“After Sam checks you out. Got it?” He swats my butt. “You can come over with him.”
“Riot. Kelsey.” Sam climbs into the bus with his medic bag at his side. His white hair is wild, and he sports a bushy mustache on his top lip that makes him seem kinda distinguished. He wears motorcycle boots along with a band T-shirt from some obscure rock band from the eighties tucked into a faded pair of jeans.
“What happened, gorgeous?” His green eyes sparkle as he treads past Riot and into the bedroom. “I hear you’re not feeling too hot.”
“It’s nothing,” I say.
“Could be food poisoning. Dehydration. Or she’s coming down with something, Sam.” Riot glares at me. “Make sure my best girl is fighting fit please. This is a big weekend for us.”
“Right. Your brother Rogue is getting married, isn’t he?” Sam takes my arm and guides me to sit on the end of the bed. He crouches down and balances his forearms across his knees. “Let’s go over your day while I open my bag of tricks and check your vitals.”
“She puked,” Riot says.
I reach back and pick up the pillow from the other end of the mattress and hurl it at his head. “I can talk for myself.”
“Yeah, you can. But you’re too busy staring into Sam’s big, beautiful eyes.”
“You would be too if you were in my position.” I bat my lashes at Sam. It’s a tour joke. Sam can charm anyone into his bed. Men. Women. He has a sordid and scandalous history from spending all his time on the road with rock stars. We like to tease him about it every chance we get.
“All right.” Sam lifts a hand to quiet Riot as he asks me, “How are you feeling now?”
“Fine. His royal highness over there is overreacting.” I stick my tongue out at Riot. I don’t hate the fuss though. It feels nice. It feels like he cares.
“Go join the party at the hotel,” Sam tells Riot. “I can’t imagine this will take long.”
“You’re sure?” The pinched look to Riot’s face softens as he peels himself away from the wall.
“The longer you hover the longer it will take.” Sam smiles at me playfully. “Is he worried I’ll charm you out of your panties while he’s gone, gorgeous?”
“Probably.” I laugh. “Go. We’ll be there soon.”
“Fine.” Riot grumbles as he walks out of the bus. He starts chatting to one of the security guys outside and soon their voices fade away as the man escorts him to the waiting limo.
Sam opens his medic bag and rummages around. “So, you’ve felt fine. And then you puked once. And you felt fine again?”
“Yes.”
He pulls out a blood pressure cuff and wraps it around my upper arm. “And you ate what today, precisely?”
“Um.” I cover my face with my free hand while the cuff tightens. I’ve been flat out today, making sure everything runs smoothly. Not that it’s different from any other day. Most days I manage to gobble down breakfast and get a run in before I start work, but I had a hard time dragging myself out of bed after spending most of the night with Riot. “I slept in this morning. And didn’t feel like eating when I woke up.”
“Lunch?” He takes my temperature and checks my pulse.
I wrinkle my nose. “Nothing looked appetizing. And did that chicken catering served smell funky to you?”
“I had the chicken for lunch.” He raises both bushy brows. “It was perfectly fine.”
“If I’m sick that could be affecting my sense of smell, right?” I don’t feel like I’m coming down with something.
“Possibly.” He turns on his pen light and looks in my eyes and mouth. “What have you eaten then?”
“A raspberry Twizzler.” I dip my chin to my chest as he tucks his equipment away. “Red Bull and a handful of Skittles.”
“Well, that doesn’t tell me much other than it’s doubtful that it’s food poisoning.” He takes something out of his bag that makes my heart beat so wonky that the world shifts.
These sealed foil tubes are something I’ve seen him pull out a few times for groupies who have ended up in a short-term relationship with one of the guys. Sometimes they’ll stay on the tour bus with us for a few weeks or months.
A pregnancy test. “No, that’s not—”
