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Adam rises and gives the older man a hug, and then it’s just the two of us. I rub my arms briskly. I didn’t grab a jacket when I bolted from the bus, and now that there aren’t a thousand people pressed against me, the early spring weather is making itself known.
“Here.”
I look up to see a piece of fabric dangling in front of me. I realize it’s a shirt. Specifically, Adam’s shirt. He’d pulled off his long-sleeve oatmeal-colored Henley and is offering it to me.
“It’s clean,” he says, jiggling it slightly. “I changed after the set.”
“I wasn’t worried about that,” I say, taking it. “I just don’t want you to be cold.”
“I can’t feel it. Don’t worry.”
I slip my arms into the sleeves and let the big shirt fall around my shoulders. It smells like warm man and tobacco. It occurs to me that if I’m wearing Adam’s shirt, then he’s naked. Right? RIGHT?
“Better?” he asks as he settles back beside me.
Is he closer or is it my imagination? I peek to the side and am super disappointed to see he’s wearing a wife-beater.
“Better,” I confirm, slumping backward in disappointment. “You guys were amazing tonight.”
“Yeah, although I think the transition from ‘Flip Out’ to ‘You Kill Me’ wasn’t as smooth as it could’ve been.”
“You sound like Davis, obsessing over the smallest detail that no one knows about but you.” The sleeves of Adam’s shirt are so long that my fingers stop before the cuff. I keep my hands tucked inside, enjoying the warmth.
“I guess Davis is a good fit for me, then.”
It’s funny how chemistry works. Earlier on the bus, I sat next to Rudd and felt nothing. Now, my heart beats faster and goosebumps are surfacing despite the fact I am fully covered head to toe. My skinny jeans feel tight, the lace on my bra strap feels extra scratchy. I want to throw all my clothes off and then rip Adam’s off as well.
I allow a small smile to settle across my face. It’s dark and I doubt that Adam can see it. And if he did, he’d just assume that I was happy, not that I was embracing the way he turns me on like a light bulb. When you’ve been in the dark for a long time, being lit up is a treasure.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask curiously. “Shouldn’t you be inside, celebrating?”
“Tired of me already?” he teases. He bends forward, resting his bare forearms on his knees. Long, elegant fingers dangle between his legs. I wonder how he’d react if I started tracing his tattoos with my tongue.
“Hardly.” The word comes out a little too hot, a little too eager, even for me. I bite my lip and wait to see if he notices.
But he doesn’t move from his position. His tautly muscled arm and equally built leg rest next to me. I swear I can feel heat radiating off his big frame. I’d like to curl up like a cat beneath a ray of sunshine and sleep basking in his warmth. That’s not weird, right? As long as I don’t say it or do it, it’s not weird. It’s just my own private, safe fantasy. I take my glasses off and use Adam’s shirt to wipe off the foggy lenses.
“Is Man Bun not on the bus?”
“Man Bun?” I’m confused.
Adam twirls his finger next to his head. “The guy with the long hair that was sitting with you during our set.”
“Oh, you could see us?” When he gives me a curt nod, I continue with, “That was Mike. He’s Threat Alert’s manager. And anyway, my brother is currently putting on a public sex show. So, no—nothing and no one could entice me back on the bus right now.” Thinking about Davis mauling that poor girl kind of puts a damper on my own lusty feelings.
“Not even Man Bun?” Adam’s grinning now.
“Especially not Man Bun. I don’t think he could love anyone more than he loves his hair.”
Adam hoots. “True.”
“How about you? Why aren’t you inside partying?” There are many pretty girls more than willing to lavish attention on him.
He leans back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. His shoulder brushes mine, but despite all the available space, neither of us makes an effort to give the other one more room.
“Guys like George Dance are the backbone of the scene. Sure, a few bands make it to the top, although these days it’s more about individual voices than actual bands. But for the most part, what makes the music world go around are people like George. If venues like his close, most bands couldn’t afford to tour.”
“Spending time with George is more important than Rudd’s marketing?”
