“Hell yeah,” Zeb says. “I’m starving. I know Bonnie is dying to eat, too.” He glances at me and winks, and I almost roll my eyes.
Zeb pinches my elbow and throws his towel over his shoulder, then looks at Gemma. “You’re a fucking badass,” he says, fist-bumping her. “I’m going to go shower really quick.”
“Twenty minutes,” she calls after him.
“I only need seven,” he replies.
“That sounds like wishful thinking,” I yell.
Zeb flips me off, and I chuckle as he disappears into the shower room.
Gemma’s snicker meets mine. I look sideways at her, taking in how amused she appears.
“Did you think we would be a bunch of stuck-up assholes or were you expecting four terribly immature brats?” I ask her.
“Somewhere in the middle, I think,” she replies. “I don’t think I expected how close all of you are without constant feuding. In my experience, families bring out the worst in each other.”
“It wasn’t always this great,” I admit. “After my first tour with them, or after rehab rather, Avie actually hired us a group therapist. I was a fucking mess. I had to work through a lot of shit, and I had projected so much of it onto the guys that collectively, we weren’t in a great place. She worked with us individually, too, which helped a ton, but she was great at helping us solve any lingering issues in the band. Gave us some tools to eventually work through it on our own.”
“That’s impressive,” she says. “Was the tour so bad?”
I huff, thinking back. “That first tour was such a shit show,” I say, taking another sip of water. “I barely remember any of it. Too many drugs, too much alcohol, so much fucking that I—” Ipause and clear my throat, nixing the sentence. “I mean, we were just kids,” I say instead. “Fucking dumb kids, which is why we still refer to ourselves as ‘four dumb fucks.’”
Gemma laughs, the noise lingering around us. “I like that. Four dumb fucks.” She presses an open bottle of water to her lips and takes a drink. “Maybe that will be the code name I use for you over the coms from now on.”
I chuckle and press my hand to an imaginary radio on my shoulder. “Walking four dumb fucks to the stage now. Over,” I pretend.
Her laughter rises, and I’m dumbfounded at the genuine light in her eyes.
“Totally unprofessional,” she says.
“I mean, you’re with us,” I say. “I doubt anyone expects you to be super professional.”
“You would be surprised. James had a reputation I have to uphold.”
“James was a legend,” I agree. “He was the first security guard that didn’t yell at us for pranking them. There was one who Avie tried to put on the first tour. We pissed him off so much that he didn’t bother helping unless it was at a show. He was fired after Mads went to jail the second time on his watch.”
Gemma begins rummaging through her bag for clothes. “Why was he in jail?” she asks.
“Usually a fight,” I say with a shrug. “Those first few years, he was a hot head. Takes a lot to get him to that point now, but he used to swing if someone even looked at Reed wrong. Even just going to jail twice during that tour was an improvement over the year before.”
She nods, and I eye her.
“You know all of this already,” I say because I know James didn’t leave her with zero information on us.
A smirk curls on her lips. “I know what it looks like on paper,” she says, straightening. “Stories sound better coming from you, though. Are you showering?”
I deliberately let my eyes wander over her. “Is this an invitation?”
Gemma huffs, head hanging for a beat, and I swear her cheeks darken. “Now who’s the flirt?” she says, pivoting on her heel.
I don’t even attempt to hide my tilting head as I watch her walk away from me, her ass swaying.
As she disappears into the shower room, I blow out an audible breath. “Fuck me,” I mutter before looking through my bag for clothes.
I wish she would.
I peel my clothes off, grab a towel, then make my way to the showers, all the while reminding myself not to stare too hard if Gemma is anywhere in my vicinity.
