Chapter 22
TRAVIS
“What in the hell are you doing?”
I glance over my shoulder at Tanner, who stares at me with bulging eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re cleaning.” The disbelief in his voice couldn’t be more apparent.
“Well, then, I guess I’m cleaning.” I squirt more Windex on the windows and wipe them down with my rag. How the hell did they get so dirty? It’s as if someone’s been running around smearing their greasy mitts all over them.
“But why?”
“Have you looked closely at these? They’re gross. I don’t know how we’ve been able to see outside. When’s the last time they were cleaned?”
“Probably when I did it. It’s not my week.”
Tanner made a cleaning schedule two months before we left for the tour.
I may or may not walk past it every day and ignore it.
I’m not a slob. I’ll clean up after myself and do dishes if we have any, but we eat out and use disposables.
I’ll also take out the trash, but scrubbing the toilet and dusting?
I normally skip out on that. Who has the time?
But right now, I have plenty of energy and I want to get shit done. He should be thanking me instead of interrogating me.
“Don’t forget to mop the floors,” he snickers, walking away.
Shit, the floors are sticky as fuck. It’s like someone spilled juice and said fuck it. I abandon the half-finished window, swap the window cleaner for a bottle of all-purpose, and spray the floor. I grab the mop and start scrubbing.
“Get it, Cinderella,” Penn teases, flopping down at the kitchen table.
“Fuck off. Hey, are you writing something?” I ask when I notice the notebook in his hand, the special one Liv got him for his songs.
He holds up the book and sends me an obviously look.
“I have some ideas.” Abandoning the mop, I slide into the seat across from him.
I was up all night, and shit was just tumbling around in my head.
I wondered if any of it would be useful.
Normally, I don’t contribute much to the lyrics—I’m the voice.
The face. He’s the artist and expert, but I’m suddenly inspired.
“Are you gonna finish the floor first?” He eyes the mop I dropped haphazardly.
“I’ll do it later.” I brush him off. I already forgot some of my ideas, but I put some in my phone.
“You wrote something down?” he asks, not bothering to hide the shock in his tone.
“Yes, I couldn’t sleep.” I open my notes app and hand the phone over to him.
“What do you think? Anything good in there?” My leg bounces under the table.
I really need to finish cleaning. I also need to send Ellie out for some more hair gel, I’m running low.
Can’t style my mohawk without the right product.
I wonder what she’s doing right now? I haven’t seen her all day.
Wonder if she’ll let me into her room again tonight.
I’ve started looking forward to our sneaky play sessions.
It might be my favorite part of the tour now.
“This is good. I can work with this, unless...”
“Unless what?”
He slides my phone back to me. “Unless you wanna keep at it.”
“Keep at it? Like, write the whole thing?”
He shrugs, flipping open his notebook and grabbing the pencil behind his ear.
“No thanks, that’s all you, man. I just had some ideas.”
“Text me that. I’ll see what I can do, but play around with it some more; you never know what will happen.” I ignore his idea and send him the note because if I don’t do it now, I’ll forget. “Any reason for this sudden burst of inspiration?” He tilts his head, brow arched high.
“No. Well, yes, insomnia. Isn’t that your secret?” He rolls his eyes and goes back to his book. I climb out of the booth. “I gotta go fold my clothes. They’re wrinkly as fuck. I need to find a laundromat.”
“Since when are you worried about wrinkles?”
“Since fucking forever?”
“Whatever, hey, you gonna finish the floor before someone slips and breaks their neck?”
“Oh shit, right.” I grab the mop and make quick work of finishing before heading back to my bunk. I stare at the mess of clothes and start sorting them when I remember the hair gel. Pulling my phone out, I send Ellie a text.
Travis:
Hey, I need a favor..
Ellie:
Ok…
Travis:
Is there any way you could get me some of that hair stuff I like?
