Jean Haus - With the Band

He knows they’re good, and I’m not about to lie just because we don’t like each other. “Great. If I didn’t know, I would have never guessed you’re a college band.”

His cold smile turns into a sneer. “Just a college band, huh?”

My mouth twists. I grumble, “Quit, Sam. I didn’t mean it like that. Everything I say to you isn’t calculated to come out bitchy.”

We stare at each other, firing eyeball missiles, and a hush comes over the table.

Out of the corner of my vision, I notice Gabe watching us.

Sam must notice too, because he leans back. “Touchy,” he says, then turns to the girl on his right. He twists her long hair, gives it a slight tug, and whispers something in her ear that elicits a loud laugh. Sam grins cockily.

I roll my eyes and reach for a chicken wing. Luckily, the band performing beyond the glass gives me something to look at, so it’s easy to ignore him .

After I finish eating, I sip a bottle of beer until I realize this is a great time to grab my camera and take pictures covertly. I snap a few of Justin and Romeo concentrating on the concert. Gabe and Sam never glance up as I capture them sitting with a tableful of chicks. I’m careful not to get the girls’ faces, which isn’t easy since two of them are sitting on Gabe’s lap. Unless I get them to sign waivers since they’re not in the crowd, it could be a problem to post their photos, so it’s best to avoid the issue. Gabe is clearly having fun. So much for the blonde “girlfriend” wearing the Daisy Dukes on the day we left town. Sam also looks relaxed. His mood appears so flirty and light, it’s almost hard to believe he’s the same guy who is usually such a dick to me. Seeing him act so pleasant, talking and laughing with three women, I’m suddenly pissed that he can’t let the past go. He is clearly determined to be a jerkwad to me.

The members of Griff come in, and I notice that the stage is being changed over. I put down my camera and go lean against the far wall, watching the band members as they start to unwind.

Surprisingly, the members of Griff don’t seem much different than Gabe or Sam. They stand around drinking beer and talking. Though they’re sweaty and flushed, girls hang on them. A bottle of whiskey makes a round. I’m kind of let down. I’m not sure what I was expecting. Maybe something more wild and crazy? Other than the plethora of black clothes and rocker hair, this suite resembles a fraternity party. A boring one at that.

I pick up the camera again and take some more pictures, but when Sam and the girl move to a couch, irritation boils inside of me. I let my camera hang from my neck and get a second bottled beer. Leaning against a chair behind Romeo and Justin, I gulp half of it down. Sam was right. This isn’t going to be an easy six weeks.

I concentrate on watching Brookfield, the best-known band on the tour, and by the time a guy leans on the chair next to mine, my anger is pretty much under control.

“Hello there,” he says. His sultry tone is impossible to miss.

“Hi,” I say slowly, trying to place him because he looks familiar.

“Couldn’t help but notice you over here all alone.” His smile is warm yet somehow sly.

The black jeans and buttoned-up shirt have me guessing he is from Griff. I search his long face with its slightly crooked nose. He has that thin, sexy rocker look that dismisses good-looking. Finally, I put the pieces together and recognize his black, wild hair. He’s the guitarist for Griff.

He brushes a silver-ringed finger on my arm. “You the shy type?”

I lightly tap the camera around my neck. “No. I’m the at-work type.”

His head tilts in a question.

“I’m with Luminescent Juliet. Kind of their personal promoter.”

“Really?” His dark eyes travel the length of me, pausing at the slice of naked midriff. He inches closer. The tips of his black boots brush my flip-flops. “You’re going to be with us the whole tour, kitten?”

Leaning away from him and the kitten reference, I nod. Like the others in Griff, he appears to be in his late twenties, but his pervy comment makes him sound older. Even too old to be in Brookfield. Those guys are actually in their late thirties.

He takes a long draw from his bottled beer, then frowns. “You with one of them?”

I shake my head. “I have a boyfriend at home.”

His thin lips curl into a satisfied smile. “At home, huh?”

“Yeah, we’ve been together for almost a year,” I say, exaggerating my relationship with Bryce, hoping this guy will back off.

“Ah, but he’s not here.” He puts out a hand. “Name’s Rick. Guitarist of Griff.”

His egotistical tone implies my panties should drop now that he has announced who he is, but I keep a straight face. “Yeah, I saw the concert,” I say, shaking his hand. “I’m Peyton. Your set was great but I should get going. Long day of travel tomorrow, you know?” I step back, unexpectedly longing for the couch at the back of the bus, but he doesn’t release my hand.

He tugs on it. “Where you going? It’s early, not yet midnight, Peyton.” His voice purrs over my name.

“Lots of work to do tomorrow,” I say, trying to pull my hand from his grip. He’s about to find out that this kitten sometimes has claws.

He tugs me closer. “How about one more beer?”

“I—”

“What’s going on, Peyton?” Sam asks, suddenly appearing next to us.

Rick releases my hand and stares at Sam with narrowed eyes. Sam stares back with a tight jaw.

Testosterone hangs in the air between them. I force a relaxed expression. “Nothing much, just heading back to the bus.”

Sam tilts his head toward the exit. “Let me walk you there.” He is not asking. He is commanding me. Yet my desire to get away from Rick overrides the irritation from Sam giving me orders.

“All right,” I say, taking in Rick’s frown. “Nice meeting you. See you around.”

Watching me with a gleam in his gaze, he nods, lifting his beer as a good-bye.

In the hallway, Sam asks in a furious tone, “Was that jerk hitting on you?”

Not wanting to start anything, I shrug. “He just wanted to have a beer with me.”

“Yeah, that’s all he wanted,” Sam says as we step onto the elevator. He pulls the striped beanie out of his back pocket and yanks it on.

I cross my arms in front of me and lean against the back wall. “I can take care of myself, Sam.”

His hand grips the elevator rail. “Did you want to have a beer with him? Should I walk you back up?”

Ah, how quickly my savior returns to being a dick. I will not lose my temper. I will not lose my temper. I. Will. Not. Lose. My. Temper . “Yeah, you ruined everything, couldn’t you tell I was playing hard to get?”

I glare at him as the elevator doors open. “He’s so famous, I’d do anything to sleep with him, even forget about my boyfriend.” I breeze past him into the hall.

“You do have a past with the whole band thing,” he says, catching up to me.

Keeping calm. “Sure, I dated a singer. I liked him.” Actually, I thought the sun rose and set on his stupid ass, and believed I was in love. Teenagers are dumb. “There’s a bit of difference.”

We step out into the cool night. Apparently, high altitudes allow for hot days that turn chilly after sunset, and I shiver as we talk under the glow of the lights in the parking lot. With Sam following a few steps behind, I march past the other bands’ buses—they each have two—then the roadies’ buses. Of course, because we arrived so late, our bus is the last in the long line.

“So, what about me?” Sam asks.

I keep moving, don’t turn around to look at him. “What about you?”