CHAPTER NINE #2
So, I head to the back of the bus, open the tiny storage door, and reach inside to grab a fresh roll.
Just as I reach for the new roll, the bathroom door swings open at the exact same moment, and Elias steps out—damp, shirtless, and wrapped in nothing but a towel.
I freeze. Oh. Oh, wow.
This is unfair. Like, genuinely borderline illegal levels of attractive.
His hair is wet, dripping slightly at the ends, his sharp stubbled jawline still glistening from the steam.
And his torso? A masterpiece of muscles and ink. His skin gleams with damp perfection, abs cut like they were sculpted by vengeful gods, veins trailing down his arms in a way that should not be allowed.
During the rest of my involuntary world tour of Elias’s ridiculously perfect body, I notice something beneath the ink, something that had been hidden up until now.
Beneath the swirling black lines of his tattoos, his shoulder and part of his chest are scarred.
It’s not something you’d notice from a distance; his tattoos masked it well. But up close, this close, I can see the uneven texture peeking through the ink.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear a tiny voice whisper: Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare.
Unfortunately, my eyes have no respect for my dignity, because they travel the entire length of his body like I’m trying to memorize the view for a later sketch.
Then, finally, I meet his eyes.
Being this close, I can see the true depth of his amber eyes, not just one color, but layers upon layers of molten gold and burnt honey, streaked with flecks of copper and deep bronze.
In the dim lighting, they almost glow, like embers buried below ashes, smoldering just beneath the surface. There’s a sharpness to them, an intensity that feels unwavering, but beneath that?
There’s something haunted, something aching, as if his gaze holds entire stories he’ll never tell. His expression is pure stone—except for the tiny, barely-there flicker of amusement lurking under the surface.
Oh god.
I’m blocking his path. I need to move. I need to say something casual, something normal, something that doesn’t make me sound like a complete idiot.
And what do I go with?
“Oh, sorry, just grabbing some extra naked towels—I mean, paper towels.”
Kill me. Right now.
A dangerous, almost imperceptible smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t say a word. Just steps past me like he didn’t just ruin my entire existence.
The second I make it to the other side of the bus, I squinch my eyes closed in sheer mortification, pressing my lips together to keep from screaming into the void.
Could this man be any sexier? Could I be any more embarrassing? No. The answer is absolutely not.
As I stand there, still processing my own humiliation, another realization settles in, one that overshadows my mortification just enough to make me forget how I just publicly humiliated myself.
The scars. They almost look like burns. I hadn’t noticed them before, probably because this was the closest I’d ever been to him since we met.
But this? This was something he couldn’t hide in this moment.
My chest tightens, curiosity and something else—something heavier—tugging at me.
I don’t know what happened to Elias. But I suddenly want to understand him more than ever.
Once he finally settles into his bunk, the tension in my body eases just a little, the energy of the night still lingering in my veins like an aftershock.
I make my way back to my room, closing the door behind me with a click.
By the grace of God himself, Elias is driving again, which means I don’t have to relive my horrific, brain-melting humiliation from last night. Yet.
Not that my mind did me any favors.
Because, despite my best efforts, the image of his perfectly sculpted, unfairly chiseled tattooed body lingered in my head for way longer than I’d like to admit.
The sharp lines of his defined torso, the gleam of moisture on his skin, the way his damp hair curled slightly at the ends, and—worst of all—that infuriating, knowing smirk.
Like he was fully aware of the effect he had on me.
I shake the thought off (again) and join the guys at the small dinette table, trying to pretend like I’m a normal, functioning human being and not someone who has spent an alarming amount of time mentally spiraling over a half-naked man.
They greet me with chipper good mornings, clearly morning people, which I am not.
Cody is lightly strumming an acoustic guitar, Jasper is deep in Eric Clapton’s autobiography and Grady is munching on candy, because apparently, that’s the breakfast of champions on tour.
“I picked up some donuts yesterday before the show for breakfast,” I announce, pulling the box from the cabinet and setting it in front of them. They attack it immediately, like they haven’t eaten in weeks.
“What did we ever do without you, Ramona?” Grady praises, halfway through a sprinkled donut.
“No idea,” I tease, grabbing one for myself and settling in beside Cody.
I lean back, watching them inhale their sugar-loaded feast, before finally asking, “So, how long have you guys all known each other?”
Cody perks up instantly, launching into full storyteller mode.
“Oh man, too fucking long!” he exclaims dramatically. “Elias and I knew each other first—we were, like, ten years old? Then he moved in with my family in middle school.”
That catches my interest.
“Then we met Grady in high school, and when we formed the band at eighteen, we found Jasper.”
“Well, that’s adorable,” I say with a grin, then tilt my head. “Why did Elias move in with you?”
