Mayhem Page 11

  “Fuck,” Shawn mutters, and Adam chuckles. He curls his hand around my shoulder, turning me around and leading me off the bus without another look back.

  “You didn’t have to come with me,” I say once the door closes behind us.

  He smiles at me, and any irritation I felt toward him instantly melts away. How the hell does he do that?!

  “If we’re going to be friends,” he says, “there’s something you should know about me.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I never do anything I don’t want to.” He drapes his arm around my shoulders and leads me to where six or seven guys are sitting in a circle on coolers and lawn chairs under a bright parking-­lot light. Many of them are roadies I recognize from when I was standing backstage. Driver is telling them some animated story about a party he was at last weekend—­which apparently involved drugs, cops, and falling off a roof.

  Adam plops down in the last empty chair, and I stand there awkwardly until he wraps his hands around my waist and suddenly pulls me into his lap. I gasp and immediately tense up. I’m a freaking statue.

  “Relax,” he whispers to me, “I’m not trying to get in your pants.” His arms stay firmly wrapped around me as I shift a little to give him a doubtful look. He smiles up at me innocently and says, “I swear.”

  When Driver finishes his story, he looks around the circle and seems to notice us for the first time. “Hey! Rowan! How did you like the show?!”

  “It was amazing,” I say, trying to force my body to stop being so stiff. I can feel the rough denim of Adam’s jeans through my leggings, the shape of his fingers clasped on my hip. I scoot myself deeper into him to get comfortable, turning so that my legs hang between his knees. Reluctantly, I wrap my arm around his shoulders for balance, and even though he’s looking at Driver, a smirk sneaks onto his lips.

  “Told you you’d love it!” Driver says from across the circle. Someone passes him a joint, and he puffs it a few times before passing it on. In that typical strained stoner voice that reminds me of one of Dee’s old boyfriends, he asks, “Are you riding with us on the bus tomorrow?”

  “She’s riding with me,” Adam answers for me.

  One of the other guys says in an amused voice, “I heard she told you what’s-­what earlier tonight.” Oh, God.

  “She did!” Adam replies, not sounding at all upset about our earlier confrontation. But judging from how blazing hot my cheeks feel, I’m still embarrassed as hell.

  “Self-­respect.” Another guy laughs.

  Adam laughs too. “You should have seen it!” he says. “Broke my heart.” My face is all-­worry, but he just smiles up at me and squeezes me tighter.

  I lean down and whisper in Adam’s ear. “Sorry.”

  He lifts his chin like he wants to whisper something back, so I bend down further and place my ear near his mouth, surprised when he presses a soft kiss against my cheek. I pull away, and he chuckles at the stunned expression on my face. “Now we’re even,” he says quietly, and then his smile gets even bigger. “Want a beer?”

  At this point, I’m pretty sure I need one. “Sure . . . thanks.”

  The other guys are already deep in a new conversation when he reaches into a cooler next to him and hands me one. “You are twenty-­one, right?”

  After a long pause, I smile sweetly and repeat, “Sure . . . thanks.”

  He laughs as I pop the tab and take a drink. We sit out there for over an hour, listening to the guys tell stories and talk about plans for tomorrow. It’s so weird being on Adam’s lap, but eventually I get used to it and my body molds itself against him. It feels nice. Weird, and scary . . . and nice.

  Each time the joint comes our way, I pass. I’ve never done drugs and don’t plan to anytime soon. I’m happy when Adam passes too. He periodically sips my beer, which gives me butterflies even though I try to act as casual about it as he does.

  When he tells stories of his own, I watch him intently, finding myself smiling at him and holding him a little tighter. When I feel his thumb rub absently over my side and that slight movement lights my entire body on fire, I realize exactly what’s happening.

  I am crushing on him. Hard.

  “I’m heading to bed,” I say, abruptly sitting up straight. Adam looks confused, and maybe a little disappointed, but he doesn’t try to stop me.

  “Aw, you sure?” Driver asks.

