“It’s fine.” Her voice was high. Clearly, she was embarrassed. “I’m almost done.”
She wasn’t almost done. The photos had gone flying in all directions, falling like confetti. Thankfully, Charlie had already moved to her and helped gather the photographs. I crossed to where the markers had rolled—just under the couch—and bent to retrieve them.
As I straightened and turned, I caught her staring at me, her gaze in the vicinity of my stomach, her eyes dazed. Combatting a spike of frustration, I cleared my throat. Her gaze lifted. She seemed to smirk, her eyes heating suggestively.
What the hell? I grit my teeth.
“Hey. What happened?” Ruthie’s greeting pulled everyone’s attention to the door of our shared suite. We all had our own suites, but this one was larger. It was where the band gathered over these last few days—to meet, to give interviews, to take photos and whatnot—leading up to the LA concert.
Our guitarist, standing just inside the suite door, frowned at the mess, bending to pick up one of the photos near her feet. “Are we signing these or what?”
“Yes, yes. It was my fault,” the PA said, pushing her hand through her hair. “I’m so clumsy.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Charlie took the photos from her, added them to his stack, and brought them to the table. “I don’t know why they were on the stool anyway. Could’ve happened to anyone.”
Walking past the woman to the square kitchen table, I felt her eyes on me. Just as I reclaimed my seat and Ruthie took the spot next to mine, the PA tripped over her own feet as she walked backward. And then, instead of clearing the door, she bumped into the wall.
Finally, she turned, tucking her hair behind her ears and walked from the suite.
“She’s got it bad for you, Abram.” Ruthie kicked me under the square table. I shifted my gaze to her, and she lifted her chin toward the tea. “Did she make you that tea? I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”
Charlie snorted, taking the chair next to Ruthie, which placed him across from me. “Why? You think she’s going to drug him?”
Our guitarist lifted both her hands, palms out. “Hey, man. I’m just saying, the women lose their fucking minds over him. I’ve never seen so many bras on so many stages before, and bras are expensive. It’s raining lingerie every night. That’s not you, and that’s not me.”
Charlie shrugged good-naturedly, but mumbled, “I think it’s a little bit you and me.” His quiet words held an unmistakable edge of defiance.
Ruthie continued like she hadn’t heard him. “If someone has lost their mind, there’s no telling what they’ll do. Alls I’m saying is, if I were Abram, I’d be careful. I wouldn’t accept tea from any of the PAs.” Turning to me, she poked at the teacup. “Wait for Melena to get back. Have her make your tea, just to be safe.”
Melena was our chef, had a master’s degree in nutrition, and was a registered nurse. Other than the three of us, she was the highest paid member of the crew, which made complete sense. She kept us healthy and well-fed. It was her tea blend that the PA had made. I was supposed to drink it three times a day.
“Am I missing something? Isn’t Melena also a woman?” Charlie glanced between the two of us.
“Yes. But she’s not one of the ones coming in here, tripping over her own feet, staring at him like he’s cotton candy. I don’t get boiled bunny vibes from Melena. Some of the other ones, however.” Ruthie gave a little shiver of revulsion. “They give me the creeps.”
I frowned at my bandmate. None of the PAs revolted me, but some of them worried me. Yeah, I was uncomfortable around a few, but not enough to complain. I didn’t want them to lose their jobs, that didn’t seem fair. So what if they had a crush? They were harmless.