Page 54 of The Encore’s Crown

Her eyes lift to mine and the hallway vanishes. There's only her hand on me. Her body close enough that her perfume reaches me beneath the coffee and citrus cleaner the tour bus is doused in. That peach and vanilla combined with her heated skin. The scent trapped in my shirt last night. The one I tried to burn out of my head under water hot enough to bake me.

Her lips part and my gaze drops. My body reacts brutally, straining against my jeans. It's been waiting for permission from the minute I saw her on that sofa. The memory of her moving against my hand crashes through me. The noises, the drag of her nails, the sting of her teeth. The way she looked hurt when she thought I might leave right after.

“Morning,” she whispers.

Her voice is rough enough to suggest she remembers everything too. I swallow.

“Morning.”

We don't move. We're breathing too hard for two people doing absolutely nothing. Her palm stays on my stomach. My hand is braced against the wall beside her hip to keep me steady. The bus takes a turn and she sways into me. This time there’s no mistaking the contact when her hips meet mine. Heat shoots through my body and I can't stop the muted groan she must hear. Her eyes widen. She didn't just hear it, she feels it. There's no hiding anything in this hallway, not with her pressed against me and my body determined to make how much I want her a public declaration. A flush climbs her throat and our breathing turns shallow.

This is catastrophic. All we're doing is standing here, passing each other on a tour bus. Fully clothed, but I’m already seconds from dragging her into the restroom and destroying every responsible decision I made last night. I step back so quickly my shoulder hits the opposite wall.

“Sorry.”

Her brows pull together.

“For what?”

Everything? The fact that I can still feel her around my fingers, that I had to leave, that I want to put her against another wall and ask whether she still thinks I’m such a good friend.

“Need to get by. I need more sleep,” I mutter.

She glances toward the bunks, then back at me. A knowing light flickers through her eyes.

“Bad night?”

The corner of her mouth lifts. She's evil. Genuinely, thoroughly, evil. I move around her before I embarrass myself in a way no amount of expensive therapy could repair. Her shoulder drags along my chest as we pass. I keep going, I tell myself not to look back. I reach the bunks and yank open the curtain of mine. It's third down on the left, lower bunk. Same one I always claim no matter what bus we’re on. I climb inside and drag the curtain shut so hard the rings rattle.

From the main cabin, Rithy calls, “Already taking a nap?”

“Something like that,” I shout back. “Wake me up in Nagoya.”

I turn onto my side and curl inward, knees bent as much as the narrow bunk allows. I can still feel her hand on my stomach, see the surprise in her eyes when she realized what standing that close did to me. I'm trying to control it but my body isn't listening. My heart won't steady. I breathe out slowly through clenched teeth.

Stop, I think to myself, willing my body into submission.

God damn it. Just stop.

Natalia

The bus sighs to a stop outside the hotel, air brakes releasing with a long mechanical exhale. Everyone starts moving at once. Curtains snap open, phones disappear into pockets while bags appear from places I didn’t know bags could fit. Ronan wanders down the aisle asking if anyone's seen his left shoe, which raises several questions no one seems interested in answering.

I'm starting to realize tour life is ninety percent waiting followed by ten percent absolute panic. I gather my purse, charger and the jacket I shoved beneath the seat sometime outside Tokyo. By the time I make it down the steps, the luggage bays are already open and half the road crew is moving around beneath them, hauling suitcases onto the pavement and sorting everything into increasingly unstable groups.

Another coach idles behind us, carrying more of the crew, while one of the production trucks has already disappeared toward the venue with everything expensive enough to require insurance.

Rafe has one hand at Kasia’s back as they head toward the glass doors. Ronan and Freja disappear after them, talking about how his shoe managed to migrate. Rithy pauses long enough to pat his brother on the back before heading to the hotel.

Kiri stays, he’s standing beside the open luggage compartment with his sleeves pushed up and his hair falling into his eyes, reaching into the dark storage space while one of the crew calls out names.

He drags out two suitcases at once, one in each hand, like that's totally normal. My body responds before my brain can tell it to behave.

Really? We’re doing this again?

It seems watching him carry luggage is enough to undo me now. Great. Fucking perfect.

He passes the bags to a hotel porter, then reaches back inside for another. Zero impatience, or expectation that somebody else should handle it because he'll spend tomorrow night onstage in front of thousands of people. He just lifts, carries, sorts. Checks the tag before handing each piece over. I watch the whole scene happening in front of me, crew members moving around one another, luggage wheels rattling against the pavement, buses humming along the curb. Everyone caught in their own little system.