  “Yeah. I’m not used to being up this late.” I check my phone and see that it’s half past three. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  I crawl off of Adam’s lap as the guys say goodbye to me, and then I walk to the bus without looking back. Adam doesn’t follow me—­or say anything to me at all—­which is probably for the best. I pull open the door to the bus and climb the stairs to find Mike still on the floor playing games and Shawn and Joel sitting on a bench talking as they absently watch the TV. The girls must have left at some point. Good.

  “I’m hitting the hay. I’ll see you guys in the morning,” I tell them.

  They shout a round of “goodnights” to me, and then I climb to the second level. I walk through the upstairs sitting area and then past Cody, who is sound asleep on a bunk. When I get to the black satin bedroom, I’m surprised to find it completely untouched. I stare down at my stuff in the corner. Should I actually sleep in here? I don’t want Adam to get any ideas . . . And he was expecting to sleep in here too, right? Is he still expecting to sleep in here?

  I close the door behind me and change into my pajamas—­a different baggy T-­shirt and a pair of fuzzy pajama pants—­and then I leave the room and crawl under the covers of an untouched bunk.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “HEY,” A VOICE whispers.

  I groan.

  “Hey.” A hand rubs my shoulder, and my eyes reluctantly peel open. Adam. “You don’t have to sleep out here, you know . . .”

  “I know,” I say, my voice hoarse from sleep. “It’s okay. I’m good.”

  “Okay . . .” He stares at me for a moment, his face close to mine and his hand still on my shoulder. “But if you change your mind, that bed is huge. You won’t even know I’m there.”

  I giggle because I can’t help it. Sleep next to Adam Everest and not know he’s right there? Does he even realize how absurd that sounds?

  His eyebrows turn in. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I giggle again and bury my face in the pillow. “Nothing. I’m really tired. I’ll see you in the morning, Adam.”

  He stays crouched next to me for a moment, and then he says, “See you in the morning.” After he goes into the bedroom and closes the door, I crawl out of bed to use the bathroom at the end of the hall. As I make my way back to my bunk, I notice that there are guys everywhere. There are twelve bunks, and the beds that aren’t filled with band members are filled with what I assume are roadies. I quickly crawl back under the covers, suddenly wide awake.

  I lie there. And lie there. And lie there.

  Every time I’m about to fall asleep, I hear someone stir or groan or kick at their covers. And then the snoring starts. And it’s not just one person. It’s at least three. And one of those three is loud.

  “Ohmygoddd,” I groan when I’m on the verge of losing my mind. “Who is that?”

  A voice I don’t recognize chuckles and answers me. “That’d be Joel.”

  I fight the urge to strangle him in his sleep—­or to perform an exorcism, since he obviously needs one—­and force my eyes to close. I count backward, I count sheep, I count sheep jumping backward. I’m not sure what time I finally fall asleep, but when I wake up, the snoring is still going on and my eyes feel like the Sandman decided to be a douchebag and dump the Sahara on them.

  Soft light is filtering through the white drapes, so I suck it up and crawl out of bed. I grab my bath stuff from my suitcase—­which I’ve stashed in a nook near my bunk—
­and then I go to the bathroom downstairs to shower. It’s pretty cramped, but I make do. I towel-­dry my hair and dress in the bathroom, opting for a pair of jeans and a powder-­blue tank top. I pull my hair up in a ponytail and put on my glasses, staring at myself in the mirror before I take my glasses back off and put on some mascara and lip gloss. Then I stare at myself again, sigh and take the glasses off again, and try to tone down the makeup. I want to look pretty, but I don’t want my attempt to be obvious, and I definitely don’t want Adam or Shawn to remember meeting me at Mayhem.

  When I exit the bathroom, everyone is still upstairs. The bus is a mess, with clothes and dishes and trash everywhere, so I busy myself with picking up. I gather all the clothes into a pile, and then I put all the liquor away. I throw away all the trash and then take all the dirty dishes into the kitchen, grabbing a sponge and some dishwashing detergent and getting to work.

