It’s been nearly twenty years since I walked away from it all, and generally speaking, I consider myself lucky.
Today isn’t one of those days.
Yanking on shorts and a T-shirt, I slide my feet into flip flops and grab my phone and room key. As the tour manager for one of the biggest rock bands in the world, I don’t go anywhere without my phone. Not even to the john most of the time.
We finished a short European tour last April and took time off to regroup while the band wrote new music and recorded in the studio. Now we’ve just kicked off what will probably be an eighteen-month world tour with friends and family along for the ride. It’s a lot, with a ton of logistics to manage, but I love my job ninety-nine percent of the time, so I don’t mind.
Except when I don’t get enough sleep.
That tends to make me cranky.
It’s currently five thirty in the morning, so the Phoenix hotel is quiet, which is exactly how I like it. It’ll give me time to ease into my day, and maybe work through some of the surly attitude I feel coming on.
I wish I brought my cigarettes with me, but I’m trying to quit.
For about a decade.
How’s that working out for you, asshole? I ask myself wryly.
I tend to have a lot of solo conversations these days, since I’m firmly unattached in my personal life and spend too much time working to cultivate many friendships outside the Onyx Knight organization.
A faint cloud of smoke catches my attention as I round the corner to the pool, and I try to ascertain where it’s coming from.
The slight silhouette of a woman gets my attention. She’s standing with her back to me, the only time she moves is when she lifts her arm to take a puff of her cigarette. She appears completely lost in thought, and I hate to disturb her, but the aroma of nicotine pulls me toward her like gravity.
I approach as noisily as I can so as not to scare her.
“Excuse me. Do you think I could bum—” I cut myself off abruptly when I recognize her. “Wynter?”
She turns, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You caught me.”
“Is the fact that you’re an early riser and a smoker a secret?” I ask, smiling back.
She shrugs. “Harley gets on me about the smoking. It’s bad for us, right? I don’t know about you, but I was raised in an era where everyone from our teachers to our parents to the advertisements on TV advised us against it.”
“And yet, here we are.” I pluck the cigarette from her fingers and put it to my lips, taking a long, deep pull.
God, that feels good.
I’m probably sending myself to an early grave, but what the hell? I’ve already cheated death on a grand scale, so what difference does it make? It’s not like I have anyone at home waiting for me.
“Why are you up so early?” she asks curiously.
I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Same.” She takes the cigarette back and proceeds to blow perfect little rings above her pretty face.
She has soft, feminine features, with a pert nose, a bow-shaped upper lip, and a heart-shaped face. Her honey-blonde hair is shoulder length, with soft waves that move when she does, and I momentarily imagine running my fingers through it. It’s probably silky and soft. Like the rest of her.
I catch myself before letting the fantasy go any further.
Wynter isn’t a groupie, so she isn’t up for grabs.
She has no business in my fantasies either.
She’s my drummer’s sister-in-law, and she’s in Phoenix on business or something. I briefly saw her yesterday when she and a couple of the ladies got back from some fancy spa in Sedona. Since she’s Tommy’s wife’s sister, I’ve met her on many occasions over the years, but never paid much attention because I don’t screw around with friends and family of the band. Entanglements like that tend to get messy, no matter how careful you are.
Frankly, groupies aren’t my thing anymore, so it feels like I’ve been impersonating a monk the last couple of years.
