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Priya sighs. “Nothing. Sometimes his brain short circuits. He’d never tell you, but he gets anxious sometimes. You have to let him work through it. Hey, Vince, buddy? You okay?” Priya calls.
“I’m fine!” he snaps.
Priya whistles. “Okay then.”
The show that night is electric. Vince channels his anxiety into raw energy, flawlessly hitting every note and swaying his hips to the beat of Priya’s harmonies without batting an eyelash. No one would be able to tell he’s anxious. But I saw his nervous tick. He pushes his hair behind his ear, locking eyes with me as he sings the chorus of “Later.”
“I’ll tell you to leave without me/ but I will want you still.
I’m alone at this party/ searching for a thrill.”
My breath quickened, a flush of warmth spreading throughout my body as I felt the molten pool of desire slowly gathering in my belly and radiating between my legs. I could feel my heart racing as the intensity of the sensation grew.
I tell myself it is a matter of circumstance as his forest-green eyes bored into mine.
He was looking for a focal point outside the blinding lights and landed on me. He’s not singing to me, and if he is, like I would ever fall for that! I’m not a groupie.
He can’t just maintain eye contact with me and expect me to fling a bra—fuck!
A large lavender bra smacks me right in the face.
Chapter 4
Vince
Three Hours Outside of North Carolina
Ifirst realized my feelings for Lyndsey when she peeked her head out from the top bunk, like a bat to say goodnight.
Nah. I realized I liked Lyndsey when I watched her kick Henry’s ass at a Checkers when we were stuck in traffic outside of Boston, or possibly when I watched her eat sunflower seeds, and the mid-morning light brought out the golden freckles on her cheekbones.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when my affection for Lyndsey transformed into a full-grown schoolgirl crush, but it’s here.
I’ve masturbated in enough terrible hotel showers thinking about her luscious tits and how her thighs would feel against my cheeks to know that this isn’t going away.
It’s 2 a.m., and I can feel my boner stiffening against my thigh as the bus rumbles down the highway.
I think of Lyndsey’s eyes and how it would feel to palm one of her tits. I think of slipping one finger, then two, into her entrance and finger-fucking her as I slip my hand down onto my cock and work out my hard-on.
I imagine me finally entering her, how she’d groan with pleasure as she tightens around me, and I come within minutes, grabbing a tissue from the little net basket on the back of my bunk.
We can never happen. But that doesn’t stop me from dreaming. When I wake up the following day, I avoid eye contact with Lyndsey as she pours granola into a bowl.
“What’s with you?” she asks, grabbing a banana off the counter and slicing it. The bus’s movement causes her hand to shake.
“N-n-nothing,” I mumble.
Lyndsey hums. I watch as a piece of her hair falls onto her face.
We stop at a truck stop with a laundromat an hour outside of Myrtle Beach. We’re playing a festival nearby. I’m not prepared to contend with the sand while onstage. We stuff piles of our dirty clothes into laundry bags and haul them out off the bus.
The laundromat is beach-themed, like most things in the Carolinas. There’s a spray-painted scene of a beach on the wall. The air smells like mildew, and the fluorescent lights hum loudly over the muzak, but I’m excited to have some clean clothes finally.
Lyndsey digs around her tote bag and pulls out a roll of quarters. “Bam!” she says gleefully.
“Lyndsey, you’re a lifesaver,” Priya exclaims.
“Tour essentials, y’know?”
