I’m awakened at the sound of my whispered name and a gentle gust of air scraping my cheek. A groan escapes. It’s all I can muster. My body is heavy, my lids heavier. I’m not sure I could move if I tried.

“Lyric.”

There it is again. I squint before opening my eyes, knowing whoever is waking me will appear blurry and asshole-ish. “You’re on the couch and the guys are waking up. Come on, I’ll take you to your bunk.”

Ugh. That’s right. My bunk. I open my eyes a bit wider to see a shirtless Wolf standing in front of me—the thief who stole a tiny part of my soul last night without even realizing it. To add insult to injury, there were no bottom bunks left by the time we were done arguing, so the couch was my only option.

“I can’t sleep on the top bunk,” I moan.

“What? Why not?”

I groan again and try to sit up, but my head immediately starts spinning—whether from the furious rage I spun into last night or from the few too many beers, I don’t know. “I just can’t,” I say as I fall back onto the hard couch. My damn bones are going to hate me when I wake up for real.

“Come on, you can have my bed.”

I’m too groggy and sore to move or speak again, so when Wolf takes me in his arms, I don’t resist. In seconds, I’m poured onto soft, plush, fabric, and a blanket covers me. I curl into the mattress and let it form to my body. Before I can think about where Wolf has placed me, I’m headed back to dreamland.

 

 

Too much silence. I’ve woken up on tour buses many times, and it’s never been this quiet. My body is accustomed to the noise, and I can sleep through it like a baby. So why so much silence? There’s a bright light through the thin skin of my eyelids, and I can tell it’s well past morning. I also feel better rested than I have in a long time. And why the hell am I comfortable? Tour bus bunks are the furthest thing from luxury.

Nothing is adding up until I open my eyes and gasp. I throw the comforter from my body and sit up with a lurch. I’m in a bedroom on a moving bus. A bedroom?

“Morning, sunshine.”

I gasp and turn toward the deep voice on the other side of the room. Wolf is sitting in a chair in the corner, his eyes glued to the television. He's watching a movie, but it’s on silent. He reaches for the remote and presses a button, turning on the sound.

“Why am I in your bed?”

“You passed out on the couch and didn’t look very comfortable. I tried to move you to a bunk, but you moaned about not liking it on top. Surprising. I took you for a woman who likes control of all things.”

He’s wearing a smirk, and I’d love to slap it off his face, but my body is screaming at me. I need to stretch, or run, but there’s no room to do either. And I need to get out of Wolf’s lair before he mistakes me for one of his groupies.

“I can’t sleep on the top bunk—fear of heights thing. Ever since I was little, I’ve had horrible nightmares anytime I sleep high up. It’s awful. I wake up constantly thinking I’m going to roll off. Not sure the boys would appreciate the screaming in the middle of the night.”

Wolf nods, keeping his eyes on the television, which is now blasting with gunshots and curse words.

“What are you watching?”

“Boondock Saints. Ever seen it?”

Shaking my head, I make another move to stand. “No.”

“Stay,” Wolf says, surprising me. “It just started. It’s actually a crime to have never watched this movie, so I’d like to help you out. Since I owe you for your song.”

For a second I consider his offer, but then I remember why I’m on this bus. “I have work to do, phone calls to make, showers to take.”

He looks at me like I’m lying. “There’s nothing you’re doing that can’t wait two hours. Stay, Lyric.”

His eyes dig into mine, and I’m frozen. Since when did my brick walls begin deteriorating for Wolf? We’ve known each other for what, two weeks? I’d like to think of myself as one of those girls who learns from her mistakes. Wolf would absolutely be a repeat of something I do not want to experience again.

My decision to stay or leave is taking too long. All the while, I’m staring back at the guy who took my song and sang it to a crowd of thousands after asking them to make it go viral. Which reminds me…

“Speaking of owing me. Have you checked social media today?”

Wolf grins and tosses me his phone. I catch it easily.

“1.5 million hits on YouTube and counting,” he says. “Looks like we’ll have to figure out a way to break the news to the fans that we’ve found our writer but she wants to remain anonymous.”

I look up. “Have you told anyone?”

“Not a soul.”

Relief rushes through me as I watch the video. All I could see was red last night as the song played and my lyrics filled the theater. I’m still perplexed by how it all transpired, but even I have to admit the song is good—what Wolf did with it, at least.

“What’s the deal, anyway? Why don’t you want any credit for the song?” He’s watching me. I can feel his eyes probing for a reaction. I give him nothing. Instead, I toss his phone on the bed, walk to the door, and turn around to face him.

“Can you pause the movie? I’d really like to shower and change before I crawl back into your crusty bed.”

His eyes crinkle when he laughs. “You’re insulting me. I love it. After offering you millions and then rescuing you from the couch and letting you drool in my bed. You’re still insulting me. That’s fine, Lyric. At least you’re not screaming at me anymore.”

