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I normally wouldn’t complain about the fast pace of a tour. This is the longest break we’ve had between shows since we hit the European circuit, but it’s not enough time to assure Z’s back on his feet.
“You don’t need to bother,” Z replies, seeming to dissolve further into the table.
“You don’t know me very well, then. Come on, up you go.” I peel him off the wooden surface. His skin burns against my own, his body radiating desert heat. Should I take him to urgent care? I’m not even sure if they have those here. I’ve never had to seek out medical treatment in another country.
Hotel first. Sondra will know what to do.
Tires screech as I pull into the parking lot in Liam’s rented Audi. As soon as we enter the sprawling lobby, Sondra’s already there, pacing with her phone in hand. Her fiery red hair is pulled taut in a high ponytail, and she’s dressed in her usual pantsuit battle armor.
“Where the hell did you run off to again?” she scolds, eyeing me like I’ve just dragged in a problem.
My mouth turns down.He’s a very cute problem, though, I want to argue.
“I… um, made a friend in town, and he’s very sick,” I reply.
“A friend. Asickfriend.“ Sondra’s glare cuts through me like an x-ray. She’s always been more aware of my thoughts and emotions than I’m comfortable with. I suppose that’s what makes her a good manager. Which is why I’ve put so much effort into avoiding her lately, not wanting to give away my unrest over the future of the band when Liam retires.
“Sorry for the trouble,” Z murmurs.
Between his pathetic state and my pleading expression, Sondra curses under her breath and helps guide him up to my hotel room. We lay him out on my bed. Instantly, her mom instincts take over as she rests a hand against his forehead. “How long have you had a fever?”
“Few hours,” he mumbles. “Barely got any sleep. Fell asleep in the shower. Water ran cold.”
Sondra sighs, and I try to suppress the frustration bubbling in my gut. Why did he share that with her and not me? Does he not trust me? Or is Sondra working some mom voodoo magic to draw truths from within against his will?
“Well, let’s hope you’re not contagious,” she says, throwing me another rage-filled look. “Hail should have taken you to a medical center first.”
I throw out my arms. “I don’t know how that shit works here.”
“Call someone. Google it. What are you, an infant? Scratch that, I know you are. All of you are.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to rid her brain of years of being on tour with us.
My hand snaps over my chest. “You wound me.”
She’s about to fire back with more heat when Z mumbles, “No doctor.”
My anger fades as I catch him snuggling deeper into the pillow, eyes shut and body finally at ease. I can’t argue with him like this. If he’s content to sleep off this fever in my bed, who am I to deny him that comfort?
“I have a meeting with our booking agent and promoters in ten minutes. You should get him some fluids and Tylenol,” Sondra instructs, rising from the edge of the bed. “We’re going to have a conversation later, Hail. And you need to let the others know you have a guest so they don’t barge in here and scare the living daylights out of him. Malek and Griff have been on the hunt for you. They’re on edge thinking you’re going to follow your work wife into early retirement.”
“Got it.” I give her a salute, burying my guilt, which earns a snort of disgust. “You’re the best, Sondra. Don’t work too hard.”
She leaves us, and I lean down to run a hand over Z’s silky hair. “Will you be okay if I run to the drugstore? I’ll make Olympic time, I swear.”
He nods. As if bitten by something, he leans up and reaches for the hem of his shirt to drag it off. “Sorry, I’m on fucking fire.”
“You want to cool off in the shower?” I ask.
“No,” he snaps back. “This is good. Unless you don’t want me sweating on your bed. I can move.”
I hiss through my teeth, my masochistic brain flooding me with images of Z naked and writhing in pleasure on my sheets, my body pinning him down as I work my cock inside of his perfect little hole.
“Don’t you dare move,” I order, helping him drag his tight pants off as well. Stripped down, he sprawls his tall, lean body over the comforter. I hover over him long enough to assure he doesn’t need anything more than the two bottles of water I set on the nightstand.
Alright, I get Sondra’s point about informing the others. The band would hound me with questions if they barged in here now and found a half-naked guy in my bed. And admitting to them what I’m actually doing with Z, pursuing a musical connection, would be way worse than fessing up to my attraction to him.
Not that the band would care. But I haven’t shown interest in anyone in years.
“Can you grab my phone and text Selma? No performances this weekend,” he mumbles.
