I can’t even look at him, feeling very much like a child busted for doing something wrong. Which I was. What the hell was I thinking, flirting back with Leighton? I don’t know him, but he’s their freaking drummer. I can’t mess around with him, not even a little. Not that I want to.
Liar.
“So, what’cha talking about?” Austin kicks his legs out and I don’t miss how he bumps Leighton’s in the process. He reaches his arm across the back of the booth, and his fingers brush my shoulder in just the slightest.
I straighten in my seat and glance at Leighton. “Just how exciting this is for y’all. The tour. The bus. It’s so fancy.”
“Not a bad way to ride, yeah?” Austin’s lips spread with his smile. “Give it a few weeks, though, and you’ll be over it.”
“I can’t imagine it gets any better than this,” Leighton says.
“No, it doesn’t, but it sure makes us appreciate those nights when we sleep in a hotel.” Austin chuckles. “Just you wait and see. After a few weeks in close quarters, we’re ready to kill each other. Literally.”
10
Leighton
I’m beginningto wonder if Austin and Opal are an item. That or he’s hell bent on being a cock block. Austin doesn’t leave Opal’s side the entire ride to San Francisco, not that there’s a ton of space or places to go on a tour bus, but given it’s a solid six hours, that’s commitment.
Just before lunch, Opal asks me which sleeping spot I want. Of course, Austin’s sitting next to her so I can’t make a dirty joke about which position she prefers, top or bottom. Okay, maybe it’s not so much a joke. I really want to know. I want to know everything about her. She screams innocence, and as bad as it sounds, there’s a part of me that’d enjoy corrupting her.
Or maybe it’s an act. There’ve been moments, like yesterday when I caught her shaking her hips in the kitchen, or today when she said she was open to anything, that make me wonder. In prep school it was always the goodie two shoes who were hellcats in the sack. Would she be like that? My interest is piqued.
After lunch I climb into my bunk. I selected the top one since I doubt Opal wants the hassle of getting up there to sleep each night. Settling into the bed with my headphones, I pass the final hours of our journey in a restful sleep.
Once we pull into the stadium, everything is chaos. Orchestrated, but hectic all the same. Lots of introductions. Sound checks. The band goes over last minute changes with our tour and stage managers before an assistant named Dave whisks me off to wardrobe. Bedo sent my measurements ahead of time, but because of my last minute addition, and the fact I don’t already have a celebrity persona, he gave the stylists free rein.
Dave pushes open a door and holds it for me to walk through first.
“This him?” A man who must be one of the stylists smacks his lips and stares with greedy eyes.
The woman behind him stops working to peer over his shoulder. Her smile grows as soon as she spots me. “Oh, he’s just a baby.”
I’m not so sure I like the wardrobe department.
The space is filled with clothing racks, trunks, and one of those makeup vanities you find on a movie set.
Dave chuckles and nudges me further into the room. “Yeah, Bedo said to . . . un-pretty him up?”
“Oh, honey. It’ll be my pleasure,” the man coos, and his eyes narrow at my chest. “Shirt off.”
Okay. Not gonna lie, I’m feeling a little self-conscious. Not that I don’t have a good body. I run and do pushups on the regular, but the way these two are unabashedly staring causes me to pause.Fuck it. Blowing out a rush of breath, I peel my shirt off my back.
Dave chuckles, steps back out the door, and calls over his shoulder. “Green room when he’s done.”
The stylists wave him off, their gaze never leaving my chest.
I flex. If they’re gonna look, I might as well give them something. Not sure what to do or whether this is really part of their process, I try not to fidget under their stares. “I don’t get a shirt?”
The man bites his lower lip and grins. “Sure you do, I just wanted to see that bod.”
“He’s awfully pale,” the woman says.
“No tattoos, either.” His disappointment is as clear in his tone as in the pout of his lips.
“Jesus. I’ll get a tattoo if it makes everyone more comfortable.” I try for a joke, but they ignore me completely.
Hands on hips, she shakes her head and levels an impassive stare. “Pretty. Just don’t look like a rock star.”