  I’m scrubbing a whiskey glass smudged with prostitute-­pink lipstick when I hear someone stretch and yawn at the front of the bus. I look up to see Shawn at the same time he sees me. He walks to the kitchen and leans against the counter next to me, scratching his fingers through his short-­cropped black hair. “Keep this up and we might never let you leave.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “I don’t think I can live through another night like last night. How can you sleep through that?”

  Shawn laughs. “I guess I’m just used to it.” He grabs a dish towel and starts drying the glasses I’m washing. Gazing over at me, he says, “You know, I still swear I’ve met you somewhere before. What school did you go to?”

  I answer him honestly, since the school I went to is over six hours away from the town we live in now and I know damn well that that’s not how Shawn met me.

  “Hm . . . what about at your job, then?” he asks. “Do you work?”

  “Not right now. My parents are helping me out a lot. I’ll probably work over the summers though.”

  “Oh well, I’m sure I’ll remember eventually,” he says, but not if I can help it!

  When we finish with the dishes, he asks me if I want to go on a coffee run with him. We’re already exiting the kitchen when I ask, “Won’t the guys wonder where we are?”

  “Nah,” Shawn says, working a kink out of his neck. He’s dressed in long, baggy cargo shorts and a worn-­thin black band T-­shirt. “They’ll probably still be sleeping when we get back. The coffee shop is just around the corner.”

  The walk to the coffee shop is a little chilly, but Shawn was right—­it’s less than two blocks away, and we get there in no time. He pulls a chained wallet from his back pocket and approaches the counter, glancing at me over his shoulder. “What do you want?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to get me anything.” I wish I would’ve brought my wallet though.

  “Come on, just pick something,” Shawn insists. “Everyone else is getting something. Call it your delivery fee.”

  “Okay,” I agree, “Um . . .” I stare up at the menu posted on the wall behind the counter, and then I smile at the young barista waiting to take Shawn’s order. “Can I please have a large iced mocha?”

  As the girl makes my drink, Shawn stares through the window case that protects all of the pastries and cookies and muffins. “Do you like blueberry muffins?” he asks me.

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Can I get two blueberry muffins too, please?” he asks the barista. She hands him two, and he gives one to me. “Can I also get a chocolate-­chip frap? Medium?” Shawn pulls a piece of paper from his back pocket. “And all of these drinks to go. In carriers, please.”

  It takes forever for the girl to ring him up. She holds the piece of paper in front of her as she does, and then she hands it to a second barista, who gets to work writing down names on cups and marking what the orders are. When our first two drinks are ready, Shawn grabs them for us and we sit down at a table, picking at our muffins.

  It’s a little awkward at first. I thank him for the coffee to fill the silence. “And the muffin,” I add.

  “No problem,” he says. “So how are you liking hanging with the band so far?”

  It’s a damn good question. It went from fun to not-­so-­fun, back to fun again, and then weird, and now just kind of comfortable. “It’s been interesting.”

  Shawn grins, amused. “Interesting how?”

  “Well, I’m sure not many ­people get to see what goes on inside a tour bus.”

  “Is it how you imagined it?”

  I remove the lid from my iced mocha to scoop out the whipped cream with my straw and eat that first. “I guess. I mean . . . I didn’t really imagine it any particular way.”

  Shawn sips his coffee, staring at me thoughtfully. “Adam told me what you did for him in class.” He pauses for a while, and then he asks, “Why’d you do it?” When I raise my eyebrow, he adds, “I mean, obviously you aren’t a groupie, and you’re not interested in hooking up with him or anything. So why?”

  After licking my straw clean, I shrug and put the cap back on. “He looked like he could use a hand, and . . . I don’t know. I just felt like it, I guess.”

  Shawn chuckles. “Now you sound like Adam.”

  “Dear God, don’t tell me that,” I joke, and Shawn laughs.

  “Adam’s not so bad. I mean, he has his issues. But he’s my best friend for a reason.”

