“New kid pooped in our bathroom,” Austin says matter-of-factly.
“I didn’t—” Once again I argue, but at this point no one’s even listening.
“Just now?” Sean mumbles through a bite of food, and lifts his gaze to where I’m standing. “Not cool. You gotta wait till we’re bros before you shit in our toilet.”
“My bad.” I shrug and finally relent. At this point they’re never going to let it go, and I don’t have any other reason for taking so damn long unless I want to admit to my kitchen detour with Opal. I walk over to Sean and reach for one of the remaining sticky buns.
“New kid.” He nods and his gaze zeros in on my cheek. “You got a little something there.”
I swipe my face with the back of my hand, a smudge of flour coming off. “Thanks.” I lift my gaze but Sean’s still staring, calculating, as if he knows I stole a cookie from the cookie jar—or an almost kiss from Opal—but how could he? I shake my head and laugh it off with a shrug. “Messy eater.” I shove the sticky bun into my mouth and take a bite.
Fuck, that’s decadent.
Country, sweet, and she can bake. Of course she can.
Sean nods, but his eyes narrow as if he doesn’t believe me. Crap. I don’t need to draw suspicion, or be on the outs with my bandmates. Not after the way I earned my spot in the first place. With the North American tour starting tomorrow, I need to be extra careful. Keep a safe distance from any personal assistants.
This gig may be a dream come true overnight, but it can be ripped away just as quickly.
No girl is worth that.
9
Opal
Trent leans backinto the plush leather seat of our town car as it rolls to a stop. “So, I synced my schedule and email to your phone. I’ll need you to keep me on task. Coordinate with our team at Off Track. Bring important information or potential opportunities to my attention. Manage my time at the meet and greets. Tell people no without pissing them off, which shouldn’t be a problem. Oh, and don’t say yes to anything without my approval.”
Outside the buses wait—giant looming hunks of metal, one wrapped with Three Ugly Guys latest cover and the second with the signature Off Track Records logo. Austin and Sean will arrive in a second car, a few minutes behind us.
“Got it.” My head spins with the magnitude of my new responsibilities. I want the job. I’m not here for a free ride, but the stress of running concessions during Friday football games hasn’t prepared me for a job like this. I’m not sure what I expected when I agreed to this role, but it wasn’t this much power.
Trent slides out of the car and holds his hand out for me. Our driver unloads the bags from the back and carries them to the waiting crew as I take it all in. Everything is all so intimidating. My stomach clenches with doubt and fear but beneath the surface stirs a tiny bit of excitement. I try to hold on to the feeling.
“It’s all good, Opal. We’ll figure it out together.” Trent nods to where a crowd of people gathers.
“You sure?” I force my legs to move and keep up with his long easy strides. “I mean, you won’t hurt my feelings if it doesn’t work out. I have no experience with this.”
“You’ll be good. Have a little faith.” He turns and gives me a wink before sliding his shades over his eyes. “Just don’t fuck it up.”
Don’t fuck it up.Sure. Yeah. No pressure at all.
I stay out of the way, observing conversations and memorizing names. Tour manager, drivers, assistants—there’s a ton of people. This alone is overwhelming, but I learn it’s only a small part of the team. The equipment and another team of roadies left yesterday to get the stage set for tonight’s show.
Sean and Austin roll up in another car and join the group. Beneath the heat of the sun I also feel Austin’s gaze on me, and I’m proud of myself for staying cool, collected. It helps to have the protection of my dark sunglasses.
Just when I begin to wonder when exactly we’re gonna stop the chit chat, another black sedan approaches from the far end of the otherwise empty parking lot. It pulls right up to the group and out steps Bedo, two women dressed like executives, and . . . Leighton?
Holy hell.
What’s he doing here? I wanted to ask who he was yesterday, but never mustered the nerve. Trent, Austin, and Sean worked late and by the time they emerged from the basement it was time for a special dinner Deb cooked. I assumed he was Bedo’s assistant, but now as he hauls a large duffle over his shoulder and greets the guys with that half hug, half back slap thing guys do, I don’t know.
“This the kid? He can really play?” The tour manager points at Leighton but turns to Sean to raise his brows.
“Had my doubts too, but he’s an animal.” Sean tips his chin at Leighton.
“No shit?” The tour manager nods his head and shoves his hands into his pockets “Welcome to the madhouse.”
Wait.Leighton’s their new drummer?How oblivious am I?I’ve been in my own head and didn’t even think or ask who’d be filling the vacant spot.
