Chapter Twenty-One
Maddox
“What’s up, it’s your boy Eli here to tell you that Sip Station is officially on tour!”
Leaning against the brick wall outside the studio, I watch him spin on the spot, camera angled up for dramatic effect, his dark sunglasses glinting in the light as he flashes the universal symbol for rock and roll to the phone.
“Watch out, guys, we’re coming to a city near you to rock your fucking world.”
“Rock your world,” Beau snorts, dropping a duffle by his feet as he joins me. “Who thought it was a good idea to put him in charge of documenting this for everyone to see?”
Shaking my head, I shrug. “Think he’s self-appointed.”
“Sounds about right.” He yawns, rubbing his chest. “He’s been bouncing off the walls all night. Did you know he’s been up since four a.m.? Music blaring, suitcase exploded all over his room?”
“At least he’ll crash as soon as we’re on the bus.”
We watch as Eli spots Paige walking down the street, suitcase rolling behind her. Grinning, he takes off toward her, waving his phone in her face.
“Actually, I take that back.” I chuckle. “We might need to dart him or something.”
The sound of Paige’s laugh carries on the breeze, her smile bright as she waves to the camera, head tilted back, eyes squinting against the sun as she tosses her hair over one shoulder.
My gut tightens, my cock twitching as I let my eyes travel down the tight grey dress and black boots she’s wearing, her long and tanned thighs on full display.
Six days, that’s how long it’s been since I had my hand between those legs, my name a broken sound coming from her mouth as she fell apart.
Six days of pretending I haven’t thought about it every time she tilts her head just like that, her lips parted, expression caught somewhere between amused and unaware that she’s being watched.
Six days since I walked out of that control room with the dirtiest track I’ve ever heard.
She hasn’t said a word about it. Neither have I. When could we have when every precious second has been dedicated to going on tour. But the memory is there, God, it’s there, along with the urge to push her back into that room and do it all over again.
And now we’re about to live in the same metal box for the next three months.
Beau steps forward, checking the traffic before glancing at his watch. Adrenaline surges as I do the same, ignoring the knot twisting in my stomach. Not from nerves, exactly, more like excitement, expectation, pressure.
Reign’s tour isn’t just some string of shows, not with the added bonus of potentially joining him in Europe. It’s a door, one people would kill to get through, and somehow, we’ve been handed the key.
We just can’t fuck it up.
“We good?” I ask Beau, scratching the back of my neck. That night we performed, Paige wasn’t the only one I needed to apologize to. I haven’t mentioned it again, but if we’re going to survive this tour, we have to be a solid unit.
Beau glances over, his eyebrows lifting slightly before he nods.
“Yeah, we’re good.” He takes a beat, then smirks. “Just don’t pull another lyric switch without warning us again, yeah?”
“Noted,” I mutter.
“Good, because next time, I might have to shove your guitar up your ass.”
I smile, the weight on my shoulders easing a little.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep, calming breath, running through Thea’s thorough scheduling packet she’d prepared for us, each itemized line now memorized.
A low rumble in the distance has my head jerking upward as Beau pushes off the wall, walking forward.
It’s bigger than I expected, long and gleaming black, the bus’s tinted windows and chrome wheels catching the morning sun.
“Oh, hell yeah.” Eli grins, jogging past us as it pulls up to the edge of the sidewalk, hissing to a stop before the doors fold open.
Bending, Beau grabs his duffel and nudges my arm. “You ready?”
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, we head toward the bus as the driver jumps down from the steps, his bald head shining, tattoo-covered hands already reaching for the switch to pop open the compartment underneath.
He lifts his chin as we start filing in, leaving him to pack away our gear for the tour.
The moment my foot hits the first step, it finally sinks in. This isn’t just some ride. It’s the start of something massive.
“Wow,” Paige breathes out, standing in the middle of the living space, her eyes wide as they sweep around. “This is wild.”
“You’ve never been inside a tour bus before?” Beau asks as he slides past her and sets his bag down.
She shakes her head. “Songwriter, remember? Never the one on stage.”
“Seriously? They never brought you on the road?” I ask, frowning. “That seems unfair.”
She shrugs like it doesn’t bother her, like she probably didn’t write half of the songs that made up their set list to begin with.
“Wrote the track, got the check, stayed at home.” She waves around the bus. “This is just as much of a big deal for me as it is for you guys.”
I step past her at the same time she moves, her bare arm grazing mine, the soft sweep of her skin making my hair stand on edge.
“Oops, sorry,” she mutters, pink coating the tops of her cheeks.
As she darts forward, the scent of her shampoo nearly makes me groan. I blink, trying to clear her from my lungs as the image of her unraveling flashes through my mind, her cheeks red with exertion and not embarrassment.
“Can you believe this?” Eli asks, his hand smacking heavily onto my shoulder.
“Huh?” I ask, turning slowly to look at him.
