Page 42 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

“Good?”

“No. I mean yeah, he needs to take it easy. Doesn’t need to be running around on tour with a bad knee.”

“You may not think it’s so good when I tell you the alternative.”

Anything was better than being fired.

“What’s the alternative, Dina.”

“You have to take his place. I’m afraid you’ll have to be on that tour bus 24/7.”

My gaze flew to Conor’s face, his lips twitching into a smile. I had to be on that tour bus 24/7 with Conor Flynn? I was wrong.

There were things much, much worse than getting fired.

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Blind Item #5

Fans had this former boybander and pop diva shipped on their summer tour, but a backstage cutie is creating another lure.

Part II – On the Road

Chapter 11

NOELLE

I stared at my driver’s progress on my phone and leaned forward. “Can’t you go a little faster?”

“I’m not getting a ticket because you’re late.” His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror briefly before he turned up the Europop on his radio.

I slumped back in my seat. It was all Matt’s fault. I couldn’t leave Jane until Matt got back to his place, and Matt sauntered in twenty minutes late. Although, maybe Matt did me a favor. If I missed the bus, I wouldn’t have to travel down to San Diego for two hours staring at Conor in close quarters.

Who was I kidding? If I missed the bus, I wouldn’t have a job.

Why’d Nolan have to play basketball the very week the tour started—and why was he such a klutz? I thought only professional athletes tore their ACLs. Who’d he think he was, a five-foot, eight-inch Luka Doncic?

My Uber driver did step on it once we hit Pershing and deposited me in front of the open gate five minutes later. He even helped me with my bags.

Ham, standing guard, waved me through. “You’re late.”

“Hey, I didn’t tell on you. You’d better not tell on me.” I ran my finger along the seam of my lips.

“It’s all good. They’re still loading the bags.” He jabbed a sausage finger at my rolling suitcase with my carry-on perched on top. “You need help with that?”

“You’d better watch the gate. We don’t want a repeat of the other day.”

“You’re right.” He stepped back to the entrance and crossed his arms over his broad chest—just to make sure nobody got any funny ideas. “You’re in the front bus.”

“The front?” I rounded the corner of the first studio building and almost dropped the handle of my suitcase.

Behind the bus Conor and I had toured, another, larger bus idled, spewing diesel fumes in the air. Of course, we needed a second bus. Most of the stage crew would be on that bus. Maybe I could sneak onto that one.

Jermaine spotted me and waved. “About time. How are you going to document anything when you’re not here for the kick-off?”

“If there’s no room left for me, I can ride with the crew.” I rolled my suitcase past the bags piled up outside the first bus, but Jermaine grabbed the handle. “You’re on this bus with the musicians. Don’t worry. There’s one bunk left.”

“We hardly need a bunk for a two-hour drive to San Diego.”