“I’m not glaring,” I growl out.
He arches a brow. “Sure you’re not.”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “You’re not worth the effort.”
Mikey lets out a muffled, “Oooh,” from beneath his hood.
Dean’s mouth crooks at the corner, like he’s trying to decide if he wants to smile or bite. “Didn’t seem that way when you checked out my dick the other night,” he reminds me, voice lilting with just enough implication to hit every nerve ending I possess.
My face goes hot. The world compresses to the four-foot space between us and the memory of me, drunk, staring at his very naked, very impressive body and telling him exactly what I thought of it.
Kill. Me. Now.
Hayden clears his throat, the world’s gentlest ref.
I snap my laptop a little closer, shielding my expression behind the screen. “Just because I can’t unsee a horror movie doesn’t mean I want to rewatch it.”
“I don’t think what you saw horrified you.” His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent there. Something almost bitter. “Don’t worry, I know a tequila compliment doesn’t count.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” I fire back.
“So, you’re saying you haven’t thought about what you’re missing.”
My eyes narrow. “I’m saying I was drunk.”
“Such a liar.” He chuffs, shaking his head.
I glare at him properly this time. “Do you actually need this much validation from everyone, or am I just special?”
He stares back, unblinking. “Oh, you’re definitely something special alright.”
Hayden takes a long, theatrical sip of his coffee like he wishes it were stronger.
My heart skitters against my ribs. I drag my gaze back to my screen, silently vowing not to say anything else. Ever. I will mime my way through the rest of this tour if I have to.
The bus settles into that long-haul hum, the kind that erases time and makes everywhere look like nowhere. Miles roll past the windows in long, dusty stretches. Mountains flatten into plains. The sky opens wider and wider.
Hours later, based on my laptop battery and the number of times Mikey has woken up to pee, we’re deep in the middle of nowhere. My back is stiff, my eyes burn, and my stomach is threatening a mutiny. The little red light on my screen winks at me: 10%. I wiggle the plug into the outlet, but it doesn’t seem to help.
“Hey, Sadie.” Hayden pulls one of his headphones off his ear. “That plug is bugging again. Use the one there.” He nods toward the wall socket by the middle bench. The one right next to Dean.
My stomach drops. “This one’s fine.”
“It’s not,” he contends mildly, pointing to the cord. “It’s not going to charge, and I don’t want it to surge your laptop if it decides to suddenly work.”
Traitor. I blow out a slow breath. It’s either move toward Dean or watch my laptop die and sacrifice hours of editing work and distraction. I unplug my charger and gather my stuff, sliding off the bench. The aisle feels narrower than usual as I move, aware that every inch between us is shrinking.
Dean doesn’t say anything as I approach. He just tracks my movement, eyes lazy, expression unreadable. I drop into the bench across from him, plug my cord into the outlet, and pull my laptop toward me. My knee bumps the table again. Electricity zips up my leg, and not just from the impact.
Of course, this table is lower. Of course, there’s less leg room. Of course, my boot bangs into his under the table when I try to adjust myself.
“Sorry,” I mutter, jerking my leg back.
“It’s fine,” he states, but the word lands heavier than it should.
For a while, silence does its best impression of peace. The bus rocks. Mikey scrolls through his phone. Hayden dozes upright against the wall, mug cradled in his hands.
Dean drifts in and out of noodling on the guitar. A scatter of notes here and there. That half-formed riff that sounds like a secret he still doesn’t want to share.
