Don’t Bang a Bandmate (Break the Rules #3)

Chapter 1

1

JORDAN

W e all stand together in a circle backstage. Knox and Harmony, back together and smiling after years apart. Addison and Harvey Moon, newly smitten with each other. Jonah, Katrina, and Bronson. Chrissy and August. Each one near and dear to my heart; a member of my found Criminal Records family.

Those performing tonight stand with shot glasses raised high above their heads, ready for the shot time countdown. Shot time has been a part of Criminal Records’ pre-show ritual since before all of us were of legal drinking age. It’s an important part of our shows, our tours. Our lives.

But before we get to it...

The boss has to say a few words.

“Three!” Katrina says, beginning the countdown.

“Two!” Addison says.

“One!” Jonah says.

“It’s shot ti?—!”

“Wait!” I say.

They all stop, their glasses inches away from their chins.

“Before we do this, I have something to say,” I say, the words lighting a fire in my belly. “So far, this tour... hasn’t exactly gone according to plan. Usually, that’s not an issue. My backup plans have their own backup plans. However, this tour... for some ungodly reason... has been more unpredictable than ever. That might be fine and dandy for you guys. The Rebels of Rock. But, for me, it sucks.”

Their shoulders sag as they carefully lower their shot glasses. They look at me with big, precious eyes, and I know what I’m about to hear before they even say it.

We’re sorry, Jordan!

We had no idea, Jordan!

We promise we’ll be good, Jordan!

I throw up a hand to silence them. “Now...” I glare at each of them. At Knox. At Jonah. Addison and Harvey. Even poor Katrina gets a stiff eye, even though the worst sin I’ve ever seen from her is staying up too late reading and being a little sloppy at the keyboard the next morning. “Starting tonight, starting right now, I want all of you to promise me you’ll be chill. All right? I know we’ve had an interesting few days. Finding that bug on the bus this morning certainly isn’t helping matters, but you’re all adults and you should — theoretically — be able to go one week without dragging us through the shit. We have a little over a month left of this tour.”

“Still?” Jonah mutters.

“Eleven shows remaining starting three days from tonight in Kansas City.”

“The Midwest route!” Knox says excitedly. He hops on the tips of his toes, spilling a few drops of his bourbon. “Lots of wide open fields. We should totally go star bussing again, you gu?—”

Bronson punches him in the arm. Hard.

I smother my smile. I don’t disagree with Knox. In fact, our night of star-gazing has been a highlight for me so far. But I don’t want to soften my point.

“Ow!” Knox cries out, but retreats the moment he sees my glare. “Sorry, Jordan.”

“No more breaking the rules,” I say. “No more banging other bandmates. No more late night field trips by yourselves. No more getting into fist fights or getting arrested or anything else you’ve done so far. From now on, you wake up. You go to practice. You make it to sound check on time. The show goes on and then you chill out.” Out of breath, I take a moment to let it sink in. “I’m including myself in this rant, by the way. Starting tonight, no more Mrs. Nice Jordan. I will not be so lenient with you when you fuck up. For the rest of this tour, when you’re off the clock, you’re not Criminal Records anymore. You’re Law-Abiding... Records.” I punctuate it with a head nod. “Understand?”

Predictably, they all chime in at once.

“Yes!”

“We’re sorry, Jordan!”

“Super sorry.”

“We’ll be chill.”

Knox leans forward. “I can still bang Harmony though, right?”

I keep glaring, but the damage there has already been done. I’m not about to deny Addison and Harvey their happiness, either.

Still, I smile stiffly. “Sure, Knox.”

He exhales with relief as Harmony lovingly rolls her eyes.

“Now.” I raise my shot glass of bourbon. “Three-two-one!”

“It’s shot time!”

We take our shots together. With closed eyes, I let the burn envelop my throat; a moment of chaotic rest amongst a mountain of to-dos that still need to be checked off before the night is over.

