Page 21 of Strum Me

“Er, no. I’m not staying on a bus with those other guys. I’d never get any sleep. Anyway, take your pick. Hailey’s already put her stuff in the front room, but you can choose any of the others that you like. I don’t really care.”

I smile at her appreciatively. I’m feeling a little more at ease knowing that she’ll be on this trip.

I pull my suitcase into the second room from the front and can’t help but let out a little gasp.

The room is tiny but so luxurious. I can’t imagine how they can cram this much into one room. The double bed takes up most of the space, wall to wall, but there are sunken-in shelves on one side, a large-screen tv on the other, and a narrow but full length wardrobe. I jump onto the bed and spread out like a starfish, slightly giddy and immediately regret it. I don’t want to get off.

“Cadence?” I call out.

“Yeah, babe?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in bed,” I gurgle happily.

“Is that a challenge?” a voice speaks up and a head pokes around the doorframe. It’s Brad.

I scramble off the bed and to my feet. I’d had an idea of how I’d wanted our next meeting after the press conference to turn out. This wasn’t it.

“Brad!”

“Hey, Butter.”

“Don’t call me that.” I feel my forehead crinkle into a frown.

His left eyebrow raises, amused. “It’s better than ‘dick-wad.’”

He has me there.

Coming out from around the corner, his body completely blocks the doorway. It feels like the entire room is filled with him and I’m suddenly feeling a little claustrophobic.

“So, Dennis wanted me to come and talk to you.” His eyes flick around the room, resting on my luggage.

“What about?”

“About...how we’re going to do this.” His hand comes up and does a random gesture, a twirl in the air.

“What’s there to talk about? You do your job, and I’ll do mine,” I say with all the conviction I can muster and wonder which one of us believes it less.

“And it’s as simple as that?”

“Of course.”

He fingers the doorframe, fiddling with some loose woodchips. “A few days ago, you wouldn’t even talk to me. Now we’re just supposed to live together for six weeks, touring Europe, and you really think there’s nothing we need to talk about?”

“We’re not living together,” I say, busying myself with unpacking some of my clothes and sliding them onto clothes hangers.

“Fine, living on two tour busses within ten feet of each other. Is that better?”

“Kinda.” I slide off the bed and open the wardrobe door, using it as a barrier between us. I close it to see he’s stepped further into the room and pulled the sliding door closed behind him.

Now I’m really starting to suffocate. I back myself up against the bed, trying to create distance between us. My leg connects with the edge of the mattress and I sink down into it. He leans over me, his arms bracing on the bed, his thigh brushing my leg as he whispers into my ear.

“Do you really think we can forget everything that happened in the past?”

His breath is hot against my neck, and fuck, he smells so good. Familiar, but different. Older, more mature. Manly. Irresistible.

“Brad...” I say, eight years of pent-up frustration catching in my throat.

“Because, I don’t know if I can.” His finger tucks under my chin and he lift my eyes up to meet his.