Chapter 45 - Roxie
Roxie
The next week dragged by, thanks to complete radio silence from Riot.
Cash and I exchanged texts almost every day.
Milo called me three times to talk about his trip to West Texas—he was in this tiny little town called Marfa which apparently was famous among hipsters and Los Angeles celebrities.
Even Violet shot me a text to make sure I was doing okay, and that I was still rejoining them when the tour continued.
But Riot didn’t reach out. Not once.
I thought about texting him, but I was curious to see if he would ever contact me. I hated these kinds of relationship tests, but I desperately needed to know if he would miss me enough to be the one to reach out first. That only left me frustrated and anxious.
I was a nervous bundle of energy when we met at the tour bus in the long-term parking lot. Cash and Milo hugged and kissed me, and asked how my break was.
“You know you missed me,” Milo said with a wink. “Or at least, you missed part of me.” He gave the air a little hump.
“I missed your cock,” I agreed. “But I also missed the rest of you, I guess.”
He roared with laughter and hugged me again.
“Have y’all heard from Riot?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. He’s gotten a lot of work done,” Cash replied. “He was spamming me with clips of his guitar riffs.”
“We text every day,” Milo said. “About the Spurs and Mavericks, though. We have very strong opinions about our NBA teams.”
“Oh,” I said. So Riot only wanted solitude from me, not from everyone.
There was a hollow ball of aching anxiety in the pit of my stomach as Riot arrived. He smiled when he saw me, dropped his duffel bag on the ground, and spread his arms wide.
“There’s my muse!”
His hug was warm and his kiss full of passion, but it only calmed my nerves a little bit. I couldn’t shake the feeling that things had changed between us over the break.
Or maybe I had deluded myself into thinking this was something more.
I tried to put on a smile as we drove north and picked Violet up on the way to Kansas City, where our next show was scheduled. Dana gave me a threatening look again, which the guys joked about once we were on the road again.
“You’re a threat,” Riot said. “Dana knows it.”
“Why does she think I’m a threat?”
“Because you’re super hot. It’s self-evident.”
“You are super hot,” Violet agreed, “but Dana does that with every woman I’m around. Don’t take it personally.”
“If I were a woman,” Milo said, “I’d totally bang you.”
“You’re already banging me,” I pointed out.
Milo frowned. “Yeah, but, like, if I were a woman? I’d still want to.”
“Can you guys sit down?” Cash called over his shoulder. “It’s hard to drive when you’re moving around in my peripheral vision. It’s distracting.”
Everything was lighthearted. We’d picked up right where we had left off two weeks earlier.
But I still couldn’t stop wondering what would happen when the tour ended in a few weeks. The topic began to consume me to the point that I struggled to focus on my freelance work.
I waited until we’d spent a night parked in Kansas City before casually asking the others what they were going to do when the tour was over.
“No plans!” Milo said. “I’m keeping it that way. I’ll see what happens. It’ll be nice not to have to follow Cash’s strict schedule.”
“It’s not my schedule. It’s the band’s schedule,” Cash sighed, like he’d explained this to Milo several times before. “I bought a house back in July, and I have a long list of projects to work on. That will basically be a full-time job for a while.”
“I’m handy with a hammer if you need any help!” I offered.
Cash smiled at me. “I will take you up on that.”
“I play keyboard in a sapphic band,” Violet said. “We’re touring in January and February, so I’ll be on the road until the spring.”
“Nice,” I said. “If you’re playing in Austin, I’ll come see your show.”
“Fucking right you will! I’ve got a ticket already set aside. I want you in the front row screaming your head off.”
“I can do that!”
The conversation shifted to her band and their style of music, which frustrated me because Riot hadn’t chimed in about his post-tour plans. His silence was deafening, especially as he joked about other stuff. It felt like he was deliberately avoiding the question.
My mind filled in the vacuum with the worst case scenario.
I watched the Kansas City show with only mild enthusiasm. Afterward, I conquered my fear of heights and climbed to the roof to where he was drinking his beers in honor of his brother.
“You doing okay?” I asked as I sat next to him on the roof.
He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what to say to that without coming right out and accusing him of hiding his plans.
Instead, I bluntly asked the question. “What are your plans for when the tour is over?” I tried to make it sound casual, but it still felt like an interrogation to me.
“Not sure, honestly,” he replied while staring out at the view of the city.
“I’ve been so creative lately, I might hole myself up and continue working on our next album.
Everyone else has to fill in their parts, but they can’t do that until I lay the groundwork.
If I can put my head down and focus, I might be able to get all of that work done by the time Vi gets back in March. ”
“I thought you were almost done with this album,” I said carefully. It still sounded like an accusation in my ears.
Riot glanced sideways at me and flashed a smile. “I am. But I’ve been so motivated that I’m already jotting down notes for the next album. I want to take advantage of this creativity while I can.”
“That’s great,” I said. “I know what you mean about creativity. You have to strike while the iron is hot.”
And then, like a thirsty groupie, I asked, “Do you want your muse with you? To help boost that creativity?”
He twisted to stare directly at me, his eyes dark pools in the night. He smiled broadly, then leaned in to give me a sensual kiss. The kind of kiss that immediately soothed my concerns.
Until he said, “I’m awful to be around when I’m working on my music. I go days without showering, eating nothing but takeout and drinking Red Bull. Trust me: you’ll want to be as far away as possible.”
My heart sank.
“You’ve been amazing on the tour, though,” he said. “I owe so much of this album to you. I know the rest of the band would agree. Thank you for everything you’ve done, Roxie.”
My heart sank even further. He was already using the past-tense.
“You’re welcome,” I said, grateful that the darkness concealed the tears welling in my eyes.