He's near the back of the bus, phone to his ear while his eyes dart around suspiciously. My curiosity piques, and I creepcloser, making sure to keep my steps light in my three-inch heels.
“I can Venmo you the money, but not until I have them in my hand.”
What is he talking about? And why’s he being so secretive? He keeps looking over his shoulder, like he’s worried someone’s going to come out and bust him for using the phone. Tanner is a hard ass, but he’s notthatcrazy.
He hangs up and rounds the bus, eyebrows shooting high when he notices me. He clears his throat, masking his features, as if he wasn’t just being super shady. “Is Travis resting?”
“Yeah…”
“Good. Good. Well, I guess I better get back to it.” He hooks a thumb to the bus and I shake off the weird feeling I have—he is not my problem. I make the two-block trek to my hotel. Normally, I wouldn’t have even come on tour with the guys. I could do my job at home while they’re on the road, but I’m basically acting as an assistant to Calvin—who again, is not my boss—and their PR rep. Since they don’t have a massive following and this is their first headlining tour, I haven’t had to do any damage control yet.
My job has many layers, but I love it. I always wanted to do something in the music industry, but wasn’t sure how I’d get my foot in the door. Apparently, sleeping my way in was the way to go.Kidding. I had no idea a short romp in the sack with Travis would lead to this. I’d only wanted to help them when I started messing with their social media. It was clear they had no idea what they were doing.
Hard to believe they’re here now, a legit tour bus and crew members. So different from the guys Olivia and I watched play in a tiny hole-in-the-wall bar not that long ago. It’s where this all started, for me and her. She met the love of her life that night, and I found my dream job.
4
TRAVIS
“T-minus forty-three minutes,”Tanner reminds us.Again.
It’s only been twelve minutes since the last reminder. Then again, it’s who he is. I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.
I roll my neck, hearing it snap, crackle, and pop like a goddamn bowl of Rice Krispies. Even after sleeping for ten hours, I’m not rested at all. Probably because I slept like a sack of shit. Those bunk beds, man. I know musicians have been doing it way longer than me, but fuck, it sucks.
I should be sleeping on a nice, cushy bed like Calvin.We’rethe show. Yet, we’re sleeping on the bus most nights to “save money” while he gets a four-star hotel room. Bullshit if you ask me, but no one does.
“You good?” Penn asks, as he types on his phone, either to his girl or mom. At this point, he might even have a group chat with all his girls. I’m not jealous. He’s my best friend, and I’m happy his family is all cohesive again. As much as it can be since his dad died.
“I’m fine.”
He finishes his text and drops his phone in his back pocket, eyeing me. I stare back, and he nods, accepting my answer and leaving me alone.
I continue to warm up my vocals. We’ve been doing the same setlist this whole tour, but we always add a little something extra and different to each show. Tonight, we’re playing one of our new songs, and there’s some screaming in it. I like it, it’s cathartic, but my vocal cords aren’t used to it.
Once it’s down to the wire, we head backstage and wait for our opening act, TripleKill, to finish up. They’re cool guys. Three dudes in their early twenties who have been playing together since they were kids. They’ve got a sick metal sound that is the complete opposite of ours, but we love it. They have good energy, and the crowd seems to enjoy them.
Sometimes I still can’t fucking believe we have an opening act. Before,wewere the opening act.
I glance out into the crowd, they’re headbanging, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s moshing or crowd surfing. That just won’t do for us.
It’s packed but I don’t think we sold out. None of us has said it out loud, but I think our goal is to sell out at least one venue before this is over.
TripleKill shuffles off stage, and we wait for the crew to change the setup. That might be my favorite part of this whole thing—not having to set up anymore. We even have our own technicians in case something messes up with our instruments. Shit is wild. And expensive. I’m not even sure how much money we’re going to be bagging after all this is said and done. Truthfully, we don’t care. We’re doing what we love.
After the show,I pour a whole bottle of water down my throat. It’s raw and scratchy. Calvin said something about getting me some honey or some shit, but I’ve yet to see it.
“Need anything before I head out?” Ellie asks, appearing in the doorway of our greenroom. She gets the plush hotel beds too; difference is, she deserves it. Calvin doesn’t because he’s a fuckwad. They ride on our bus, too, and Calvin takes turns driving with Tanner.
Everyone shakes their head but me. I let mine dip over her. She’s at every single show, and she doesn’t even have to be. We told her to take a night off every once in a while, but at the end of the day, she’s a fangirl.
She’s wearing another one of those jumpsuit things that hugs her delicious curves. It’s all black, some type of velvet-looking material that I can practically feel under my palms. When my eyes trail up, she’s staring at me, a dark, perfectly trimmed brow arched.
I squeeze the bottle until it crunches in my fist, then toss it at her feet. She rolls her eyes but bends down to grab it, flashing me a nice view of her plump cleavage. Just what I wanted. She dumps the bottle in the trash and leaves without another word.
After every show, Tanner makes us sit through a twenty-minute “band meeting.” Like we fucking need it. We’re together every second of every day. I know how we played; I have ears. I don’t need him to relive every little detail, but we humor him because he’s a nut job.
“We have four more cities, then have two days of rest. We’ll hit the road again before heading home for four nights.” He reads from the paper clipped to his clipboard.