The mood shifts. It’s slight, but I feel it.
Cody’s shoulders tense just a fraction, and for the first time since meeting him, he looks like he’s choosing his words carefully.
“Shit… that’s not really my story to tell,” he says, like he’s already said too much. “But let’s just say… he didn’t exactly have a good childhood.”
I nod, not pushing it further, though my curiosity only deepens, especially after his reaction to me mentioning his parents.
I already know Elias has a past, that much is clear in the way he sings, in the pain laced through his lyrics, in the way he carries himself like he is used to standing alone.
But I also know that if he ever talks about it, it’ll be when he decides to—if he ever decides to.
Just then, the bus lurches slightly as we pull off the highway and into a gas station. Elias finally emerges from the driver’s seat, giving us a small nod before stepping out to pump the gas.
I stretch, tossing the empty donut box into the trash.
“I’m gonna stock up on more snacks and drinks,” I tell the guys, shooting a pointed look at Cody. “Since you animals have already devoured more than I expected.”
He gives me a sheepish grin, mid-chew.
I grab my wallet and step off the bus, the sudden brightness of the sun hitting me like a slap to the face.
I step inside the small store and begin to grab the essentials: bottled water, some protein bars, and more chips and candy. I also snag some Dramamine just in case.
I make a point to scout out a few healthier, savory options for Elias.
It’s obvious he’s not a sweets guy, and even on the road he tries to keep things as clean as possible.
Luckily this convenience store has a whole little grocery section tucked inside, which gives me way more choices than I expected.
After combing through every aisle, I finally settle on roasted chickpeas, a bag of mixed nuts, some low-sodium jerky, and olive-oil kale chips as well as some fresh fruit.
I still don’t know him well, but I hope at least one of these finds its way into his good graces and maybe shows him that I’m paying attention, even to the little things.
By the time I make it back outside, bags in hand, Elias is still leaning against the bus, arms crossed, head slightly tilted toward the sky.
And for once, he acknowledges me first. His gaze meets mine, and I swear… he almost smiles.
That’s enough of an invitation for me to say something. But before I can, he beats me to it.
“Need some more naked towels?”
Oh, for the love of God.
The heat of embarrassment creeps up my neck, and I desperately try to mask it by stepping beside him, casually leaning against the bus, and shielding my eyes from the sun.
“No, I think you’ve got that covered.”
He dips his head, and—if I blinked, I would’ve missed it—but there it is. A laugh.
Quiet. Short. But real. And it is a truly beautiful sound.
He runs a hand through his already-messy hair, pushing the strands back before letting out a breath.
“I’m glad I could be of service.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t help the grin that tugs at my lips.
Time to steer this conversation before I self-destruct.
“Why do you always drive?”
He pulls the gas pump out of the bus, taking a beat before answering.
“I have control issues.” Then, a small smirk flickers at the edge of his mouth.
“Plus, I don’t think any of us want Cody behind the wheel.”
I laugh instantly, picturing Cody’s chaotic energy unleashed on the highway.
“That’s fair,” I say, shaking my head. I pause for a moment before I continue. “You like being alone, huh?”
His expression shifts, his gaze drifting toward the open road. Then, softly, almost like an afterthought, he murmurs, “You could say that.”
Something heavy sinks in my chest at those words. I’ve seen how these guys love him, care about him, but he seems to keep them at a distance by choice.
“Why?” I ask, my voice gentler now. His eyes finally meet mine again.
“You know it’s not your job to clean up after everyone, right?” he says, skipping past my question entirely.
I let out a small laugh, shrugging.
“Well, someone’s gotta do it.”
His gaze sharpens, not in anger, but with something close to concern. “They’re adults, Ramona. Tell them to pick up their own shit.”
“I really don’t mi—”
He cuts me off, voice firmer now. “That’s not the point. Don’t let them get used to you playing house. You’re not the maid. That’s not why you’re here.”
The finality in his tone makes me pause. There’s no heat in it, no accusation. Just this underlying protective edge that feels like a shield tossed over me.
“I’ll try,” I admit, softer now. “It’s just… how I’ve always been. I take care of people. Even when I shouldn’t.”
The silence that follows is weighty but not uncomfortable. It settles over us like an unspoken understanding.
Naturally, I can’t leave well enough alone.
“If I didn’t know any better,” I say, nudging him playfully with my elbow, “I’d say you actually care about me.”
Still nothing. His jaw shifts, but he keeps his eyes on the ground.
“I’m willing to bet under all the tattoos and black-on-black, you’re secretly a big ol’ teddy bear.”
That earns a huff of amusement, but he quickly masks it. Instead, he just tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking toward mine again.
“Whatever you say, Flowers.”