Milo tossed a deck of cards onto the table and said, “And now we wait.”
I glanced at my watch. “Five hours until doors open, and seven until you guys go on stage?”
“Don’t forget sound check,” Riot said while taking a seat at the table with his guitar. “That’s scheduled for an hour before doors open.”
I chose a seat across from Riot and opened my laptop. For a while, nobody spoke—Cash was engrossed with his book on the couch, while Milo and Violet were totally focused on their card game. Riot had a stack of blank sheet music in front of him, and plucked at his guitar while occasionally making a note on the paper.
I hated to disturb the peace, but after an hour I cleared my throat. “I finished the first tour poster, if anyone wants to see.”
“No shit?” Milo asked, scrambling over to look.
“I didn’t make one for tonight’s show, since I didn’t have time,” I explained. “This is for the Fort Worth show in three days. That’s the skyline, with an emphasis on their rodeo culture.”
“Daaaaamn. This is good!” Milo exclaimed.
“Hell yeah,” Violet said. “So you’renotjust a pretty face.”
Riot came around the table and leaned over my shoulder. His arm brushed against mine, and his scent overwhelmed my senses and made it difficult to think.
“I love it,” he said in a soft, yet deep, voice. “You’re really talented.”
“You’re just saying that to be nice,” I said, feeling my cheeks turn red.
“Riot doesn’t give out compliments often,” Cash said from the couch. “If he says you’re talented, then he means it.”
“I complimented your bass during the show the other night,” Riot argued.
“Which,” Cash said, “is the first compliment I’ve gotten from you in over a year. And I wasn’t complaining. Just stating a fact for our new muse.”
“I’ll forward you the contact info for our marketing guy,” Riot told me. He was still so close that his breath tickled my neck. “Send him the artwork and he’ll post them to our socials.”
Preening from the satisfaction that I’d done a good job, I switched over to one of the freelance gigs currently on my to-do list. But it was hard to focus while I was in the same room with four honest-to-God rock stars. They were exotic to me, and I found my gaze constantly leaving my laptop to watch them.
Riot had begun to pace the length of the room, muttering to himself under his breath. Every so often, he hurried over to thetable and jotted down a few scribbles. They might have been musical notes or song lyrics. I couldn’t tell.
I must have been watching him a little too overtly, because Milo leaned his chair over and placed a gentle hand on my back.
“Like all self-absorbed artists,” he whispered, “Riot has a process. And hehatesto be disturbed.”
“I do,” Riot said, glaring at the drummer.
Milo muttered an apology, then went back to playing cards with Violet.
Time went by much faster than I expected. When they went out for sound check, I could hear the music thumping through the walls. They returned just as trays of food were brought into the dressing room: chicken sandwiches, pasta, cookies, and big bowls of potato chips.
“Hell yeah,” Milo said while filling a plate. “This is a much better spread than we’re used to.”
“I pushed the label to improve our food while on tour,” Cash said with a satisfied smile. “It pays to be a headliner.”
Milo leaned into me in front of the cookies and said, “While on tour with Rainknife, all we got was a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of grocery store salsa.”
“Don’t knock grocery store salsa,” Violet complained.
“Vi has the food palate of a teenage boy,” Riot said from across the room.
She flicked him off.
The four of them fueled up on food while the opening band began to play. Milo and Violet helped themselves to the bar, and offered me a mixed drink—which I declined. Then, in what felt like the blink of an eye, a man wearing a headset knocked on the door and told the band they had five minutes before curtain.
