“But more than one?”
“Sure.”
“How many more than one?”
“Maybe like four. Five? It’s really not a big enough deal for me to keep count.”
“This changes everything I’ve ever known about you.”
I raise my eyebrow.
“Truly,” he says. “You seem too…put together to be someone who misses flights.” He leans forward as he says it, putting his elbows on his spread knees, his hands clasped in the middle.
“I just have better things to do with my time than sit in an airport. I travel enough that the time I lose during therareoccasion I miss my flight is more than made up for by the time I save all the other times.”
“Huh.”
I wait to see if my conversationalist travel buddy will say more. When it becomes clear he has nothing else to add on the subject, I pull out my phone, firing off emails to a few of my employees, confirming all the last-minute work we’ve been putting in for the start of rehearsals tomorrow.
I know my team has done everything we can to be prepared for this, I know we have. But also, have we? There is always something more that can be done, particularly when it comes to advance-team work.
I run through what we know about the woman Jaxon eventually filed a restraining order against last tour for stalking. Bennie Jensen learned the hard way there’s a fine line between obsessed fan and stalker. Turns out, breaking into a famous musician’s dressing room with a pair of scissors and nail clippers so you can take home “a few pieces of him” is so far over the line that you get a night in jail and a restraining order against you.
Street drugs were taken, prescription ones were not, and Bennie came to believe she needed a few toenails and pubes—I shudder at the thought—from Jaxon. Supposedly, someone named Dee told her she needed them for a love-potion. I’m a bit surprised Jaxon’s lawyer didn’t file more than a restraining order. Unfortunately, the forty-two-year-old hasn’t been seen in the last six months. She stopped taking her medication again, and her older sister believes she might be living on the streets in San Francisco. I would’ve preferred to have confirmation of that before the tour begins, but in the end, Trent and I decided it would require too many resources, and even then, the odds of finding her would be depressingly low.
I email Lila again, confirming she has pictures of Bennie in the folders and asking about Dee, the infamous love-potion maker. There was nothing in the file about her, but I’m not sure if that’s because the police didn’t think she was real or because they couldn’t find anything on her. My guess is the former, but I’d rather double-check some overworked cop’s work than appear incompetent.
The truth is, Jaxon has over one hundred people that his former security firm identified as stalkers. There will be facial recognition at many of the stadium entrances specifically scanning for their faces, butfor every hundred we know about, there has to be at least that many who haven’t crossed our radar yet. Or haven’t escalated from obsessed fan to just obsessive.
After finishing the work I can do from my phone and scrolling through my socials for what seems like a decade, I start people-watching. There is a hilarious kid, maybe seven or eight, who’s just dancing along to her music. Since she has pink-and-purple headphones on, I can’t tell what she’s listening to, but she is getting after it with her headshaking. Dang—to be that carefree.
My attention is pulled away from the dancer as two women walk by in Denver College sweatshirts. They’re young and excited, chatting animatedly about something. The one with her hair pulled into a messy bun does a double take as she passes Carter. At first, I think she must know him, but after her quick head-to-toe perusal and an elbow to her friend’s ribs, I realize she’s just checking him out. Not that I blame her.
Carter is inarguably attractive. He’s roughly six feet tall with hair so brown, it’s almost black, and dark-chocolate eyes. As terrible as the logo is on the black polo, I’ll admit the shirt is doing good things for the man’s chest and biceps. It doesn’t hurt that it exposes his well-defined forearms either. Denver College should be sad she missed the show on the walk into the airport, though, because his dark-washed jeans were doinggreatthings for his ass. Not that I was looking, of course.
Carter notices the woman’s perusal and quickly averts his eyes, more focused on his phone than he has been the entire time.
I smirk but let them move out of earshot.
I point my chin at the woman’s back as she sits on a black airport chair a few rows away from ours. “It looks like they’re on our flight. I guess you’ll have at least one option for fun tonight.”
Carter doesn’t follow my gaze to the girl, instead focusing on his phone. He shakes his head but chooses not to reply. Not the worst move on his part.
Unfortunately for him, I’m bored, so I’m not going to take his silence as an answer. I’ve been fairly successful at convincing the people in my life to reveal their deepest, darkest secrets to me lately, and now I crave the challenge of it.
“Are you the one man on earth who isn’t interested in a fun night out with one”—I look back to the girl and her friend—“maybe two, college girls?”
Poking the bear is fun—as long as you’re faster than it. And when it comes to intellectual speed, I’m always the fastest.
He rotates his head slowly to send me a glare that sends my heart racing. But then he looks back at his hands, acting as if I hadn’t spoken. I let out a sigh, disappointed he’s not going to take the bait.
“I think you do the male population a disservice with that comment,” Carter says to his hands.
I force my Cheshire cat smile to stay hidden, the thrill of a verbal sparring match thrumming through my veins. And Carter is not just any sparring partner. He has the brainpower to be a worthy opponent for once. It’s a rare find, and why I resort to arguing with my sisters and dad so often. I want the other person to at least have a chance.
“Or am I just an astute observer of human nature?” I ask sweetly.
“You’re spending time around the wrong humans if that’s what you’re observing.”
