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Trine grabs my hand and pulls me out of the airport. I know everyone else in our party is looking for a sign, though I’m not exactly sure what we’re looking for.
Someone is standing in the back with a sign raised up, behind a sea of people. I narrow my eyes to read it. I’m pretty sure that it says Johnny Baskets, even though the letters are bleeding on the cardboard.
“There,” I say, pointing toward it. “That’s them.”
“Wonderful,” Bryony replies in my ear. They all run through the crowd of people. I follow them until we’re finally face-to-face with Devon. It takes me a few seconds to recognize him. He’s wearing a heavy-looking brown scarf that covers the bottom half of his face, a beanie hiding his dark hair.
He isn’t the one holding the sign.
A guy I’ve never seen before stands next to him. He’s as bundled up as Devon, so I can’t really see his features. I can see the way his brown leather jacket hugs his wide shoulders. His silhouette is slender and athletic, but there isn’t much else I can tell about him from a quick glance.
“Hi,” Devon says. “We brought two vehicles. We figured we were going to have to split up, so I needed to bring Dom along to drive.”
Dom waves at us, then nods toward the parking lot. “It’s cold,” he says, his voice muffled. I’ve heard of Dom. He’s the guy Misha hired, and his reputation precedes him. “Let’s get out of the rain.”
I open my mouth to answer, but I don’t get a chance. Dom reaches out and grabs my luggage cart, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiles at me. I’m not going to complain if he wants to take my stuff, so I follow him wordlessly toward the parking lot.
The rest of the band speaks amongst themselves about the trip, and the flight, and the weather. I can’t hear them that well over the rain. It feels like it takes forever to arrive at a white, nondescript van. Dom clicks a key and the trunk opens. “Get in the car,” he says. “Out of the rain.”
I nod, walking to the passenger seat. The van is tall. Getting in is kind of a struggle, but once I am, I close the door and try to zone out.
We just need to get to the hotel. I need to change into something more comfortable. I want to eat something. Yes, eating something will help me. I pinch the bridge of my nose, taking deep breaths as people start filing into the van.
The door closes as soon as the rest of the gear is loaded in and Dom sits in the driver seat. He begins to unpeel every layer he’s wearing, starting with the scarf. His neck is surprisingly long, and I can see how strong his jaw is. He’s lit up from the back with the city lights so I can’t see what his skin tone is, but I can see the start of a five o’clock shadow on his face. He’s fun to look at—to the point that I have to remind myself that it’s rude to stare.
He puts the car in gear and flashes me a warm smile, a dimple on his left cheek.
“Traffic is a lot here,” he says, looking over his shoulder as he backs the car out of the parking lot. “You might want to brace yourself.”
I nod. “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m ready.”
He raises his eyebrows as if he doesn’t believe me. He’s obviously holding back a smirk, but I barely know this man, so I probably shouldn’t call him out. No matter how much I want to.
“Long trip, huh?”
I nod. “You have no idea,” I say, looking at his fingers. He’s wearing rings on every single one of them, silver and gold, his nails short and manicured. I think there are inscriptions on his rings, but I can’t tell from where I’m sitting. I clear my throat when his brown eyes meet mine. It’s obvious I’m studying him; I’m exhausted, I’m not being subtle. Luckily, he seems to think it’s funny. I lay my head back against the headrest and look up at the ceiling of the car.
“So Dev hired you to drive us around?”
“No,” Dom replies. “Misha hired me. We just met in person a few seconds ago. I volunteered to drive. I wanted to meet all of you.”
The girls–Kelly and Sierra–are sitting in the backseat, neither one of them saying anything. I know they’re listening, though.
“Misha hired you?” I ask.
“What were you expecting?” he asks, his smile widening.
“Someone older,” I say. “How old are you?”
“I’m old enough to know what I’m doing,” he replies, the smile never disappearing from his face. I think he’s annoyed by the question. His fingers tighten around the wheel, his knuckles whitening as he does. “Look, all of this…it’s going to be weird. Unfamiliar. I thought I would get ahead of it. Introduce myself to you guys so you would know I’m not a weirdo and I’m actually on your side. From what Misha said, a few of you are skeptics.”
“That’s not exactly true,” I say. “We all see how much Trine has been affected by all of this. It was…I mean, things were different before.”
He watches me from the corner of his eyes. “I don’t care if you believe me,” he replies. “I’m going to help you anyway.”
Alana
Domwasn’tjokingabouthow bad the traffic is.