  I smile. “I was just kidding. I actually think he’s pretty great. I had a lot of fun with him yesterday.”

  “Before you demanded he get some self-­respect,” Shawn quips.

  “Well, he should!”

  He stands up to get our drinks, smiling brightly. “I’m not arguing!” He chuckles. “I was just shocked to hear you say it. What happened when you guys left the bus?”

  I stand up to grab one of the drink carriers filled with coffees. “He chased me around town for a while, and then we agreed to be friends.”

  “Really?” Shawn gives me a weird look.

  “Yeah . . . why?”

  “No reason.” He squeezes his drink into a carrier and then picks the other two up. I walk swiftly to the door to hold it open for him since his hands are full.

  “No, what were you going to say?” I ask.

  “Adam doesn’t really have girl friends. So . . . just don’t be surprised if he doesn’t get what that means.”

  We walk down the sidewalk for a bit before Shawn asks, “How are you going to get him to study for that class you’re in?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been getting on his case about school since . . . well . . . middle school, I think.” He chuckles. “If he doesn’t want to go to class, he just doesn’t. Same with studying.”

  “How the hell has he passed all his classes then?”

  Shawn shrugs, and I guess it doesn’t make any more sense to him than it does to me.

  “Well I didn’t come along just for the ride,” I say. “What time are you guys planning on leaving today?”

  “What time is it?”

  I pull my phone from my back pocket, staring at a black screen. “No idea. My phone’s dead.”

  “I think we’re planning on heading out around eleven. But I’ll have to talk to Driver to make sure.”

  “Then I’m waking Adam up as soon as we get back.”

  Shawn grins at me like I just handed him a winning lottery ticket. “Really?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is going to be good,” he laughs. “Good luck!”

  I tiptoe back along the bus hallway, between the bunks, trying not to wake the guys who are still sleeping. Most of them were awake by the time Shawn and I got back, but Adam wasn’t among them. Neither was Mike, and I have to swallow a giggle when I walk past his bed and see that his short brown hair is disheveled into some unfortunate-­looking bed-­head. I walk past him and rest my hand on the doorknob t
o Adam’s room, looking behind me to see Shawn peeking around the corner at the opposite end of the hall, looking way too giddy. I scowl and wave him away, and then I disappear into the room and close the door behind me.

  Adam hears the door click closed and groans, “Shawn, I swear to God . . . if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to punch you in the dick.”

  I walk to the side of the bed and stare down at where Adam’s face is buried in the pillow. He’s shirtless, the definition in his back making my heart flip over. I try not to blush. “I brought you your coffee.”

  He shifts his face to the side and opens one eye. When he spots me, his lips slowly curl into an adorable smile, and then he starts laughing. “What time is it?” he finally asks, roughly rubbing his hand over his face. He props himself up on his elbow.

  I’m too distracted with trying not to stare at him that I don’t answer right away. When I realize I really need to say something, I clear my throat and say, “Eight thirty.”

  Adam rolls onto his back and scoots lower on the mattress, pulling the covers over his face. “Too early for coffee,” he mumbles from under the covers.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and pull the blankets down to just below his nose. “I think we should try to get some studying in before we need to hit the road again.”

  Adam sits up, the covers tumbling off his chest and to his waist. He stares at me for a long time, and now I know I’m blushing. “You’re serious . . .” he says.

  “Yeah. I mean, what did I come along for?”

  “I have a better idea,” he says, and I’m suddenly dying to know exactly what that idea is. “Lie down with me. Let’s go back to sleep and we’ll study in the car.”

  I bite my lip, so tempted. When he sees me do it, he gives me a sharp smile, and the dark look in his eyes reveals all the naughty ideas I just put into his head. I release my lip. “That’s a terrible idea,” I say.

  Adam smirks at me. “Liar.”

  I stand up and move to leave the room, but he launches out of bed before I can open the door, jumping in front of me in just his boxers. He laughs and glues his hands to my shoulders. “I’m just joking!”