wild, making me miss
some of his revised lyrics. They pipe back down, so I’m able to catch him
singing in a gravelly voice, “Think of all the fun I didn’t miss. Think of all
the babes I got to kiss.”

Of course, they go crazy again—women
jumping up and down, screaming with all their might.

Dillon growls from beside me. “The bet
was he had to sing the original in a girly voice.”

Jewels laughs. “Somehow, Max has turned
drag queen into a sexy masculine art form.
Sexxyy!
The women are eating it up!”

And she’s right. The female fans are to
the point of losing their crazed minds over him.

“Santa dude, there’s one babe I really
do need, you see. Santa dude, please for me.”

Max exaggerates each word in the
sexiest voice I’ve ever heard him produce.

“So hurry over to my tour bus tonight.”

The song concludes and a woman in the
front row faints. No joke! Others are jumping around in tears. Good glory!

The rest of the band saunters on stage
and this packed-out theater goes berserk. They are roaring in maddening
excitement.

Dillon eases up and slings his arm over
Max’s shoulder as he speaks into the mic. “Max was foolish enough to make a bet
with me, so tonight y’all reap the benefits of his loss.” He has to pause with
the place erupting in raucous laughter and catcalls. “Ain’t he
purty
?” They go crazy again.

Max is getting in the spirit of it and
does a little shimmy before twirling around. Mave taps out that vava voom
drumbeat as Marilyn blows kisses at the audience.

These guys certainly know how to work a
crowd. I can bet this audience won’t be forgetting the show they saw performed
here tonight for a very long time. I know I won’t!

•♫•♫•♫
•

The adrenaline overload is still playing through my
restless body at two in the morning. Unable to sit still, I wander out of my
bedroom and decide to head next door to the larger condo. We all meet there for
breakfast, so I want to get some dough proofing for cranberry orange bread. I’m
going over the ingredients in my head when I plow right into Logan’s broad
back.

He whips around to steady me as I rub the sting out
of my mushed nose. “Easy, little lady.”

I extract myself from his arms and look around. The
entire band is mulling around outside in the dark, dressed head to toe in
black. Each one even has a black beanie shoved over their heads. I spot Will in
the midst of them and go on the offense.

“What are you guys doing out in the middle of the
night dressed like burglars? And shame on you for dragging Will along in your
mess.”

“You caught us!” Max grabs me up and tosses me over
his shoulder before I can register what he’s doing. “And I’m stealing you.”
I’ll be darned if he doesn’t start running off with me.

“Maxim King, bring her back!” Jewels yells. He
returns me by her side and gently places me back on my feet before slinking
away. “Y’all forgot a bag.”

And that’s when I really take in the scene. The
guys are loading up the gift bags I filled earlier and Jewels is handing one
over to Dillon. That sweet burglar kisses her like there’s no tomorrow before
she scoots back inside.

“The lovely lady speaks up when it matters. I like
it,” Logan croons out as he slides into the SUV. Good glory. The man is too
smooth to just
speak
a word.

It finally dawns on me what they are doing. “Secret
Santa?”

“We prefer Christmas Ninjas,” Will says, all tough
as he climbs in the back with Logan and Trace.

“Those are some tight sleuthing skills, doll,” Mave
says close to my ear, tickling the skin with his warm breath and stealing mine.
“We’ll take care of Will. Promise.”

As I stand here and watch these incredible men
drive off on a generous mission, embarrassment washes over me. That’s what I
get for trying to get up in their business.

It takes no time to form the dough, so I plant
myself in a lounge chair and watch the blue pool water shimmer from the
nightlights surrounding the yard. An hour more passes before I hear the guys
return.

“You’re a night owl or just having trouble sleeping
tonight?” Mave asks as he claims the chair beside mine. Pulling the beanie off
his head, he runs his hand through the dark mop. It doesn’t help the mess in
the least. If anything, the tousled mess looks even more rumpled and appealing.

The view is too much, so I shift my gaze back to
the pool. “Yeah. Always have been. I like to do my baking at night.”

“Oh yeah. Got anything baked up now? I could use
some food. All those burglaries have worked up a mean appetite.” He laughs at
his own joke. I do not.

“Sorry about that. It’s none of my business what
you guys do. I just saw Will with y’all and got worried.”

“No worries, doll. We all got a pretty good laugh
off it.”

“Glad I amuse you.” I huff out. I chance looking
back at him and ask, “Why do y’all do it? And in the middle of the night, no
less.”

He peers over the pool as he answers me—his mood
shifting to somber. “We didn’t grow up in the land of good and plenty. More
like the land of sparse and far in between. When we were kids, clothes or food
would always show up on our porch and always on time with us needing it. And
that’s all God.” He offers a small smile. “He put this tour on our hearts.
These people are counting on these answered prayers that have been showing up
in the middle of the night, whether they realize it or not.”

“But why in the middle of the night?”

“Matthew 6:3 tells us, ‘
But when you
give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is
doing.’” Mave quotes the verse and I’m quite impressed. He really does read his
Bible. “We want to give back, but don’t want the band to get credit for it. It
loses the gift-giving blessing if people know.”

“Wow.
You guys just completely blow me away. How do you know who to minister to?”

“That’s
all Tate and Blake. They scope out situations near each concert venue. They
find out the needs and send you out to grab it all up. Thanks for doing your
part, by the way.”

“Don’t
give me any credit. I didn’t even realize I was helping. Plus, I’m getting
paid, which feels really wrong now.” My head shakes in disappointment at that.
I’ll have to have a talk with Jewels about keeping the paychecks. The
experience in itself is payment enough.

“Don’t
even think about it.” Mave’s stern warning echoes in the stillness.

“What?”

“We
all make a paycheck during this tour and you are, too.”

“But—”

“No
lip.” Mave grabs my hand, I think to shut me up, but seems to decide to keep
it. He rests our entwined hands together on the armrest of my chair and it
really feels nice. There’s something about the calloused strength of his grasp
that emits pure comfort.

“You’re
bossy.”

“So
I’ve been told. Now tell me something, Miss Izzy Walker. Why am I just meeting
you, if we’re neighbors back home?”

“You
live in that gated fortress beside my little cabin?” He nods. “I didn’t
realize. I keep to myself mostly.”