When his phone’s navigation program finally told him to turn right, they bounced down a short gravel drive before coming upon a small open picnic area in front of a trailer that had been converted into a mobile kitchen. Shade wondered if they’d set up business here to avoid city health inspections. The place made gas station restrooms look sanitary.
“Are you sure this place is legit?” Shade asked. He wouldn’t want to get food poisoning and spend his evening on the toilet instead of onstage.
“It must be—it’s packed.” Owen handed him his phone, opened the truck door, and slipped outside.
Shade watched a nearby patron crack open crawdad after crawdad and stuff them into his mouth. When the guy didn’t collapse from intense stomach pain or start projectile vomiting, Shade climbed out of the truck and followed Owen to the order counter.
“What will you have?” the aged, dark-skinned woman asked in a thick Cajun accent.
The menu board was limited in variety; Cajun-seasoned crawdads and shrimp, gumbo, and a few traditional side dishes were all they offered. But as far Shade was concerned, they only needed one item on their menu.
“A double order of crawdads,” Shade said.
“Good idea,” Owen said. “We can share them.”
Maybe if they were disgusting. But Shade figured Owen would be going hungry.
Shade was halfway through his mess of tongue-tantalizing bliss when the rumble of a huge Harley announced Adam’s arrival. He had his woman with him—the sweet little drug counselor from Dallas—but Shade was too busy stuffing his face and fending off Owen’s attempts to sample one of his crawdads to offer either of them a proper greeting.
Dear lord, Shade had never tasted more delicious crawdads in his life. He was glad Owen had thought of this place.
He was starting to feel full, but the bit of spice stinging his tongue and lips made him crave more. He did love spicy food—not so hot that you couldn’t taste other flavors, but hot enough to cause a tingle. This place got the flavor and the sensation exactly right. He was so intent on devouring his meal that he scarcely noticed the rest of the group had abandoned him to order at the counter. Until he noted his pile of crustaceans was quickly dwindling.
He was contemplating getting a second mess as he watched the others return with their smaller orders. Smaller? He wasn’t sure how anyone could show restraint when it came to crawdads. Especially these crawdads.
He caught the tail end of their conversation.
“I’m a perpetual party, baby,” Owen said as he sat next to Shade on the bench.
“Your perpetual party is in your pants,” Shade said, checking out the line at the counter. It would be quicker and easier for him if his friends would share. The line of four customers seemed long. He tried staring down Madison—of the three, he figured the woman was most likely to succumb to his charm—but she pulled her basket closer and snapped open one of her crawdads, obviously not willing to share a single morsel, the scrooge.
“Better be careful with that kind of party.” Madison laughed at Owen’s expense. “Or you’ll end up knocking up some groupie.”
Shade shuddered as he was reminded that they currently had a knocked-up groupie in tow. Way to ruin his appetite.
“Yeah,” Owen said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We wouldn’t want that to happen.”
Too late. Shade shoved his few remaining crawdads to the center of the table. Few things could diminish his enthusiasm for his favorite dish. Talking about Lindsey was right there at the top.
After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Madison said, “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t know? It had been a coincidence that she’d brought up the subject? Shade glanced at Adam. Did he lie to her as much as he lied to everyone else? “You haven’t told her?”
“Told me what?” Madison asked, her eyes on Adam as she slurped her soda.
“Nothing.” Adam nodded toward her cup. “Do you want another drink?”
Nice try, Shade thought. “You’d better tell her. It might be yours.” Shade shook his head. “No sense in making this worse than it already is.”
“What might be yours?” Madison asked, frowning at Adam, then at Shade, and then at Adam again.
“It’s probably mine,” Owen said. “Damn party in my pants was bound to get me into trouble sooner or later.”
Once Madison understood the situation—carefree band orgy turned lifelong responsibility—she completely lost her cool, going so far as to threaten Adam with a plastic fork. “How could you do this to me, Adam?”
Amanda hadn’t taken the news quite so hard, but then Madison and Adam had been seeing each other off and on for over a year. Shade was surprised Madison wasn’t angry about him cheating with another woman. Her only concern seemed to be that he hadn’t used protection and might have contracted an STI. Huh. Where did Shade find a woman like her?
“I did wear protection,” Adam insisted.
“Then how could you potentially be the father of this baby, Adam?” She jabbed him with her fork. “How?”
“We all wore protection,” Shade said. They had. He wasn’t just saying that to put Madison at ease.
Madison looked unconvinced. “Then how is she pregnant?”
“Wish I had the answer to that,” Owen said.
Shade didn’t remember all the details of their wild night with Lindsey and her friend Vanessa, but he’d fucked them both, he couldn’t deny that. But he was certain he’d used a fresh condom each time he’d penetrated. He sure as hell didn’t need two baby mamas in his life. A loving wife and several kids at home? Sure, he could go for that. But it was hard enough dealing with one court order for visitation—how the hell would he handle two? If Lindsey’s baby did turn out to be his, he’d deal with it. He’d never turn his back on his own child. But he prayed this situation didn’t further complicate his home situation. He was already struggling to stay an important part in his daughter’s life. Was he capable of adding another kid to his mix of responsibilities?
“If you all wore protection, what’s to say she got pregnant by any of you?” Madison’s question jerked Shade out of his troubled thoughts. “Maybe she’s a goddamned liar.”
Maybe. If she was capable of fucking six guys and her best friend in a single night, who knew how many potential fathers she’d spread her legs for. She could have fucked the entire state of Idaho and all of its potatoes for all he knew.
“. . . make her get a paternity test,” Madison was saying. “Prove it isn’t any of yours. Get rid of her once and for all.”
Lindsey had a few more months before she gave birth, so worrying about what could be was going to make for a long summer. “We’ll have one done as soon as the baby is born,” Shade said. “Until then, we’re just playing a waiting game.”
“Fuck that,” Madison said. Shade had never heard her cuss before. She must be really upset. Not that he blamed her. “They can do the test during pregnancy now. You don’t have to wait until she delivers.”
Well, hallelujah! He’d be sure Lindsey had the test as soon as possible. Then the poor sap who had drawn the knock-up-a-groupie card from the Game of Rock Star could figure out how he was going to handle the situation before the kid took its first breath. The rest of them could get on with their lives and thank their slow-swimming sperm.
When Madison and Adam started arguing about Adam’s decision to get a vasectomy, Shade shifted uncomfortably on the bench and decided it was a good time to leave. Conversations about permanent nut alterations should never be discussed over a fine meal. He went back to the food truck and ordered all the remaining crawdads for the crew. Soon they were headed back toward the venue with Adam and Madison trailing them on their noisy rented Harley.
“He still isn’t writing any music,” Shade said to Owen as conversationally as possible. He didn’t need to say who he was referring to. They both knew Adam was the catalyst for the band’s creative output.
“I guess he has writer’s block.”
“Any suggestions as to what we should do about it?”
Owen thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t think we can do anything but wait it out.”
“We could try writing something without him.”
Owen turned his head and scrunched his brows at Shade. “Why would we do that? Just be patient. It’ll come to him. You busting his ass about it all the time isn’t going to help.”
Shade had never been a patient man, but Owen was probably
right. He was going to confront Adam about his lies—he was sick of the guy getting away with shit—and maybe put a little pressure on him, but perhaps if Shade tried to be supportive instead of adversarial that would help Adam break through this block of his.
“I’ll give him some breathing room,” Shade promised. But only an inch or two.