8. That’s My Girl
8
THAT’S MY GIRL
MAGGIE
Raise Hell By Dorothy
I pack up my equipment and hoist the heavy bag over my shoulder. Each muscle protests, a reminder of the long, exhausting day.
“Hang tight, Maggie; I’ll be done in a little bit,” Dusty reassures me as he finishes packing away the equipment.
“It’s fine. I’m gonna head back to the bus,” I say.
“The buses at night after a concert are no place for a girl to be walkin’ alone,” Dusty warns, fixing me with a fatherly stare.
“Geez, it’s Bumfuck, Arkansas. There’s nothing but otters and foxes,” I say playfully.
“Maggs,” Dusty warns.
I nod toward a few crew members heading in the same direction as me. “I won’t be alone,” I assure him as I walk backwards with a small smile, hoping to ease his concern.
I fall in step with the group, but as the hallway stretches out before us, they veer off toward the sound of an after-party, laughter and music echoing in the distance. I pause, the sterile fluorescent lights above offering no comfort as I stare at the door leading outside.
It’s fine, I tell myself. The bus is just up the ramp. I adjust the camera bag on my shoulder as I breathe heavily.
Jesus, I need to work out.
The door clicks shut behind me with a hard thud. A shadow stretches across the concrete—a figure making its way up the ramp behind me. It’s probably just one of the crew, and I’m being paranoid.
“Don’t have your camera hidin’ that pretty face of yours tonight,” Abel says, and my stomach drops.
“I’m done for the night,” I reply, my voice clipped as I walk away from him.
“Awe come on, you’re not done,” he insists, trying to pull it off as a joke, but there’s something in his tone that makes my skin crawl.
I’m not walking back to the bus with him in the dark.
“You know what, I forgot something. You should go ahead without me,” I say, turning around.
“What’s the matter? I’m not such a bad guy,” Abel says, grabbing my arm, the sudden contact causing me to stumble. I catch myself against the wall.
The door swings open, pouring light and sound into the ramp. Felix’s silhouette fills the doorframe, and relief floods me.
“What the fuck?” Felix’s voice vibrates with a low, simmering anger as he moves toward us.
Abel casually lets go, stepping back.
“What’s going on, Maggs? Are you okay?” Felix asks, his eyes grazing over my arm where Abel had grabbed me.
“Maggs is fine,” Abel interjects, his words dripping with misplaced confidence.
“Maggs?” Felix repeats as he steps forward. “Keep her name out of your fucking mouth.”
Holy shit.
“I tripped. I’m okay,” I murmur, the words a bit hollow because my heart is racing.
Felix rolls up his sleeves, tension coiling through his shoulders and arms. Abel throws his hands up in surrender, backing away as Felix looms over him. The tension is so intense, it feels like it could shatter with a single breath.
“Felix?” I tug on his arm gently and his expression softens.
He takes my hand, pulling me away from the scene and toward the buses.
“Come on, we’re packing up your shit,” he declares, determination etched in every syllable.
“What? Why?” I ask, trying to keep up with his brisk pace, my mind spinning as I process everything. “I thought you were going to that after-party thing?”
“Maggie, you’re not sleeping on the same bus as some roadie pervert,” he says, frustration lacing his words. He sighs as if he’s contemplating the weight of his actions. I can see it on his face. This isn’t what he wanted to be doing, “There’ll be other after-parties.”
“It’s not a big…” Downplaying it is wrong. “Where am I gonna go?”
Felix shrugs my camera bag off my shoulder, hefting it easily as we make our way. “You’re staying in my trailer from now on.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t even try to argue because I’ll haul your ass over my shoulder if I have to. Now move it.” He leaves no room for argument.
Goddamn if it isn’t hot.
He throws open the door to my bus. Everyone goes silent.
He grabs a garbage bag from under the sink, thrusting it at me. “You can help me, or I’ll do it myself.”
“What’s this for?” I ask, gesturing to the bag.
“To put your shit in,” he says bluntly.
“I’m not a feral animal. I have a bag.” I point to it on my bunk.
“Not feral, huh?” he challenges, grabbing the pile of dirty clothes on my bed and shoving them into my bag with determined efficiency.
“Hey, this is organized chaos!”
He hefts my bag over his shoulder, his eyes landing on the inappropriate photo tacked to the wall of the bunk across from mine.
“That’s Abel’s,” I explain. He reaches in, grabs the photo, and crushes it in his fist.
“It’s a little insulting you think I can’t take care of myself,” I point out.
“I’m sure you can, Maggie, but that doesn’t mean you have to,” he replies, his voice a low rumble that leaves no room for debate.
He stands by the door, waiting for me to follow but I cross my arms stubbornly.