I smirk and turn toward the door. “Day’s not over.”

 

 

The moment the movie credits begin to roll, I turn to Wolf, ready to unleash my fandemonium and tell him he was right. But that doesn’t happen because he’s asleep in his chair, head propped against the wall, mouth hanging open. I laugh and tiptoe over until I’m directly over his ear. “Boo.”

His eyes fly open, and I gasp when he grips my waist.

“Shit,” he says when he realizes it’s me.

My stomach is heaving with laughter. “I’m sorry, you looked uncomfortable. I’m going to get some work done now. You can have your bed back.”

His hands are still on my waist, and his grip tightens as if he’s about to tell me something. “Okay,” he says instead, dropping his hands.

“Thanks for the movie.”

I grab my laptop, pass the bunks, and head to the main living area of the bus. When I reach the kitchen, I see Crawley pouring himself a cup of coffee and spiking it with something from a metal flask. I chuckle and slip past him to set up my computer in the only available space left.

The guys take up most of the couch spaces, their eyes focused on different activities. Hedge has got his face in a book of poetry. I do a double take when I read the title: Leaves of Grass. Well, damn. I would have never pegged Hedge for a fan of Whitman, or a poetry connoisseur at all. Derrick and Lorraine are playing Grand Theft Auto, and Stryder’s busy nibbling on Misty’s neck while she nibbles on a PB&J.

I get into the groove, plugging away on emails, making phone calls to the venue to confirm load times and ensuring shipments have arrived. Other than the music, this is what I live for. Creative organization. Managing chaos. I love every bit of it. I call the union teams to relay the confirmations and then call around to find dining options for the bands in the next few cities where we’re stopping. We’re hitting North Carolina first, and we’ll be stopping at two hotels on the way to give the bus driver, Rory, a break and to let the guys stretch their legs for the night.

It’s late afternoon by the time Rory pulls up to our hotel in El Paso, Texas. This is one of those times in my professional career when I worry. I worry that the band will have a fit when they see that there is no glamour in tight-timeline traveling. We should have left days earlier if we wanted to do this right. But the San Diego show was booked by their last road manager. I’m assuming it’s one of the reasons he was fired.

Still, the band could have opted to fly into North Carolina, but Wolf wanted his bandmates and crew close leading up to the show. Maybe he has a thing for bonding time. I don’t know. Not my job to worry once the lead singer demands something. I just make it work, even if that means less than five-star accommodations need to be booked.

No one says anything about the budget hotel as we gather outside the bus and stretch. The guys are too busy on their phones to notice much, anyway. Wolf collects his room keycard from me but doesn’t take off right away. To my irritation, he follows me to my room and then smirks when I turn to face him at my door.

“Can I help you?”

His smirk turns into a frown. “So cold. I thought we were on the fast track to friendship after our movie date.”

I purse my lips, begging my face to behave. “Your definition of friendship and mine are contained in two different dictionaries. And you don’t date, remember?”

“Have dinner with me.”

“You’re serious?”

He nods, eyes gazing intently into mine. He’s serious. “We’ve got three months together, Lyric. We might as well attempt to have a pleasant working relationship.”

“Or what? You’ll fire me like the last guy?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You heard about that, huh? That jerk deserved to get fired. He double-booked us twice and left zero time for Rory to rest. Scheduled the San Diego show the same night we’re starting a new tour. He was an idiot.”

Okay, that’s pretty bad, even I have to admit. “I might screw up, too.”

Wolf narrows his eyes. “Do you want to get fired? Look, Lyric. Believe it or not, I do have a say on who travels with me. I knew who you were, and I approved you to ride along. It had nothing to do with your looks, or your parents, or your insane songwriting ability. Obviously, I didn’t know about the latter.

“Not to say I didn’t have my doubts—with you being a female and all. Lorraine’s the only chick I’ve ever shared a tour bus with for a reason. I let a beautiful woman on the bus, I know I’m inviting trouble. It’s only natural one of these bastards will want to fuck you, and then what? Drama. But your reputation in the industry is stellar, and I only work with the best.

“Shit, just the fact that you talked our openers back onto the tour is enough to secure your job. But it’s a mutual agreement. You can leave anytime.”

“Really?” I didn’t think that was the case with my contract at all. In fact, I remember reading pretty hefty rules regarding breach of contract. I’m Wolf’s until he decides to kick me off his team.

“Really,” he says.

I ignore the fact that I think he’s lying. It doesn’t matter. “I’m not going anywhere.” My answer comes out so fast that I’m not sure exactly what I mean by it. Wolf admitted he approved me to be on this tour. I guess that means something to me.

“Good. Get ready for dinner. I’ll swing by to get you at seven.”