“Hey, beautiful. Let me carry that for you.” He rips the bag off her shoulder and practically knocks Davis down in an effort to grab Landry’s other bag.
“This going to be a problem?” Ian murmurs in my ear. I reach over to grab the little one, propping Jack against my shoulder.
“Depends on her response. If she shuts him down, then no. If they end up sleeping together, then yeah. It’ll be a big fucking problem.”
Chapter Seven
Landry
May gave me three rules for this trip.
Do not sleep with any guy who plays an instrument.
Suck up to the bandmates.
Be open to new experiences.
I told her that these rules sort of contradict each other, but she waved the snake head at me until I capitulated. She was right, though. Screwing around with a guy I’ll have to see every day for the next two months is a disaster waiting to happen. I’d catch feelings when all he wanted was sex.
Case in point, my brother. I love him and he’s a genuinely decent guy, but he could sleep with a dozen girls in the span of a week and not care one iota about them. Whereas I sleep with one guy and think we’re going to get married.
That’s what happened when I was in college. I did have one hookup after college, but then Marrow happened so who knows. Maybe I am capable of emotional-free sex, but I’m not counting on it. It’s probably best that I keep my attraction to Adam under wraps so I don’t spend the next two months miserable as he samples the female population from here to California.
“The bus looks nice,” I chirp. Nice is an understatement. This thing looks like it could be on the front cover of some magazine, if there are magazines about buses. It’s all shiny lacquered wood and black leather. Tiny lights on the floor form a pathway down the center.
Davis unpacks a grocery bag of stuff I bought last night. At the bottom, he finds a pan of brownies, which he hands to Rudd. “Pot brownies, Landry? Really?”
“I’m trying to suck up,” I protest. Pot’s the one thing I don’t wouldn’t mind if Davis took up. I mean, if he has to have a bad habit why not that one?
Rudd sniffs the brownies. “Too bad we can’t eat this.”
“Why not?”
He takes the pan and sets it outside. “We can’t have pot on the bus. Cops are always pulling these things over for one bullshit excuse or another.”
I grimace. “Oh crap. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I know. Just…don’t try so hard.” Davis pats me awkwardly on the head.
I bat his hand away. “Got it.”
His face softens, probably sensing my anxiety at this whole situation. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the joint.”
He drags me down the hallway pointing out all the features. Right behind the driver’s cab is a long black leather sofa. Across is another small seating area comprised of a table and a cushioned bench on either side. I presume that the table lowers and the whole thing becomes a bed. I could sleep on either the sofa or this contraption.
A press of a button and a door swishes open. Four bunks, stacked two by two, are next.
“This is like a spaceship,” I marvel. “Is it hydraulics?”
“Who knows?” Davis shrugs. He doesn’t care how the sausage is made, only that there’s meat on his plate. “Here are the bunks.” He waves a finger to either side of the bus. Each bunk has a small screen folded against the ceiling of the bunk and a short, stiff black curtain that pulls closed, giving each occupant some semblance of privacy. “This is where the band sleeps.”
We stop at another door with another push button entrance. To the left is a small hallway and a door.
“Bathroom with a shower.” I catch a glimpse of more black and stainless steel. “Door.” He gestures to the exit door across from the shower. “Back here is the lounge, I guess.” It’s a U-shaped seating arrangement. He kicks his foot against the base and an empty drawer pops open. “You can put your stuff here.”
“Where am I sleeping?” I drop my shoulder bag that I’ve rescued from his bandmate, Rudd.
“Back here.” He taps a silver switch recessed into the side of a cabinet. “Press this and the couches will fold out. There are sheets and pillows in the cabinets above.”