Chapter 12
I told myself I was being paranoid about the suited man in the lobby, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Paranoia or not, I have to trust my gut, and my gut is telling me to take caution.
The fact is, Grayson knows I took a bus, which means, thanks to Greyhound security cameras, he also knows I have red hair.
Though I switched lines a lot, my final destination had been Boston.
Granted I’ve moved around a lot since then, but still, those details arm Grayson with enough to send someone to track me.
I could quit and find another job. Or I could stay on, change my look, and continue to be ever-cautious, ready to run.
I opt for the second.
In Detroit, our next city on the tour, I find the nearest salon and have them cut the rest of my hair pixie short and dye it dark blue. I also purchase black framed glasses with a light blue tint to complement my hair.
And now several hours later I walk into the hotel lobby and straight up to Anne.
“Holy shit!” Her mouth drops open. “I love it!”
Her reaction warms me, and I start to wonder what West will think right as he steps off the elevator, catches sight of me across the lobby, and with a huge grin, makes his way over.
“Eve, that totally rocks. That is so awesome!”
“Really?”
He nods. “Absolutely.”
It might be silly, but their accolades bolster me. I do like the new me.
September transitions to October. My life settles into a routine of set up, show, break down, and travel to a new city.
Every travel day Anne and I end up on the Mack Daddy bus, and on show days, West somehow maneuvers himself to be near me.
But the mornings…the mornings are my favorite when West and I just run.
My friendship with him definitely seems to border on something more. He’s still flirting, I don’t think he knows how not to flirt, but it’s more low-key, and it simmers an ongoing liquid warmth in me that both confuses me and makes me feel…womanly.
“When are you going to cave and go out with the dude?” Anne asks me during our lunch break on a Friday afternoon.
“We’re just friends.”
“Mmmhmm. You keep telling yourself that.”
But we really are, and I like it. All of it.
“I told him to be tender with you.” She bats her lashes. “That you were one of the good ones.”
“You did not!”
“You are one of the good ones. He’s probably used to waving his finger and getting what he wants. He’s never met anybody like you. You keep making him work for it.”
“I’m not trying to make him work for it.”
“That’s what’s so great about it.” Anne grabs our hot dog wrappers and tosses them into the trash. She sits back down beside me on the stage and nods to my guitar propped in my lap. “Ready?” she asks.
“Your pick,” I tell her. We do this a lot. Pick a silly song to sing.
She pulls out her harmonica, thinks for a second, and then starts “Lollipop.” With a smile, I pick the notes on my guitar, and she begins singing extremely loudly and even more off-key. God, I adore her.
When she’s done, she nods her head, and I turn to see West. He’s being trailed by two female reporters.
One is snapping pictures and the other one is asking him questions.
Both are a little too up in his personal space.
But he doesn’t appear bothered. If the camera and reporters get any closer, I’ll make an excuse and leave.
A picture of me popping up is not what I need, even if I am just in the background.
I tug my ball cap further down and watch as the petite one leans in, giggling like a hyena. West is funny. But he’s not that funny.
Anne gives me a nudge. “Jealous?”
“No. There’s nothing to be jealous about. West and I are just friends.”
“Well, ‘just friends’ don’t give the look you just gave.”
West says goodbye to the reporters and crosses the grass coming toward us. He gives us a little wave. “I saw you guys from back there. You were having a little too much fun for lunch break. What song were you singing?”
“‘Lollipop’,” Anne tells him and does a quick rip on her harmonica.
West jumps up onto the stage beside me and scoots over until his thigh is touching mine. One small week ago I would’ve scooted away, but not now. I really like that I’m becoming normal and comfortable.
“You two need to take your act on the road,” he says.
I nod to Anne. “She’s the talent, all off-key and everything.”
“Hey!” Anne fakes offense.
“We’ll be in New York tomorrow,” West says. “You two excited?”
“Definitely!” Anne immediately answers. “Madison Square? I can’t wait!”
Excitedly, I nod, recalling that coffee shop back in Chicago where we looked at the map of New York. Does West ever think about that?
The Bugs Bunny in the center of my blue shirt draws his focus. “Wow, you had some blue peepers before, but that shirt, combined with your hair, is making your irises almost ridiculous right now.”
“The color makes them pop,” Anne chimes in.
But I barely hear her as I stare into West’s warm dark gaze and get a little lost. Something shifts then, an awareness between us, and heat creeps into my cheeks. I tell myself to break the contact, to look away, but I don’t. All of my attention goes straight to our touching thighs.
He looks right at my lips. I hope they look okay. I wiped them after my hot dog. They should look okay.
Anne clears her throat, and it snaps me back, realizing that West and I had gravitated closer to each other. He leans away then, turning to survey all the sound equipment scattered around.
“I’ve always wondered what it’s like to mix a show,” he muses.
“I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be up on stage,” Anne counters.
West lights up. “It’s the most incredible feeling.
To know whatever you do, the audience will experience it.
It’s all right at your fingertips, and a slight move one way or the other could make or break a song.
Oh, and when the EQ’s just right, when the acoustics in a place are perfect, it’s like an orgasm or something. ”
“Orgasm?” Anne laughs. “That’s an interesting description.”
Anne and West continue talking and I zero in on the word “orgasm”. What does one feel like, I wonder. Warm? Numb? Vibrations? Does it go through the whole body or just—
“Eve?”
My head snaps up. “Yeah?”
“Do you want one?” Anne prompts.
My blood drains. Surely she’s not asking me if I want an orgasm. West chuckles then like he knows exactly where my thoughts went.
Anne jumps down off the stage. “I’m going to run and get a Coke. Do you want one?”
“Sure.”
A chilly breeze blows by the outdoor theater, carrying the scent of funnel cake, and my skin pricks to goosebumps. I turn back to West to find him studying me. Sometimes he does that—just silently contemplates me. I wish I could read his mind.
“You cold?” he asks, already unzipping his hoodie.
“A little,” I admit, eyeing his movements.
He slides his arms free and drapes the hoodie over my shoulders before hopping off the stage and strolling off. The warmth and scent of his hoodie surrounds me as I snuggle into it. No one’s ever done that before, asked or cared if I was cold, or given me the clothes off their body to wear.
“West?” I call.
He looks over his shoulder.
“Why are you here? Sound check’s not for another two hours and reporters usually interview you guys at the hotel.” West’s lips curve up, making something inside me swell.
“I knew you’d be here.” Then he turns and strolls off.