Ellie:
I’m sorry you have the wrong number, this isn’t Instacart
Travis:
Don’t be like that, I’m too busy
Ellie:
What are you doing right now? And before you think about lying, remember I have your daily schedule at my fingertips.
I snap a picture of the pile of clothes and hit send. I wait for the bubbles and when my phone pings, it’s a photo of her doing the same thing.
Travis:
Don’t you wanna take a break? There’s a Target four minutes away!
Ellie:
I’m listening...
Travis:
I need hair gel, you know the hawk doesn’t look as good unless I style it with my special stuff.
Ellie:
I still don’t see how that’s a ME problem.
Travis:
Ugh, fine. How about we go together? You know there’s something you need.
“When I agreed to this, I didn’t know you were bringing a whole list,” Ellie gripes as I check things off my phone.
“When I told the guys where I was going, they started yelling shit at me. Tanner needs glasses cleaner, where the hell is that?”
Ellie searches the store and leads me to aisle after aisle. She’s never been in this Target, yet she seems to know her way around pretty easily. “Anything else?”
“Uh.” I check my list for the tenth time. “A pack of pens for Penn.” I snort, the irony just hitting me.
“Any specific kind?”
“How should I know? It just says ‘good pens.’”
“Well, he’s a writer. He should have a favorite brand. You don’t know?” she asks, scanning the section of writing utensils in front of us.
“I’ll call him.”
When the call goes straight to voicemail, I shrug, reaching for the cheapest multi-pack. Ellie snatches it from my hand and puts it back on the hanger. “Not those.”
“Why not?”
“Those are junk. Hang on.” She pulls out her phone and starts FaceTiming someone. I lean over, watching, and Olivia’s face pops on the screen a minute later. “Hey, babe, what kind of pens does Penn use?”
I laugh again. How did I not pick up on that sooner?
“He’s not picky.”
Ellie’s face scrunches in an adorable way I’ve never seen before. “Really? He writes songs for a living, and he’s not picky about what he uses?”
“Nope. I bought him a Mont Blanc, and he refused to use it. Said it was too expensive, so he keeps it on display instead.”
“That’s just…well, actually no, it’s not surprising. Then you tell us which ones to get.” Ellie flips the camera so Liv can see the selection.
“Oh, right there. The Uniball ones.”
Ellie grabs a basic-looking three-pack of silver pens and tosses them in the basket. “Thanks, babe, talk later! Love you.” She puckers her lips and pretends to kiss the screen.
“Love you too! Bye, Travis!”
I wave before Ellie ends the call and drops the phone in her bag.
“Who do you think she loves more, you or Penn?”
She gasps. “Don’t ask me things like that!
“I’m just wondering where I rank now—for Penn,” I say, heading toward the hair products to get the only thing I need.
“Obviously, Liv comes first for him, but I think I’m right after that.
But before Liv, I was his top spot—after his family, of course.
Though I really should come before Liv because we’re basically brothers. ”
She shakes her head, giggling. “I think Penn loves you, but not the same way he loves Liv, and it’s the same for Liv and me. We are family, but…” she sighs, “Penn is undoubtedly her favorite now. I’d never make her choose. I love her too much.”
“Well, that’s bullshit. I’ve known him almost his entire life, and she just shows up and gets first dibs on everything.” I’m teasing mostly.
Ellie reaches for the gel she knows I like and adds it to our pile before I even have the chance. “One day, someone will come along and take Penn’s place in your heart, too, Travy, don’t worry.”
A loud shriek interrupts my response, and our heads spin around. At the end of the aisle is a blonde woman, probably around my age, standing frozen and staring right at me. The shampoo bottle slips from her hand and falls to the ground, exploding. Ellie jumps back, trying not to get splattered.
“You’re Travis Beckett,” she says more calmly than she looks.
“That’s me.”
“Oh my God, OK. Wow. Can I get a picture with you?”
I smile and step around the mess to her. “Sure.”
