“Well, I’m flattered, Mr. Rock Star.”
“Stop with that shit. I’ll let you shower.” He walks over to the door, and I call out.
“Hey, you’re kind of hard to gauge this morning. Are we okay?”
“Sure,” he opens the door.
“Easton,” I draw out his name. “Are you angry with me? You seem…frustrated.”
He glances at me, a small smile on his lips. “It seems to be a constant state with you.”
“I said or did…something, didn’t I? What was it?”
Closing the door, he steps toward me and hovers, his gaze gliding over my bared skin as my treacherous nipples draw tight in my cami. Ignoring the ever-present pull, I bat it away briefly and press in. “What? What are you thinking?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. What do you say when we get to Dallas, we get lost for a while? Just the two of us?”
“I say that sounds perfect.” I inwardly sigh, fighting the urge to get closer. He smells so fucking good, a mix of bergamot…and smoky wood.
“Good,” he leans in and stops suddenly, pulling back, a secretive smirk playing on his lips.
“Okay, that’s it. Subtlety is not even remotely your thing. What the hell is going on up here?” I tap his temple, and he gently grips my fingers, lowering them before releasing them.
“Nothing you want to hear.” His smirk spreads to a full-on grin.
“You’re so sure.”
He chuckles as he opens the door. “Positive.”
Without another word, he slips out. Irritated, I swipe my tablet from the bed and open the door calling out to his retreating back.
“‘A legend in the making’- That’s a direct quote from the Oklahoman. You’re a star, Mr. Crowne, own—” the words die on my tongue as he reaches his hotel door, the door to the room adjacent to mine. His grin turns into a megawatt smile as he sees me mentally start to question my life choices last night before slipping inside.
Twenty minutes later, I exit the hotel to find the guys lingering in and around the two vans. The first van is filled skillfully to the brim with equipment, and Joel is already behind the wheel, waiting to rollout. Grinning, I wave to him and get one in reply as Syd spots me just outside the open door to the second van and lifts his chin in greeting, a plume of vape smoke pouring from his lips. Easton spots me next, his eyes doing a shameless sweep as he opens the passenger door for me in greeting.
“Thank you, kind sir,” I say as he lingers at my side between my passenger seat and the van door. “Nothing happened last night. I wasn’t that drunk,” I utter confidently, “so, the jig’s up.”
“Good to know.” A smirk.
“What, Easton, what? I remember our conversation, too.”
He gives me a dead stare before I finally catch on.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I say, yanking my seatbelt and buckling in. “I’m a grown woman, you know.”
He shuts the door on me as I roll my eyes and spot LL already sitting in the second row, focus fixed out of the window. Though seemingly unapproachable, I greet him anyway.
“Morning, LL.”
“Morning,” LL replies absently. I look to Easton with pinched brows as he takes the driver’s side before glancing quizzically in the rearview and shrugging.
Tack ends a call at the back of the van before stepping in and giving me a warm grin. “Morning, beautiful. How you feeling?”
“Not bad, considering I drank my weight in potatoes.”
“You had four shots, lightweight.”
“And two beers,” I remind him.
“Right,” he winks.
“Did you read the reviews?”
His smile widens. “A few.”
Tack and I engage in easy conversation as Easton pulls out, following Joel’s lead. Our conversation fizzes out the first hour of the short drive to Dallas as we wait for our caffeine buzzes to kick in. Most of the guys screw around on their cellphones as LL continues to stare out his window.
I lean over in a whisper to Easton. “Is everything okay with LL?”
“Have no idea,” he replies. “He’s not really an open book.”
I chew on my lip and avert my gaze just as Easton’s eyes drift over to me. Last night, he seemed in fantastic spirits and talkative. Today, he seems more the thoughtful introvert I met.
Before my obsessive thoughts can take over as to why he’s acting so out of sorts, Stella’s promised call comes through.
Anxiety already spiking as Easton answers, Tack demands Easton put the phone on speaker. My fears put to rest slightly as she spends the first five minutes of the call spouting off reviews for Easton and the band. Her personality on full display, I find myself stifling my laughs a few times, especially due to her and Easton’s easy banter, which reminds me a lot of my father and me.
As she shamelessly reads his praises, I carefully watch his expression for any sign of satisfaction but only find it when the feedback comes directly from her. This only confirms he was being one hundred with me when he said the only opinions that matter to him are those of the people closest to him. Something more to admire about him, as if I didn’t have enough already.
Tack joins in on the conversation talking to Stella like they are the best of friends, clearly already well acquainted. Even Syd speaks up with a greeting and makes a little conversation while LL remains mute, his gaze trained on the rapidly passing surroundings.
I focus on LL and his concave posture as Tack’s words register.
“…picked up our friend in Austin last night before the show.”
Easton rips the phone from Tack’s hands and takes him off speaker as I shake my head wildly at Tack, pressing a finger to my lips. Mortified, I glance over at Easton as he skillfully clears the speedbump with Stella before ending the call and turning to me, his expression apologetic. Not a second later, Tack’s inevitable question comes.
“What’s up with that, Nat? You don’t want Stella to know you’re with us?”
“Well, I guess you could say it’s out of respect for our mutual profession. We’re both journalists, and since we haven’t met, I don’t want her to think I’m trying to exploit my friendship with Easton for a story, you know? That’s what I would think.”
Lies, and I’m getting too good at telling them. Easton spares me further by speaking up. “Or how about this? My mother doesn’t need to know who the fuck climbs in and out of this van or my hotel room or anything else of a private fucking nature regarding me, period,” Easton bites out in nasty warning.
“Shit, I get that,” Tack cups his neck. “Sorry, man. Guess it’s already a bit of a family affair with Dad, right?”
Easton dips his chin in confirmation as the hotel room part of his blanket statement gnaws at me.
Not yours. He’s not yours.
“So, when’s Reid coming back, anyway?” Tack asks in a quick change of subject.
“Not until next week,” Easton clips out, ending the conversation.
For the rest of the short drive, I feel a low-lying tension brewing between Easton and me and know that—true to Easton’s nature—it’s only a matter of time before he confronts it, us, all of it.
Despite his confrontational nature, he’s been oddly evasive this morning, which has me pondering why. At first, I thought he was doing it just to rile me up. But after replaying his stunted actions this morning, I decide he’s definitely holding onto something. Knowing he’ll inevitably come clean when he’s ready, I make the most of the rest of my time with the band and use it to dig into their individual histories.