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For being the only woman living on a damn shitty bus with three twenty-something guys, it had to suck even more.
“All right.”
She lifted her eyes but her eyebrows dropped low. “All right?”
“Yeah. All right.” He tipped his head toward the back room. “Let’s go.”
“I just want to be clear… I don’t want to have—”
“Yep,” he said quickly, cutting her off. “Know what you want. Been there. Let’s go.”
She pushed her chair back and reached under the table. When she stood, she shrugged the strap of a overfilled backpack over her shoulder.
Had she left and snuck back in before Possum locked up? Gone out to her bus, changed and came back with the stuff she’d need to shower?
He wondered if she’d lost track of all the truck stops she’d showered in. Or the gas stations restrooms she’d used for a sink bath.
Fuck.
He remembered those damn days.
He turned and didn’t check to see if she followed him, but by the time he hit the stairs, he felt her right behind him, then heard her soft footsteps as she climbed the steps.
He opened the door to his apartment, waited for her to step inside, then shut the door behind them, not bothering to lock it.
There was no point since she wouldn’t be up there long.
He went over to the laundry basket sitting on the floor next to the couch and pulled out a bath towel. “It’s clean,” he said as he tossed it at her.
“I got one.”
“But you don’t got anywhere to wash it. I do. So use mine.”
She stared at the dark blue towel in her hands for way too long. When she finally lifted her face, her voice was thick. “Where’s your bathroom?”
He understood that, too. A little kindness could go a long fucking way.
“It’s hard to miss. This place ain’t big.”
She glanced around, purposely avoiding his eyes. What she saw was his unmade bed. And the rest of the clothes that were scattered around his place. Along with the overfull garbage and the empties sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. The overflowing ashtray with half-smoked hand-rolleds and joints. Even the bong sitting by his bed. Also, his sink full of dirty dishes.
At least he hadn’t paused a porno on the big screen. Thank fuck for that. Nothing like seeing a larger-than-life freeze frame of a woman’s face in the middle of a fake orgasm.
“Ain’t much but it’s gotta be better than that damn bus.”
“Not by much.”
Ouch. “Got everythin’ you need?”
“Don’t need much.”
He nodded and studied her, wondering why she wasn’t moving toward the bathroom. Maybe she didn’t feel comfortable taking a shower with him still in the apartment.
On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if he was comfortable leaving her alone up in his place. He might not have a lot of shit, but he was damn sure he had more than her.
He’d left the bottle of Jack on the bar. It was a good excuse to go back down and make himself scarce. He’d just need to have faith she wouldn’t steal any of his shit. If she did, hopefully he’d know what was missing before Friday night.
And either take it out of the band’s pay or get it back from her.
“Gonna head downstairs. Just come down when you’re done.” It was best if he didn’t stay up there, anyway.
She might be young, but she still tempted him.
Truth was, she was one temptation he didn’t need.
Knowing she’d be naked in his shower just feet away…
Yeah, downstairs he needed to go.
She nodded and disappeared into his bathroom.
He nodded and got the fuck out of there.
Dodge sat on a stool at the bar, his head propped in both hands, the Jack bottle sitting in front of him. A glass with about two fingers worth of whiskey also sitting next to the bottle.
He hadn’t touched it.
His mind was upstairs in that shower.
His mind was on that stage.
His mind was on that stupid zippered sweatshirt with the stupid as fuck cat ears.
He wanted to know her story.
Though, he doubted she’d tell it. It was for the best if she didn’t, anyway.
She sang tonight, she’d sing again Friday night and then they could drive that piece of shit bus to their next destination.
A pounding on the rear door made him jerk, sit up and twist his head toward the sound. He heard it again, this time accompanied by a faint male voice coming from behind it.
“Jesus fuck,” he muttered as the pounding and shouting continued. He shook his head and slid off the stool, his bare feet slapping along the floor as he moved quickly.
He twisted the deadbolt and slid open the two slide locks, both the one at the top and the one at the bottom strategically placed to keep people from kicking in the door. After taking a breath, he yanked it open, ready to ream out whoever it was.
