idiotic groupie.
"Ignore him," Peter said when they walked away. "Come on, I want to show you the band bus. So you can see our setup for when you come on the road. I'll spare you the crew bus. It's pretty gross."
Peter led the way up the steep stairs. "This is where we spend most of our time."
We walked into a seating area with long, upholstered bench seats, a pair of recliners and a flat-screen. Beyond that was a dining table between two more benches and a small kitchen next to it. I'd been on plenty of tour buses over the last several years, but this one was extra swanky.
Peter pointed at the mini-fridge. "Do you want anything?"
I shook my head. "I'm good."
"You can't do much in the way of cooking in the kitchen, but we'll stock it with snacks." He traced his fingers down my spine and wrapped his hand around my hip.
It was exciting to think about the great adventure ahead of us, but I felt uneasy too. Maybe this was too much, too soon.
I had an unwelcome flashback to the day Brad showed me the apartment he'd picked out for us. He thought it was perfect, a renovated unit, everything brand new and shiny. I'd been hoping for a cool old brownstone with original woodwork and a fireplace. I'd asked if we could keep looking, he'd insisted that his choice was perfect, and that we would be happy there for a very long time. I should have known right then that it was never going to work.
Peter pushed back a pocket door to show me the postage-stamp bathroom. "Don't worry, you won't have to shower in here. That's why we get hotel rooms every day."
I nodded and he took my hand and I followed past a few bunks and into the back. "And this is the bedroom." He pulled me into an embrace and shut the door behind us. His mouth went to my jaw and I closed my eyes to get my bearings. "I love the way you smell, Katie." He pecked at my neck, taking a gentle nibble of my ear. "I wish we had time for this. You're getting me all worked-up."
"Me?" I asked, shaking my head. "I'm pretty sure you started it."
Peter grinned and brushed his lips against mine. "I admit it. It's all my fault."
When we stepped off the bus, we were greeted by another small cluster of fans asking to have CDs and posters signed. Peter obliged, being polite and posing for a photo while I stood to the side and waited.
We then made our way through the back door of the club. Peter grabbed the first crew guy we ran into. "Hey, Mo. I want you to meet my girlfriend, Katie. Can you tell Hunter that I need an all-access laminate for her? Right away."
We continued down the hall to the band's dressing room. "Just ignore Elliot if he's being a dick," Peter mumbled into my ear.
Mo lumbered toward us with my credentials. "Here you go, man. Anything else?"
Peter looped the lanyard over my neck. "Make sure she has whatever she wants tonight. And can you make sure the dressing room bathroom isn't disgusting? I don't want her having to deal with that."
I smiled sheepishly, fully recovered from my minor panic on the bus. It was so adorable to have him want to take care of me. He took my hand and we stepped into the dressing room, the same set-up as Miami, with a similar array of girls hanging around.
One woman stood out among them all, with long, sleek black hair, full red lips and impeccable, radiant skin. She had to be a model—her exotic brown eyes and perfect posture were annoyingly breathtaking. She'd perched herself on the arm of a chair next to Stony, rubbing his shoulder and smiling at him as they talked.
She turned and looked at us, her face lighting up like a beacon when she saw Peter.
He strode over to her and gave her an embrace that seemed a beat or two too long from where I was standing. "Sasha," he said. "It's so great to see you. Can't believe you missed the show in DC. We had a killer party."
Stony didn't seem to care that his bimbo and Peter had taken such great interest in each other. Sasha flipped her shiny hair over her shoulder and clung to Peter's arm.
"Ignore him," Peter said when they walked away. "Come on, I want to show you the band bus. So you can see our setup for when you come on the road. I'll spare you the crew bus. It's pretty gross."
Peter led the way up the steep stairs. "This is where we spend most of our time."
We walked into a seating area with long, upholstered bench seats, a pair of recliners and a flat-screen. Beyond that was a dining table between two more benches and a small kitchen next to it. I'd been on plenty of tour buses over the last several years, but this one was extra swanky.
Peter pointed at the mini-fridge. "Do you want anything?"
I shook my head. "I'm good."
"You can't do much in the way of cooking in the kitchen, but we'll stock it with snacks." He traced his fingers down my spine and wrapped his hand around my hip.
It was exciting to think about the great adventure ahead of us, but I felt uneasy too. Maybe this was too much, too soon.
I had an unwelcome flashback to the day Brad showed me the apartment he'd picked out for us. He thought it was perfect, a renovated unit, everything brand new and shiny. I'd been hoping for a cool old brownstone with original woodwork and a fireplace. I'd asked if we could keep looking, he'd insisted that his choice was perfect, and that we would be happy there for a very long time. I should have known right then that it was never going to work.
Peter pushed back a pocket door to show me the postage-stamp bathroom. "Don't worry, you won't have to shower in here. That's why we get hotel rooms every day."
I nodded and he took my hand and I followed past a few bunks and into the back. "And this is the bedroom." He pulled me into an embrace and shut the door behind us. His mouth went to my jaw and I closed my eyes to get my bearings. "I love the way you smell, Katie." He pecked at my neck, taking a gentle nibble of my ear. "I wish we had time for this. You're getting me all worked-up."
"Me?" I asked, shaking my head. "I'm pretty sure you started it."
Peter grinned and brushed his lips against mine. "I admit it. It's all my fault."
When we stepped off the bus, we were greeted by another small cluster of fans asking to have CDs and posters signed. Peter obliged, being polite and posing for a photo while I stood to the side and waited.
We then made our way through the back door of the club. Peter grabbed the first crew guy we ran into. "Hey, Mo. I want you to meet my girlfriend, Katie. Can you tell Hunter that I need an all-access laminate for her? Right away."
We continued down the hall to the band's dressing room. "Just ignore Elliot if he's being a dick," Peter mumbled into my ear.
Mo lumbered toward us with my credentials. "Here you go, man. Anything else?"
Peter looped the lanyard over my neck. "Make sure she has whatever she wants tonight. And can you make sure the dressing room bathroom isn't disgusting? I don't want her having to deal with that."
I smiled sheepishly, fully recovered from my minor panic on the bus. It was so adorable to have him want to take care of me. He took my hand and we stepped into the dressing room, the same set-up as Miami, with a similar array of girls hanging around.
One woman stood out among them all, with long, sleek black hair, full red lips and impeccable, radiant skin. She had to be a model—her exotic brown eyes and perfect posture were annoyingly breathtaking. She'd perched herself on the arm of a chair next to Stony, rubbing his shoulder and smiling at him as they talked.
She turned and looked at us, her face lighting up like a beacon when she saw Peter.
He strode over to her and gave her an embrace that seemed a beat or two too long from where I was standing. "Sasha," he said. "It's so great to see you. Can't believe you missed the show in DC. We had a killer party."
Stony didn't seem to care that his bimbo and Peter had taken such great interest in each other. Sasha flipped her shiny hair over her shoulder and clung to Peter's arm.
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