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“You sure you don’t want me to ride up with you?” Jigsaw asks after breakfast the morning I’m leaving for Baltimore.
“I’ve ridden by myself before, you know.”
He slaps my hand away.
“Seriously,” I add. “I have more boxes arriving today. I’ll feel better if you’re around to accept the delivery.”
“She’s filming, you know.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“For fuck’s sake, please behave. Don’t be a leering creep. Keep your mouth shut and stay out of the shots.”
“I’d be offended but—”
“Yeah. Exactly.” I slap his shoulder and walk down to Ice’s door, then rap my knuckles against the wood.
“Come in,” he hollers.
“Hey.” I poke my head inside. “I’m runnin’ up to Baltimore for a bit. Probably be back tomorrow afternoon.”
He stands and walks around his desk. “You don’t have to check in with me. Appreciate everything you’ve been doing around here.”
“Not a problem.”
He leans his ass on the desk and crosses his arms over his chest.
A muscle in my leg twitches. Really wasn’t planning to settle in for a chat. “Things going okay with Anya at the house?” he asks.
“I think so. I’m waitin’ for a few more packages, so Jigsaw’s headed over there to handle it while I’m gone.”
“Appreciate that too.”
“You need something or have any questions, call me or ask Jigsaw.”
“All right, brother.” He steps forward and shakes my hand. “Shiny side up.”
“Thanks.”
I haul ass out of the clubhouse before anyone else delays me.
Finally, I’m on the road on my way to Shelby. Can’t wait to get my hands on her.
It’s early enough that traffic isn’t awful until I get near DC. It thins out enough that I’m turning off I-295 sooner than I expected. The arena’s in the city, and my inner country boy shudders.
Shelby had sent directions this morning, telling me where to park. I miss the turn for the one-way street leading to the loading area. Muttering a bunch of curses, I circle the block and finally pull into the lot.
The knots in my chest unravel when my gaze lands on her van. My girl’s here somewhere.
I tuck my bike into a spot near her van and trailer. No signs indicate you need permission to park here.
I better not get fucking towed. I briefly study the trailer. Doesn’t look big enough to haul my bike. Probably at capacity with all of her equipment and stuff anyway.
My gaze searches the area. Plenty of roadies moving instruments and boxes inside. Dawson’s fleet of buses and trucks. I recognize a few people, but not enough to ask them where to find Shelby.
“Logan?”
My eyes narrow as I search for whoever called my name.
Trent.
I lift my arm in a half-assed wave. What is it about this kid that bugs me so damn much?
As if I don’t know. He’s a guy who spends a lot of time in close proximity with Shelby. That’s more than enough for my inner grizzly bear to wanna shred him to pieces.
“Hey.” He holds out his hand as I approach. “Shelby asked me to come meet you.” I shake his hand and he gives me a pass. He leans in. “They’ve been dicks here, so keep that on you.”
“Thanks.” I slip the lanyard around my neck.
“This, too, for your bike.” He hands me an orange tag with the name of the tour and “guest” in black ink. Someone punched a hole through one end and tied a hair elastic through it. My lips twitch. Had to be Shelby. I wrap the tag around the handlebars, not feeling reassured that the flimsy piece of orange cardstock’s gonna keep my bike from getting towed, and return to Trent.
“Where is she?”
“Follow me.” He jerks his head toward the glass doors and pushes his way inside. “How was traffic?”
“Not bad.”
It’s early enough that none of the concession stands are open—something my growling stomach doesn’t appreciate. The only people milling around seem to work at the arena.
“We’re in the basement,” he says, leading me to a set of wide metal doors. “Caught her talking to some sweaty creeper fan the other day. Didn’t want her wandering around here while she was waiting for ya.” He jabs at the elevator button.
“What are you talking about?”
“She does it all the time.” He lifts his shoulders. “Afraid she’ll offend someone and they’ll rip her apart online. But shoot, people are gonna do that anyway.”
“When’s Greg gonna hire some security?”
He shrugs again. “We keep an eye on her.”
The air’s cooler when we step out of the elevator. It’s not really a basement. Just a lower level that isn’t accessible to the general public. Trent moves fast but it’s still not enough. I’m ready to come out of my skin with the need to get my hands on Shelby.
A cluster of people blocking the hallway come close to getting a body-check from me.
“Logan.” Dawson steps away from the circle to greet me. Which is nice and all, but…motherfucker, don’t slow me down.