Amid a wave of shouts and laughs, I open my eyes and look at my band. My friends. My family.

I make eye contact with Bronson’s brown eyes. He stands there, tall and silent, a few strands of his dark hair falling over his forehead to graze his thick eyebrows.

He looks back, his shot still yet to be taken, and he smiles at me.

“Harvey,” I say as I set my empty glass down, the burn now just a light tingling sensation on the back of my tongue. “I believe you have a crowd to warm up.” I check my watch. “Three minutes!”

With that, I spin on my heels and march out of the room while the others holler for Harvey, happy to have him back following a brief but dramatic almost-exit that would have sent me into a PR spiral that I’m thrilled to have dodged.

Outside, I navigate through the dark backstage area, quickly checking in with our road manager, Roy. He gives me a simple thumbs up to show they’re ready and I check another thing off my list.

“Gave them a talking to, huh?”

I glance at Chrissy beside me, her identical clipboard held by her side. Her long black hair is down, almost reaching her elbows. A strange sight to behold this close to showtime, as she usually has it tied up in a high ponytail by now, ready to get down to business.

“It had to be done,” I say.

She nods sagely. “Agreed.”

“We’re one Gossipa article away from utter chaos.”

“I think that’s a stretch,” she says, amused. “But this tour has been quite... colorful.”

“Messy is the word I’d choose.”

“Sometimes things get messy.” Her eyes narrow, but they remain friendly. “Most of the time, that means packing an extra roll of paper towels.”

I arch a brow. “What’s your point?”

“My point, my dear friend, is that the occasional spill is no reason to stop having fun.”

“I never said they couldn’t have fun,” I argue. “I just want them to do it responsibly. That’s all.”

“I’m not talking about them.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” She taps my clipboard. “Look at your list. When have you scheduled yourself a little bit of fun?”

“I don’t have time for fun, Chrissy. I have calls to make and schedules to keep and?—”

She slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Jordan, sweetie, I’m going to give you an assignment.”

I open my mouth to argue.

“And yes,” she says over me. “You have to do it. Whether you like it or not.” She squints. “Find one thing on your schedule this week, and delete it.”

“Delete it?”

“Delete it. Then, replace it with fun.”

Horrified, I shake my head. “But?—”

“That’s an order,” she says, dropping her hand to her side. “It’s for your own good. Seriously. When is the last time you got laid?”

I open my mouth, then slowly close it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Chrissy drawls.

“I’m busy,” I argue. “We’re on tour.”

“I went on countless tours with Cobraville. Still got some on the reg.”

“You’re hot, though.”

She smiles. “Thank you. So are you.”

I furrow my brow with doubt.

“Don’t even give me that look,” she says. “You are a hot twenty-something manager for a rock band. Believe me. You’re boiling! Now promise me you’ll do it.”

“Promise you I’ll get laid?”

“That you’ll delete one thing off your schedule this week and replace it with fun,” she says.

I chew on my cheek. “Just one thing?”

“Just one thing. I’m sure there’s a call somewhere on that list that can be an email.”

“Email takes too long,” I whine.

“We met through email, you know,” she argues.

“I remember, but…”

Chrissy arches a brow, and I sigh.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll... send an email.”

“And then you’ll have fun instead?”

“And then I’ll have fun instead.”

“That’s my girl.” She glances toward the wings of the stage where Addison and August are watching Harvey’s set. “I’ll go check in with August. Make sure everything’s fine on his end.”

I nod and walk off, leaving her to do that. Hey! That’s one thing on my list I can check off. That’s… fun.

I do just that, enjoying the satisfying tickle it brings.

Yes. I’m a girl who enjoys her work. What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with keeping busy? I make these tours go swimmingly. That’s my job! If I’m not busy, things fall apart. It’s just a fact.

But... maybe she has a point.

Maybe I should try to schedule some... fun … now and then.

I glance at my to-do list and sigh.

After the tour.