She holds up her phone, and I lean in while she takes several selfies. When I go to pull away, she grabs my wrist. “Wait.” She digs in her purse, producing a pen and writing on my hand before I can protest.
Normally, I wouldn’t protest, I’d hand her my phone and tell her to put her number there.
She’s cute, with long hair and rosy cheeks, but Ellie and I are having fun again.
I’m no longer bored to tears with dull-ass groupies.
We aren’t fucking, which is a shame, but I’m getting off, and it’s still better than sticking my dick in some desperate chick.
They don’t feel good. They don’t feel like Ellie does.
My eyes flash to her, wondering if she’s upset, but it seems like she’s fighting the urge to laugh.
“Call me,” the girl says, as she walks away. I glance at the number Ashely left on my palm and then to Ellie.
“Can’t go anywhere with you anymore.” She picks up my hand and examines the number, doodled with the woman’s name and a little heart. “Cute,” she says, her voice a little more clipped now than it was a minute ago.
“Not interested.”
She rolls her eyes. We haven’t had any talks about being exclusive with whatever it is we’re doing. I highly doubt she’ll bring that up again after my reaction last time, but I’m happy with our setup. It’s just easier since we’re on tour and changing cities so often.
Bringing my palm to my mouth, I stick my tongue out and lick my skin, erasing the ink with my spit until nothing’s left. Her brows jump and her pouty lips twitch as I rub my hand across my pants, then drape my arm across her shoulders.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“I mean, we’re not—you can do whatever you want,” she stammers, as I usher us toward the checkout.
“Like I said, not interested.”
“We should probably stop. We’re breaking so many rules.”
“Don’t think we are. We haven’t slept together. We haven’t even touched each other.” I want to touch her. Real fucking bad. “If you need more,” I start, but my jaw clenches. I hadn’t really thought about her needing something else, something more. I have no claim on her. She’s free to do whatever.
“I’m not—I don’t,” she blurts out. “I’ve been in a bit of a slump. It’s hard making connections on tour.” My jaw loosens, the tension slipping away. “Wait.” She stops, tugging me in the opposite direction I was headed. “I forgot something.”
“Ugh, I want to gooo. What is it?”
“Underwear.”
“Alright then,” I say, picking up my pace. I’m more than happy to help her choose some underwear, especially if I’ll get to see her in them.
“That’s what you’re getting?” I frown at the plain cotton shorts she grabs. They’re so not sexy.
“I need these for...personal reasons.”
“What? Ohhhh.” I never had a sister, but I had Pacey, and let me tell you, I wasn’t prepared for the sass that could come from her sweet, small frame when she was having ‘her time.’ She sent me and Penn on a snack run once.
We couldn’t find the brand of chips she wanted.
Instead, we got three other brands of the same damn chip. Big mistake. Huge.
She was only sixteen. I didn’t even know she knew that many cuss words at that age.
I was baffled by the filth that came out of her, all over some chips.
We left the snacks and ran out of there as fast as we could.
Five minutes later, she found us in the garage.
She apologized and cried for twenty minutes. It was a wild ride.
“I’ll grab some of these, too, if that would make you happy.” She holds up a silky black thong.
“Nah, get the comfortable ones. I prefer you in nothing, anyway.” I wiggle my eyebrows, and hers furrow as she studies my face, then she tilts her head back and laughs. Fuck, that's such a pretty sound. Second only to her moans.
She starts to take a step, then pauses and turns back, plucking a pale blue thong that closely resembles the color of my eyes from a rack. She tosses me a wink and struts toward the registers.
My hearts jumps, and so does my dick as I picture her in nothing but the lacy material, splayed across my sheets.
Ellie pauses and flicks her chin over her shoulder, blinking at me.
“Are you coming or not?” She sends me a wicked grin, her lips red and full.
She looks like the devil, but as my feet shuffle toward her, I realize I’d let her drag me to hell any day of the week.
Especially, if I could see her in that thong.