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“Smart.” Eraser nods at Remy and Griff. “We’ve been talking about that. Besides the bar Remy owns, none of us have any other legit income to show.”
“You wash your cash through the bar?” Murphy asks.
“Yeah, but you’ve seen the place.” Remy stands up straighter, dropping the horn dog act. “Where it’s located, it’s hard to claim it does that much business with a straight face.”
“Another legit business wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Murphy encourages him. “What else interests you?”
“I’m saving to open a garage for classic cars,” Griff says.
“You’ve seen the work he does.” Remy slaps Griff’s back. “Even Eraser’s wife plans to help out at the shop.”
“Ella’s getting her welding certificate,” Eraser explains. “So, we’ll have that base covered.”
Murphy nods. “Good idea. Keep it in the family.”
Aw, look at Murphy. He’s like a legit mentor now.
“That’s the plan,” Griff agrees.
“Well, if you want, I can have Teller talk to you. Maybe help figure out some of the financials,” Murphy offers. Sounds like upstate will be investing in a classic car garage in the near future.
Maybe now isn’t the best time to consider going on the road with Shelby.
Because it looks like a Lost Kings MC support club is inevitable.Chapter Thirty-ThreeShelby
I yawn and stare at my face in the mirror on the wall of tonight’s dressing room. “Sure wish I’d had more sleep this morning,” I grumble at Greg. “Hope you’ve got extra concealer in there, Cindy.” I tap the top of her rolling makeup case.
“Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart.”
Behind me, Greg flicks a look at the ceiling.
“I saw that. Why’d we have to get here so dang early, anyway? Dawson didn’t roll in until an hour ago.” Six hours on the road hasn’t made me any less crabby about missing Rooster.
“They needed you early for sound check. I wasn’t going to argue with the venue.” He shrugs and pats my shoulder before walking out.
Cindy squeezes my upper arms. “You’re going to be fine tonight.”
“Thanks.”
“Where’s your man?”
“He had to go home. We’re going to meet up next week.”
“Oh. Sounds serious.”
My cheeks warm. “It could be.”
“I like the way he treats you,” she says softly. “Attentive and protective.”
“That’s Logan.”
We chat about the tour. Actually, I listen while Cindy gives me the scoop on Thundersmoke and Dawson’s ex. “Rumor is, she’s been pitching one hell of a hissyfit after she saw the video of you two singing their song together.”
“Aw, shit. Really?” Why didn’t it occur to me that the woman Dawson wrote and originally recorded the song with might get a bee up her butt seeing him perform it with someone else? “Damn, I never thought of that. I feel bad.”
“Don’t you dare feel bad. She knows this business better than anyone.”
A worse thought occurs to me. “He’s using me to piss her off, ain’t he?”
She sighs and gives me a sympathetic shoulder squeeze. “Yeah, probably. She cheated on him with his best friend, so give him a pass.” In the mirror, I watch her bite her lip. “You did not hear that from me.”
Holy smokes. “Surprised Sippin’ on Secrets hasn’t spilled it yet. Guess they’re too worried about posting fuzzy photos of every guy who stands within five feet of me,” I grumble. Another unflattering piece had posted to their site earlier today.
“Well, she doesn’t need the bad press and he doesn’t want his manly-man image tarnished, so it’s in both their interests to keep their yaps shut.”
“But he’s using me to needle her.” I’m startin’ to think everyone in this business sucks.
“Yeah, it’s not great,” she agrees. “But it’s still good for you. Honestly, that’s why I don’t think Sippin’ on Secrets posting those stories about you and Logan is so awful. Shows everyone you got a fine man of your own. You don’t need to chase after her sloppy seconds.”
Laughter bursts out of me followed by a wave of guilt. Whatever the reasons, Dawson’s treated me well and I’m lucky to even be on this tour. Singing with him has brought me a lot of attention and boosted album sales.
My phone chirps and I happily reach for it, hoping it’s Rooster.
Rooster: Just got home.
Me: Are you in your sexy gray and blue bedroom? Because that’s where I’m picturing you.
Rooster: In the parking lot.
I close my eyes briefly. He took me a lot of different places during my visit but I can imagine his clubhouse perfectly. I just need to mentally clip Tawny the hyena out of the picture.
Me: Will you send me a pic?
Rooster: Dick or regular?
Me: Well, Cindy’s working on me at the moment so…
A picture of his serious face framed by the evening sky pops up next.
Rooster: Your turn.
Cindy chuckles and steps clear of the frame while I stick out my tongue and snap a picture. It’s goofy as all get out. My hair’s all half-up, half-down and my face a clean canvas of primer that gives me a ghostly appearance.
