“Why not?”
Visibly unsatisfied with my answer, Jon turns away and reclines his seat. Across the aisle, Jakob is snoring with an eye mask on and next to him, Geert is flirting with an older woman on his right.
“Looks like Geert is going to win today’s mile-high challenge,” I say with a nod, relieved to have something to redirect Jon’s attention towards.
He follows my gaze before settling back in his chair, eyes closed. “It’s easy to win when you’re the only one playing.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed you’ve … slowed down a bit recently.”
He pops one eye open. “A girl can change.”
I chuckle at that and flip my pad over. There are words bouncing around my mind, poetry and lyrics and a song, or ten new songs, maybe more. I’ve never felt so creative, so bursting with ideas and feelings and a strong need to share them with others, but still I don’t write any new words or notes. Instead, I go back to drawingroses and wondering if Cassie feels the same way. If she also has albums of songs inside her bursting to get out, but she chooses to keep them there because this way, they stay safe.
“Listen up,” Martin barks in the hotel lobby. “Two nights. That’s all you’ve got for yourselves. Your last hurrah. After that, I own you.”
He points his index finger at each one of us in turn. Jon blows him an air kiss. Jakob yawns. Geert burps.
“I mean it,” Martin adds. “Two nights to drink, fuck, smoke, snort – whatever and whoever you want – but after that, best behaviour.”
“Sure, Martin,” Jon scoffs. “Why bring us to New York two nights early? You’re asking for trouble.”
Martin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because … Look, do you want two nights of freedom or not?”
None of us responds. I’m itching to get up to my hotel room, kick my boots off, smoke half a packet of cigarettes and work more on the songs in my head.
“Let me get your room keys,” Martin says with an exasperated huff and heads to the reception desk.
“Find me in the bar,” Geert says, and he skulks off, leaving all his luggage with us.
“We all know why we’re here,” Jakob says, crossing his arms over his leather jacket and tight tee.
“We do?” Jon asks. I’m only half-listening as I rummage around in my bag for my Marlboro Reds and a lighter.
“Kevin Briggs,” Jakob says. That grabs my attention. “Evergreene’s tour opens at Madison Square Garden tomorrow night.”
I knew this, have known this for weeks. Just like I know the next ten stops on their tour and how none of them coincide with our locations as we jump on a plane to Europe in forty-eight hours.
“So, Martin’s a secret fan.” Jon shrugs. “We can’t all have good taste in music.”
“No, Martin’s fucking Kevin,” I explain.
“Is he?” Jon swings his head my way with a mischievous grin. “That’s … interesting.”
“No, it’s not,” I say. “Two polyester suits rubbing up against each other. They’ll start a damn fire if they’re not careful.”
“I’m going to ask him to find out Cassie Everard’s hotel room number,” Jakob tells us.
“No, you’re fucking not,” I snap before I can stop myself. I feel Jon’s stare on me intensify.
“Why not?” Jakob says to me in Swedish. “She’s single, I’m single. She’s hot. I’m Swedish.”
I roll my eyes at him. “She's not interested,” I say in English.
“I don’t know,” Jon remarks. “She was with Stephan Greene. Maybe drunken guitarists with bad teeth are her thing?”
“I don’t have bad teeth!” Jakob brings a hand to his mouth.
“Not as bad as Stephan Greene now, thanks to Pia.” Jon slaps me on the back, and I move forward more than I should. I’m still trying to figure out how to stop Jakob from making a move on Cassie.
