Mayhem

I look anywhere but at Adam’s gorgeous face as I move down the aisle. I’ve barely passed him when he breaks his lips free and quite breathlessly says, “I’ll come with you.”

When I look back at him, the two girls he’s with look just as confused as I feel. One of them squeaks, “But—”

“Hey, Joel,” Adam interrupts, shifting the girl off his lap and peeling the other’s hands from his neck so he can stand up. “Have you met . . . uh . . .” He’s staring down at the blonde.

“Amber . . .” she finishes for him, and I bite back a snicker.

“Amber! And . . . her friend . . .” He’s staring at the redhead now, and it’s obvious he has no idea what her name is either. “This redheaded bombshell here.”

Joel laughs and shakes his head. “Oh no you don’t.”

Adam stares down at the now pouting girls. His black-nailed thumb points back at me. “I’m going to take my friend here out for some air. But I’m sure one of the guys here would be happy to make you ladies some drinks.”

“NOT IT!” Mike calls. Joel presses his pointer finger to his nose, and Shawn looks up, realizing he’s the only one left since Cody has disappeared with one of the girls upstairs.

“Fuck,” Shawn mutters, and Adam chuckles. He curls his hand around my shoulder, turning me around and leading me off the bus without another look back.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” I say once the door closes behind us.

He smiles at me, and any irritation I felt toward him instantly melts away. How the hell does he do that?!

“If we’re going to be friends,” he says, “there’s something you should know about me.”

“And what’s that?”

“I never do anything I don’t want to.” He drapes his arm around my shoulders and leads me to where six or seven guys are sitting in a circle on coolers and lawn chairs under a bright parking-lot light. Many of them are roadies I recognize from when I was standing backstage. Driver is telling them some animated story about a party he was at last weekend—which apparently involved drugs, cops, and falling off a roof.

Adam plops down in the last empty chair, and I stand there awkwardly until he wraps his hands around my waist and suddenly pulls me into his lap. I gasp and immediately tense up. I’m a freaking statue.

“Relax,” he whispers to me, “I’m not trying to get in your pants.” His arms stay firmly wrapped around me as I shift a little to give him a doubtful look. He smiles up at me innocently and says, “I swear.”

When Driver finishes his story, he looks around the circle and seems to notice us for the first time. “Hey! Rowan! How did you like the show?!”

“It was amazing,” I say, trying to force my body to stop being so stiff. I can feel the rough denim of Adam’s jeans through my leggings, the shape of his fingers clasped on my hip. I scoot myself deeper into him to get comfortable, turning so that my legs hang between his knees. Reluctantly, I wrap my arm around his shoulders for balance, and even though he’s looking at Driver, a smirk sneaks onto his lips.

“Told you you’d love it!” Driver says from across the circle. Someone passes him a joint, and he puffs it a few times before passing it on. In that typical strained stoner voice that reminds me of one of Dee’s old boyfriends, he asks, “Are you riding with us on the bus tomorrow?”

“She’s riding with me,” Adam answers for me.

One of the other guys says in an amused voice, “I heard she told you what’s-what earlier tonight.” Oh, God.

“She did!” Adam replies, not sounding at all upset about our earlier confrontation. But judging from how blazing hot my cheeks feel, I’m still embarrassed as hell.

“Self-respect.” Another guy laughs.

Adam laughs too. “You should have seen it!” he says. “Broke my heart.” My face is all-worry, but he just smiles up at me and squeezes me tighter.

I lean down and whisper in Adam’s ear. “Sorry.”

He lifts his chin like he wants to whisper something back, so I bend down further and place my ear near his mouth, surprised when he presses a soft kiss against my cheek. I pull away, and he chuckles at the stunned expression on my face. “Now we’re even,” he says quietly, and then his smile gets even bigger. “Want a beer?”

At this point, I’m pretty sure I need one. “Sure . . . thanks.”

The other guys are already deep in a new conversation when he reaches into a cooler next to him and hands me one. “You are twenty-one, right?”

After a long pause, I smile sweetly and repeat, “Sure . . . thanks.”

He laughs as I pop the tab and take a drink. We sit out there for over an hour, listening to the guys tell stories and talk about plans for tomorrow. It’s so weird being on Adam’s lap, but eventually I get used to it and my body molds itself against him. It feels nice. Weird, and scary . . . and nice.

Each time the joint comes our way, I pass. I’ve never done drugs and don’t plan to anytime soon. I’m happy when Adam passes too. He periodically sips my beer, which gives me butterflies even though I try to act as casual about it as he does.

When he tells stories of his own, I watch him intently, finding myself smiling at him and holding him a little tighter. When I feel his thumb rub absently over my side and that slight movement lights my entire body on fire, I realize exactly what’s happening.