“Never thought I’d say this.” Nathan braced his forearms on the window sill beside her. “I’m ready to board that bus.”
Apparently after five days in a one-room warehouse, he didn’t share her team spirit.
Outside, roadies and security staff flurried around two sleeper buses. Four Suburbans parked at angles in the rear lot, shoring the buses and creating a barricade against traffic.
At the edge of the perimeter, armed guards held back a crowd of onlookers. Through the duration of the tour, the protective team of twenty would stagger their sleep schedules, utilizing bunks on the second bus with the roadies and Faye, and escort the buses with a moving formation of Suburbans.
What a cavalry they would make. That was the point. Roy wouldn’t risk a physical attack while they were in the blinding spotlight of public attention.
“So you’re ready to get the show on the road?” She bumped her shoulder into his. “Because sixteen weeks on a bus will be better than five days in a warehouse?”
He smirked. “There are curtains on the bunks.”
Ah. He missed his private Tony time. The notion filled her head with images of Jay moving over her in a tiny bunk. A thrill squirmed through her. “Curtains?”
He smiled, huge and full of teeth, prompting them both into a spontaneous burst of laughter. She jabbed him in the ribs.
Across the parking lot, Jay leaned against one of the buses, arms crossed, and head nodding as a tall, lean woman jabbered with animated expressions and hand gestures. A breeze caught wisps of her waist-length blond hair, lifting it around her. She blew it out of her face and looked up at Jay, smiling.
“Who is that?” Wow, she sounded bitchy. Get a grip.
“Ella Naas. Tour manager.” He tossed Charlee a knowing look. “Better make friends. She’ll be sharing our bus.”
Yay. Why did she have to be so pretty and smiley?
Standing a few feet behind Jay, Tony raised a hand, palm out, and gestured with her index finger toward the window at Nathan.
He straightened. “Ready for this?”
Charlee nodded and followed him out, snaking around the hustle of crew and security.
Jay stood at the rear of the bus, his back to her, his attention on Ella. Charlee gnashed her molars together and turned her head away.
The door folded open, and she climbed stairs into the hushed cabin. No one had boarded yet.
Nathan relieved the guard posted at the door and took his place. “Your things are already on board, Charlee. Get situated. We’re rolling out in thirty minutes.”
“‘kay.” She moved to the center of the bus.
Her breath swept out. Wow. Longer and more spacious than it appeared from the outside, there was so much to look at. Brown leather couches curved around both sides. Dark wood glossed the cabinets and enriched the moldings. Sliding doors covered every cranny. Strips of lighting chased the aisle and roof and reflected off the black marble floor. Stereos, gaming consoles and flat screens mounted four corners.
It was a monstrous, eight-wheeled symbol of luxury and arrogance. She curled her toes in her Doc Martens to refrain from bouncing with excitement.
The door swooshed behind her, followed by the steady gait she’d memorized over the past two weeks.
“Let me show you our bunk.”
His deep voice caressed her ear and the heat of his body enveloped her. Would he always have that effect on her?
Hands on her waist, he nudged her down the aisle, past the sitting area. The galley nestled in a corner cabinet on the left. On the right, a bench for four wrapped a fold-out table.
“Keep going.” His fingers tapped her hip bones.
The door behind the galley opened to a toilet and a miniature vanity and shower.
“The band has one rule on the road.”
She twisted her neck and met his twinkling eyes. Oh, this should be good. “Only one?”
“We made a second rule that required Laz to wear clothes in the front lounge, but it backfired. He wore banana hammocks the entire tour, claiming they were clothes by definition.”
She turned, pressing her mouth against his chest, and muffled a half-moan, half-laugh. “Do I dare ask what the one rule is?”
“No shitting on the bus.”
“What?” Looking up into his face, she was sure hers was an expression of horror.
He grinned, gorgeous and taunting, his hand clutching the door frame above her.
“Oh my God. I thought you were serious.”
“I am.” He was still grinning. “I mean, there’s a grinder to…you know, grind shit, but I promise you don’t want any of those guys taking a dump in here. Small space. No airflow. Dining table and kitchen a foot away. You get the idea. We make regular bathroom stops.”
It was going to be a long sixteen weeks. She pushed a drape aside and entered a narrow corridor. Yikes. Tight squeeze. A glance behind her confirmed his shoulders fit, but they brushed the wood panels on both sides.
Eight bunks enclosed her. Four on either side, stacked two high. “Crammed in like—”