Eli grins, exhaling happily. “All of this? We’re finally rock stars.”
He leans against me as we take it all in.
The smell of leather and success, the sunlight streaking through the windows, casting strands of gold across the clean floors and long couches lining the main area.
A mounted TV glows from one wall, and on the opposite side, there’s a compact kitchen with stainless-steel appliances and marble counters.
Down the narrow hallway are the bunks, eight of them, four on each side in sets of two. Identically compact with curtains on each, a small shelf and a reading light. Just enough space to lie down and sleep. If you don’t mind feeling like you’ve been buried alive.
Beau opens the fridge, bracing one arm along the top as he starts to read out loud. “Energy drinks, protein shakes…oat milk.” Shaking his head, he shuts the door.
“Alright then…” Eli grins, rubbing his hands together. “Dibs on this top bunk.”
Wordlessly, I step forward and toss my bag onto a bunk across the aisle.
“I’ll take this one,” Paige says quickly, shoving her things into the space next to Eli, the one directly across from mine.
“You sure?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
“Yeah, you know Eli snores like a freight train,” Beau adds, laughing when Eli flips him off.
“You should take the back room,” I suggest, walking past her and pushing open the last door at the end of the bus.
It isn’t huge, but compared to the bunks, it’s basically a palace. A queen-size bed takes up most of the floor space, with shelves above the headboard, and a small rail for clothes to the side. A low dresser is bolted to the opposite wall, a small lamp clipped to the edge.
Standing aside, I watch as she peers in, sticking out her lower lip before she shakes her head.
“I’m good.”
“It’s a real bed, Paige. Space, a door, actual privacy.”
Exactly why she should take it.
“And I said I’m good,” she repeats as she plants her hand on the bunk she’s already claimed. “I’m not here to play diva. I want to be with the band, not locked away like some VIP.”
“You wouldn’t be.” Irritation creeps into my voice. “I just think it’s better if—”
“What?” she presses, crossing her arms as her chin lifts.
Eli climbs into his bunk, pulling his curtain shut, disappearing from view, while Beau watches us like it’s a tennis match. I drag a hand down my face, conscious of the guys listening.
“You shouldn’t have to cram against a goddamn wall when there’s a whole bed with your name on it.”
“My name’s not on it.”
“You know what I mean,” I snap.
“Do I? Because it kind of sounds like you’re trying to separate me from everyone.”
“It’s not about that,” I grind out. “It’s about comfort.”
“Bullshit,” she mutters.
My molars grind so hard it hurts. She glares at me, not backing back down.
The worst part is, she’s not even wrong.
I don’t want her lying across from me. Not because she doesn’t belong here, but because I don’t know if I can stand having her that close, learning what she looks like when she sleeps, when she dreams, when she wakes up.
Not when I already know how she tastes, how she sounds, how easy it would be to slide in beside her and make a whole new mess.
“Take the fucking room, Paige,” I growl.
“No. If you’re so obsessed with it, you take it.”
There’s a beat of silence, my blood alight with annoyance, before Eli pops his head out of his bunk.
“I’ll take it.” He grins and wiggles his eyebrows. “I know I can definitely use the privacy when the fans start throwing themselves at me.”
“No,” I say at the same time Paige groans.
“I don’t want to be that guy, but can we make a pact?” she asks, glancing between all of us. “The bus is band-only? No hook-ups, no groupies. No bringing anyone back here. It’s our space?”
I should agree. I do, but the hypocrisy isn’t lost on me, because the truth is, if I ever got her alone in that back room, there isn’t a pact in the world that would stop me.
“Any other rules, princess?” I mutter, leaning against my bunk.
“You’re such an ass,” she deadpans with a roll of her eyes.
“Actually,” Beau says, stepping in. “Paige has a point. The stakes are higher now. We don’t want any unwanted drama on the bus.”
“Buuuut,” Eli whines, flopping dramatically onto his mattress. “The girls from Tennessee are so fucking hot.”
“She didn’t say no screwing around, dumbass,” he says. “Just no screwing around in here.”
Eli groans like he has this master plan of sleeping his way across state lines. I huff a humorless laugh, grabbing the handle and slamming the door shut harder than necessary.
“Fine. Top bunk next to Eli’s chainsaw snoring it is then. Just don’t come crying to me when you can’t sleep.”
Spinning, Paige climbs into her bunk, muttering something under her breath that I only half-catch, but it’s enough to know it’s aimed at me.
The skirt of her dress rides up as she moves, the fabric sliding up inch by inch until it bunches high on her thighs. Lying on her side, she faces me, one hand tucked under her head, the other lazily tracing invisible lines along her skin.
She thinks she’s won. She knows I’m watching without even having to look up to check, not when every slow sweep of her fingers says it louder than words.
And still, that goddamn smile plays on her lips.
A threat.
A dare.
These three months are going to kill me.