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“Which means we really have eleven.” Riley groused, but he rolled off Dez, landing beside Zakk on the floor of their RV.
“Before we roll out of here at the end of the festival, we really need to deep clean this place,” Zakk muttered as he wiped his hands off on his sleep pants. “And probably do laundry too.”
“I swear you four got spoiled by that month at the spa,” James replied. Loudly. Which meant Damien wasn’t moving around yet.
“We probably did.”
“No probably about it. There is no reason for the place to look like this after less than two weeks.”
“Isn’t that a record for us?” Riley asked.
“Not one you should be proud of, now get dressed and get Dez dressed too!”
James had the kind of determined look on his face that Zakk hated to see, because it meant someone was about to have a very unpleasant awakening. Sure enough, he stalked into the kitchen and snatched a travel coffee mug off the counter there. The rattle of him emptying an ice tray into it drew a low curse from Dez.
“Dude, you better move,” Zakk warned him. “Damien’s about to get an ice bath and you’re on the list to join him.”
“Who the fuck put me there,” Dez growled, voice raspy from smoke and sleep.
Before Zakk could say anything, James stepped over him again, spilling ice water on Dez’s face on the way past. “Me.” James declared.
Sputtering, Dez sat up abruptly, while Damien howled from the back bunk where James had no doubt dumped the rest of it over his head.
“Now you really do only have six minutes!” James bellowed over the protests and complaints Damien made.
He looked like a half-drowned mime, last night’s mascara and eye shadow running in black lines down his cheeks.
“Forget to invest in waterproof again?” Zakk asked he hurried to his trunk. Torn jeans, ragged t-shirt, at least they were clean. None of his underwear was, so he went commando and hurried to the door of the RV before James moved into phase two of his motivational plan.
No way was Dez going to the blogger event in boxers and a t-shirt, that….okay, well, would likely ‘cause a riot and give them a good excuse for being late. Maybe he was on to something there.
“For fuck’s sake put these on,” Riley ordered, tossing a pair of worn jean shorts at Dez’s head. Somehow, even stoned and sleep ruffled, he managed to catch them.
With James riding herd over them, and even contributing a couple stiff shoves, they made it to their seats on time, though Zakk didn’t want to think about what the pictures were going to look like.
Cameras and cell phones clicked, flashed and beeped; at least there was an awning over them, otherwise the sun, high and bright in the sky, would have been beating down relentlessly.
“Zakk have you spoken to Wade yet!”
Wade?
Why the hell would someone ask a question like that. Especially the first question. What the fuck was that all about. As far as he knew, Wade wasn’t on the lineup to play this event.
“Will he be performing Saturday night, or will that be Dez’s last show?”
Last show?
What the actual fuck?
He dared cast a glance down the length of the table at Dez to see him blinking in utter confusion, mouth opening, then closing without making a sound.
“Whoever told you we were changing our lineup or getting rid of Dez was out of their fucking mind!” Damien announced, standing so fast the chair he was sitting in skittered out behind him with an angry clatter.
Metal chairs in the desert. Who the fuck had come up with that little pearl of wisdom? Obviously, someone who wouldn’t have to sit in one.
“Is that true for the rest of you?” Someone asked from near the back. “Do you not intend to allow your original singer, songwriter, and musical composer to return to his band?”
“Hisband!” Zakk growled, standing and leaning half-way over the table. “There is nothing left of the band he abandoned. I’d rather drive our whole god damned tour bus into a fire ant hill than ever play music with that son of a bitch again.”
