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She shrugged and slipped out of his arms. “Where did you want to go? Is Denver dropping us at a mall or something?”
Part of him wanted to drag her back. There was something there, but he had his own dark spots he didn’t want poked. “Malls are dangerous.”
“Shopping is dangerous?”
“More that there’s too many people who could recognize us. We’re no Brooklyn Dawn, but we have a steady fan base that’s building.”
“Yes, you do. I’ve done much research into you guys.”
He slid his arm around her shoulder and led her down the aisle to the front of the bus. “Is that right?”
“Yes. Part of my project included researching you thoroughly. I wanted to make sure everything I wrote about was authentic. I actually wrote an algorithm to track your likes on Facebook, Twitter and Snapchat. Your numbers have not leveled off. They increase exponentially.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Exponentially?”
She nodded sagely. “Yes. It’s impressive actually. I started tracking your numbers and The Grunge—a contemporary band by all estimations.”
Huh. She really had been researching them.
“The Grunge has a similar trajectory, but you’ve actually eclipsed them in the last few months. Some of the data is skewed since the lead singer of that band has been in a few legal scrapes, as well as a few stints in rehab. Some find that reason causes a surge of hits on their sites, but their likability actually struggles in the end. Especially since the rehab isn’t for drugs.”
West dropped onto the seat by the doors. “So, drugs would be good?”
“Well, there’s a level of support and empathy there, oddly enough. However, Luc Moreau has a different sort of problem.”
“Do tell.”
“Sex addict,” Denver shouted.
West’s gaze swung to their driver. “Are you shitting me?” He focused back on Lauren. “Seriously?”
Even as he asked the question, a memory tickled the back of his mind. That was how they’d gotten their Fillmore show in December. The Grunge had pulled out because of Luc’s latest rehab stint. Somehow he must’ve forgotten.
Probably because they’d done a shit-ton of shows since then.
Lauren nodded. “The amount of womanizing and unruly behavior has brought down their fan base in a remarkable way. I’d assume sex and fans would have the opposite effect, but it seems there is a taboo nature to it that people don’t understand.”
A twenty-something-year-old dude with sexual problems wasn’t cool. Especially when he was the lead singer.
They’d had a few run-ins with The Grunge simply because they were on the same label, but West didn’t really know Luc. Lila had been focusing on putting Warning Sign with larger acts instead of using two bands as a double act.
West much preferred it. It gave them opportunities to tighten their arena shows and a few nights off where they could do smaller concerts with longer setlists. That had helped them figure out which songs would be single-worthy.
Of course, if Molly had her way, they’d have a show every damn night. She was obsessed with pushing the band forward. He admired her drive and knew she was one of the best damn singers and frontmen—women—of their time. She just kept getting in her own way. He knew she had some awful shit in her past that she was obviously trying to out-run, but in the process she was starting to believe her own hype. As far as West was concerned, that was always dangerous.
Elle and Juliet jogged down the main aisle on the bus. “Are we almost there?” Jules asked.
“We have a strip mall with Target, a Chinese restaurant of unknown origin, a Mexican joint that I Googled and would give a thumbs up based on reviews, as well as a pizza joint that may or may not have the best calzones in the county.”
“You are my hero.” Jules bounced at the mouth of the bus. “I need to get out of here.”
“What’s got you so riled?”
“Sexy Skype call with her babes,” Elle said in a singsong voice.
“How do you handle two penises?” Lauren asked.
Juliet laughed. “Carefully.”