We stare at each other until he finally concedes, letting out a defeated sigh. “Will you please come stay on my bus with me so I can get some fucking sleep tonight?” he pleads, exasperation shading his words as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” I smile triumphantly, but I’m pissed that Abel got under my skin. “You know what? Fuck this.” I grab the garbage can, tipping its contents into Abel’s bunk, a small act of defiance that brings a satisfying thrill. “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
Felix raises an eyebrow, a hint of approval blending with his amusement. “Now that’s my girl,” he says, and we exchange a look.
The crew watch our exchange with wide eyes and closed mouths.
“If any of you got a problem with this, you can take it up with me,” Felix announces, his certainty unwavering as he leads us out the door toward his own bus. I don’t have the energy to protest any longer.
We cross the lot swiftly, his long strides setting a pace I struggle to match. As we reach his bus, I try to lighten the mood. “So, what’s with the caveman act?”
He glances at me, his expression softening slightly. “I was raised to be a fucking gentleman. You haven’t seen my caveman side yet.”
“Oh,” I reply softly. Now might not be the time for humor.
Felix opens the bus door for me and sets my things down on the table. The bus is clean, almost sterile, and devoid of clutter, in stark contrast to the bus I rode on daily.
“You can have my room.” He gestures to the back. “I’ll sleep in the bunk.”
“Absolutely not. I’m not taking your room,” I protest, unwilling to displace him any more than I already have.
“So you can have privacy,” he insists, running a hand through his hair.
I haul my bag onto the bunk at the front of the bus, claiming my spot. “I’m fine here, really.”
He hesitates.
I take a seat, crossing my legs.
“Fine,” he agrees, though the uncertainty lingers in his gaze.
Standing awkwardly in the kitchen, he watches as I survey my new surroundings. The sheets feel soft beneath my touch, their cleanliness a welcome change.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
He smirks, the familiar glint returning to his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll lock my door at night so you don’t feel tempted.”
“Funny,” I chide. “But I wouldn’t want to cramp your style. Just hang a sock on the door and I’ll find somewhere else to be for five minutes.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t do groupies.” His seriousness surprises me into silence for a moment. “And besides, five minutes wouldn’t even begin to scratch the surface.”
“Do you mind if I grab a water?”
“You don’t have to ask, Maggie. Whatever you want, it’s yours,” he replies, a slight edge to his voice that suggests there might be more to those words.
I pull open the fridge. “You have grown-up food in here,” I remark, craning my neck around the door to give him a look of exaggerated disbelief.
“Grown-up food?” he chuckles, leaning against the counter.
“What twenty-year-old has milk in their fridge that isn’t spoiled?” I wonder aloud, putting the milk back gently. “And oh my God, is that probiotic yogurt?” I poke my head around the door.
Before I can delve further, Felix catches the waistband of my shorts and playfully pulls me away, shutting the fridge door with a soft laugh. His touch lingers against my back, sparking a thrill down my spine.
“Stop pawing at my stuff. And for your information, I’m twenty-three.”
“Okay, grandpa,” I tease back, a smirk pulling at my lips.
“You don’t get a body like this eating crap,” he declares, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he eyes me with unspoken pride.
I can’t argue with the evidence. “But you ate that burger with me?” I probe, tilting my head curiously.
“I did,” he admits, an adorable sheepishness coloring his cheeks. The air feels charged, and I find my fingers nervously fiddling with the bracelet on my wrist.
“What about the suckers?” I ask, raising an eyebrow to emphasize the point.
He laughs, a rich sound that fills the enclosed space. “You noticed, huh?”
“Well, I do film you all day long,” I point out with a playful shrug.
“Doesn’t everyone have a guilty pleasure?” he counters, leaning in, amusement dancing in his eyes.
I shake my head, dodging the question. “Is that why you don’t eat with the crew?”
“Most of that stuff is just junk food,” he replies, a hint of disdain in his voice.
“Cornbread is a vegetable!” I challenge, trying and failing to suppress my grin.
He has a really nice smile, especially when it’s directed at me. “If you say so.”
“Seriously though, you should hang out with the crew sometime at craft service,” I suggest, my tone earnest. “They’re quite entertaining.”
“Will you be there?” he asks.
“Sure, yeah.”
His features ease, and he nods slightly. “Then I’ll think about it.”
A yawn creeps up on me, the weight of the day settling in my bones. “You should get some sleep,” he offers, his voice gentle.
I nod, feeling the gravitational pull of the bed. As I pull out my pajamas—just shorts and a tank top—the thought of changing clothes makes me pause. Felix observes me from the kitchen, his gaze attentive but unobtrusive. I shake my clothes in front of him to get his attention.
“Right, okay, goodnight,” he says, reluctantly turning toward the back of the bus.
“Felix?” I call softly, stopping him at the doorway. Our eyes meet, a silent exchange laden with unspoken words but I feel the need to say it anyway.
“Thanks.”
He dips his head, a quiet acknowledgment, before closing the door softly behind him. The click of the lock makes me giggle.
Asshole.