“We’re walkin’outta here in four minutes. Repack your bag with half that shit.”
“What aboutwaters and—”
“You getthirsty, we’ll stop for water. You get hungry, we’ll stop for food. You gethorny, we’ll stop and fuck,” he said. “You don’t need makeup, you’re beautifulwithout it. Bring a brush and tie for your hair. That’s all you need.”
“Okay, I knowyou’re complimenting me right now but you’re being bossy and being all alpha ontop of that which makes me horny as fuck, but you’re also pissing me off, andquite frankly, I don’t know what to do with all of those emotions coming atme,” I growled.
Train chuckled,wrapping his arm around my waist, and turning me to face him. “You know exactlywhat to do with those emotions, beautiful. You let ’em fill you up and make youfeel gooey inside, ’cause you know they make you feel whole. Now, grab yourshit so we don’t miss the beauty of a desert sunset.”
I wrinkled mynose and gripped his jacket. “Well, when you put it like that…”
He grinned,leaning down to kiss me, then we grabbed my bag, now less than half full andsnuck out the back of the hotel to his awaiting bike.
“You everridden?” Train asked as he handed me a helmet.
“No.”
“Right. Handsaround my waist. Lean with me. If you need to stop, tap my leg. Got it?”
I nodded. “Gotit.”
“Where are yourgloves.”
“Oh, here,” Isaid, pulling them out of my jacket pocket. He’d insisted I wear as muchleather as possible for safety, and luckily, I had trunks and trunks of optionsthat traveled with me on tour.
Once he wassatisfied I was dressed appropriately, he helped me climb onto his giantHarley-Davidson motorcycle and started it up. I had to admit the second theroar of the pipes vibrated between my legs, I was instantly wet.
We drove forabout half an hour and I saw the signs indicating we were approaching theamphitheater but rather than entering the national park, Train took us towardan area filled with restaurants and hotels. He pulled up and parked in front ofa BBQ joint, flipping the visor of his helmet up. “Hungry?”
“Oh my god, forproper BBQ? Yes,” I hissed out.
He chuckled andhelped me off the bike before we removed our helmets and headed inside.
“Holy shit,”someone hissed under their breath. “You’re Melody Morgan.”
Train stepped infront of me. “Let’s pretend she’s not. Or we’ll go somewhere else.”
The young girl’sface paled and she dropped her head back to stare up at him with a nod. “Ah, right.Sorry, so sorry.”
She was petite,probably five-feet-two, with a purple and brunette bob, and heavy eyeliner thatshe’d obviously spent hours perfecting. She wore piercings in both sides of hernose and septum, and she had multiple piercings in her ears. She looked like agirl trying to be tough, but it was easy to see she was scared of her ownshadow, so it was no surprise she’d be more than terrified of a giant biker.
“Train, stop.It’s okay,” I admonished, stepping out from behind him. “I’m sorry. He getsreally protective.”
“Hi,” shesqueaked. “I’m coming to your concert tomorrow.”
“You are?”
“I’m coming withmy sister, Marigold. She’s one of our servers here.” She bobbed her head up anddown. “We took on extra shifts so we could afford to buy tickets.”
“Wow, I’mhonored,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Cora.”
“Okay, Cora. Howabout I make you deal?”
“Oh my god,anything.”
“If we getthrough lunch without anyone else knowing I’m here, I’ll get you backstagepasses for you and three friends.”
