I try to give him the hot dog in my hand but he waves me off. “I’m joking. That’s yours.”
We each grab a Coke, then squirt mustard and relish on our dogs, and I realize I really am having a good time. It’s been so long since I’ve had a day where I could just kick back with someone sort of my age.
Which makes me wonder how old he is. I’m sure he’s older than me, but maybe only by a few years?
He wraps his hot dogs and makes a beeline for where the horse drawn carriages are lined up on the curb. He negotiates with the driver and they must come to an agreement, because he turns to me and gestures that I should climb up.
“He’s going to need your autograph for his daughter,” he says once we’re settled.
“Why?” I ask, and can’t keep the bemusement out of my voice. I never understand autographs. Pictures, maybe, but anyone can scribble anything and say it’s anyone’s autograph.
“He recognized you from the poster in his daughter’s bedroom. She’s a fan. He cut the price nearly in half to get it.”
“Fine,” I say with a roll of my eyes, but I’m actually a little relieved. I’ve made a financial contribution to this outing. It’s that much less that I feel like I owe Max.
It’s turned out to be a really nice day. The air is heavy from the humidity after the rain, but it’s not too hot. We scarf down our food as the driver takes us through the park, past all the sites, and tells us what we’re looking at. Max finishes his three hot dogs in, like, two bites each and is done before I am.
“That’s a little disgusting,” I tell him as he wipes mustard from his chin with the back of his hand.
He grins and pats his stomach. “Growing boy.”
As I’m watching ducks floating lazily on one of the lakes, Max’s arm settles over my shoulder.
I want to shake him off, but I don’t want to piss him off. I knew this was a bad idea. I struggle for a few minutes, trying to decide how to handle this, but when he starts to nuzzle my neck, I know I have to say something.
I slip out from under his arm. “Max, I think you’re cool and all, but I’m not hooking up with anyone on this tour. We have to work together for the next nine weeks and I don’t want things to get awkward between any of us.”
He just stares at me blankly for a second before tipping his head in a question. “You think I’m angling for sex?”
“No…I mean…” Fuck. I knew I’d screw this up.
He grins. “Okay, I am, but not how you think. I’m not looking for one night, Shiloh. You’re totally fucking amazing and there’s nothing I want more than to get to know you better, so I’m going to make you love me.”
All I can do is blink like an idiot.
“Do I want to sleep with you?” His dark gaze glosses over my body before coming back to my eyes. “More than anything. But I’m not expecting you to drop your shorts here and now. I’m in this for the long haul and I guarantee you before the end of this tour, you’re going to want me.”
“Really?” I say, crossing my arms tightly and killing him with my glare.
“I’m a great guy, Shiloh,” he says with a presenting-the-obvious raise of his eyebrows. “Everybody loves me. It’s only a matter of time before you do too.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I realize I never texted Billie. I pull it out and read her, Where are you? then start typing, because I can’t think of a single thing to say to Max other than You’re out of your mind. I tell her we’re in a carriage in Central Park and she sends me back a smiley face. On the heels of that comes another text.
You should try to be back in about an hour. Have to be at the Garden in two and you need time to change and get over there.
I tell her I will, then turn back to Max. “She wants me back at the hotel in an hour.”
He nods, but there’s still something in his eyes that makes me nervous.
Chapter 7
Tro
My grip on the balcony rail could bend steel as I watch that fucking bass player put his paws all over Lucky. I shove off the rail and rake the hair off my face. I swore to myself I was going to protect her from all the fucking douches in this business. Thought laying claim in public would do that. But that little prick’s not backing off.
I pull another Marlboro from the pack and light it off the butt in my hand, then crush out the old one with my bare heel.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath as I watch them disappear under my balcony toward the front door of the hotel.
I drop back into the chair I’d been sitting in when I saw Lucky and Max climb out of the cab and cross the street a minute ago and set my smoke in the ashtray, scooping up my guitar. My fingers play absently over the strings as I imagine what’s going on downstairs right now.
“Fuck,” I snarl, slamming my guitar onto the table and standing up.
I need to hit something.
Or someone.