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Chad: No! Marcos. Well, not blue, more green? Blue-green. Cyan, if you will.
I will not and shut off my phone.
But when I close my eyes to sleep, I don’t see glorious nothingness. I see wavy multicolored hair and crystal blue eyes. I see a radiant smile that makes my stomach do an annoying foxtrot every time it rests on me. Basically, what I’m seeing is the most off-limits woman on the face of the planet, AKA my associate and sort-of boss, Larinda Scott.
The truth is I’ve been crushing on the A-lister since our first phone call to discuss her songs over a year ago. Spending countless hours with her since then has only made my secret feelings unbearable. She brightens my dark world, and somewhere along the way I’ve slipped into a deep craving for her light. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, but I’d have a better chance switching bodies sci-fi-movie-style with her on-again-off-again ex who’s also on this tour than actually dating her myself. (Weird analogy but accurate.)
Sure we have a blast together and she’s friendly—borderline flirty—with me. But the woman is walking sunshine, so “overly friendly” is her default mode. Not a single person can talk to her for more than five minutes without falling in love. I see it every time we join a meeting, do an interview, or attend an event. When the entire world is enamored, what chance does a small-time producer with limited connections and no real status have?
Movie stars and athletes line up to date her. Iconic musicians unapologetically chase her. Pretty sure Perceval Andrews, a nobody who still shares a tiny apartment with his sister, isn’t going to make the cut. She’s on the Elite List. The only list I’m on is the robocall spam list to refinance a mortgage I don’t have.
And now I’ll be spending hours upon hours with her, practically living together due to the intimate nature of touring. I was only invited because she wanted to work while we’re on the road, which means I’m literally here for her.
I’ve spent my entire life chasing a bunk on a tour bus like this. It only took an hour to regret it.
3—OKLAHOMA CITY (CATERING)
LARINDA
The room stills when I enter for breakfast. A dozen sets of eyes lock on me, but there’s only one pair I’m looking for. Sea green with specks of brown, probably crinkled in irony.
“Larinda, hi. I’m so sorry. Did they not deliver your breakfast this morning?” our tour manager says as he jumps up from his table.
“They did. I just… felt like joining everyone else today.”
Bruce stares at me like I’ve never eaten with the crew in our four tours together. Probably because I haven’t.
“Oh, biscuits. My favorite.” I grab a paper plate from the stack and pluck one from the buffet tray.
I sense the flabbergasted attention of everyone in the room as I work my way down the table of continental breakfast options. No one has said a word by the time I reach the end with a cup of water and my plate of… a biscuit. Now, to find a seat.
Turning toward the group, I scan the room for a, um, random opening at one of the folding tables.
Just a girl looking for a chair. No big deal. Any seat will do. So many chairs to choose from.
Except only one is across from sea green eyes that make my stomach glad it will only have to digest a single biscuit. The sudden rush of heat makes it hard to do anything, let alone eat. When did this happen? When did our friendship become a crush which became… me eating breakfast with the crew for the first time ever?
“Morning,” Val says as I lower myself across from him. “You sleep okay?”
I pretend not to notice the gawking going on around us.
“So well,” I lie. “You?”
He nods and lifts his coffee cup to his lips. As usual the pink curve of his mouth is turned up in a slight smirk that makes it clear complex thoughts are going on behind that adorable half-smile. His dark hair is covered with the customary ball cap, while several tattoos peek out from the V-neck and sleeves of his graphic tee. Even the faint woody scent of the shower products he uses reaches across the table to torment me. All that’s missing are the studio headphones around his neck and he’d look the same as every other time I’ve seen him over this past year.
But today is different. Today the edgy, enigmatic boy-next-door contrast that defines him is particularly alluring. He’s a majestic human leopard-bear.
“I’m surprised to see you. I figured you’d get some royal five-star spread delivered to your private bus, not be forced to mingle with us common folk.”
His teasing tone immediately calms my nerves. I may be out of place, but when I’m with Val, I always feel comfortable and safe.
“Yes, well, I prefer my biscuits cold and slightly stale, so…”
He snorts a laugh, and I can’t help but grin. His rare smiles always send a burst of triumph through me. Pulling them from his melancholy soul has become one of my favorite activities.
“So glad catering could accommodate you,” he says, holding my gaze for a second too long. Was there a flicker of attraction in his eyes? It disappears too soon when he lowers his gaze to the table.
You’re playing with fire. You can’t have him.
