people the show they came for. Screwing my guitarist was a non-fucking-factor.
We blew through our setlist, and the moment we cleared the stage, Loren swooped Braxton into his arms and twirled her around like a lunatic. For once, I wasn’t annoyed by his antics. That show had been one for the record books. Flawless. If anyone had been in danger of screwing it up, it was me.
Her friends stood to the side, impatiently waiting to congratulate her for that perfect performance.
“Braxton whatever-your-middle-name-is Fawn, will you marry me?” Loren shouted after setting her on her feet. To make an even bigger scene, he’d gotten on one knee.
My heart stopped as a frown marred my brow.
I could almost swear Loren was serious. I’d caught the look in his eyes before he remembered he was only joking.
Since we were playing here again tomorrow night, the crew mostly had their hands free to stop and watch if this was real.
“Francesca,” she answered. Or rather didn’t.
“Huh?”
“My middle name,” she clarified. “It’s Francesca.”
That only made Loren’s brows dip further. “Your initials are B.F.F.?”
“Yup.”
Loren stood, signaling that the proposal wasn’t real, which prompted the crew to get back to work. “That’s too bad because I have no interest in being your friend,” he announced, sounding a little too serious for my liking. He looked a second away from defying my decree that Braxton was off-limits and making his move.
Xavier appeared before I could remind him that it wasn’t going to happen. All it did was delay the inevitable since there was always later.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” he shouted. “You only have a short window before that crowd you just finished riling finds you. Get moving unless you want to be followed home.”
With that, he was gone again, and so were we.
We made our way through the tunnels that led to a secret exit where two Suburbans were already idling and waiting. I grabbed Braxton’s elbow just as she started for one of the cars and held her hostage while her friends climbed inside. I had no doubt they were off to celebrate and envied the days when we were that carefree.
“Something wrong?” she asked me with a deep frown.
“You did great tonight.”
Even though I meant it, I could barely form the words. I didn’t want her to get comfortable. When she beamed at me, I briefly lost my train of thought. Could she hear my heart beating out of control? Could she feel my palms sweat from the effort not to break my own rules? If she looked down, she’d definitely see a bulge.
“Thanks. That was…surreal.”
Her brown eyes brightened even further as she waited for my response. None came to mind that wouldn’t jeopardize more than I already had, so I carefully chose my next words. “Same time tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
I’d already turned away, so I didn’t see her glare, but I felt it. I wasn’t the least bit sorry, either. If she knew better, she would be thanking me right now instead of thinking of ways to murder me.
This dynamic we set was better for her too.
I’d been looking at this whole thing all wrong. I’d envisioned myself alone on the road with Houston, Loren, and Jericho—a recurring plot in all my nightmares. I didn’t consider the ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine people who would be tagging along.
It was the morning after our third show. Ten black sleeper buses were waiting for us in San Jose, where we’d spent the night in a hotel. The crew was busy loading them with our bags and equipment too precious for the one hundred and twenty cargo trucks carrying our stage, screens, lights, and speakers from venue to venue.
Xavier had been kind enough to explain that we were leapfrogging it. We had two identical stages and two teams. While we performed in one city, one of those teams would be setting up in the next.
I shuddered to think of how much this all cost. It was nothing compared to the revenue Bound generated. Their last tour had brought in over three hundred million.
“You look like someone just told you you’re a lamb, and we’re the wolves come to devour you,” Loren greeted me. His hair was perfectly coiffed despite the early hour and his wardrobe impeccable. I had a witty retort in mind, but then he lifted a Starbucks coffee cup with my name scrawled on the side. “For you.”
I eagerly accepted it with hearts in my eyes and immediately took a sip, surprised to find