An hour later,I was standing in front of a tour bus with a duffel on my shoulder. I know it was ridiculous, but I was absolutely giddy as the air released and the door opened. A big bulk of a man with gray hair, olive skin, and a plethora of faded tattoos was sitting in the driver’s seat. He introduced himself. “Evening, Ms. Morgan. They call me Spatz.”
“Hi, Spatz.” I grinned. “You can call me Sarah.” I mounted the steps.
“Bossman’s back there, but we’re still waiting on the rest of the crew.”
I nodded, not sure who bossman was, but whatever. “Okay. Where should I put my stuff?”
“Big room in the back for the talent.”
“Right.” I started to move and then stopped and turned back to him. “Thanks, Spatz. Happy to come aboard.”
He winked at me. “Welcome.”
Bill was crazy. Anyone would want to hang out on this bus. It was downright luxurious. The front was a lounge area, a bench of plush gray couches on one side and a circular table surrounded by more pillowy gray seating on the other. There was also a little kitchen on the same side as the table with granite countertops. There was a microwave, a fridge, and a sink. The floor was tiled. Hanging from the ceiling on both sides were flat-screen televisions. This was a perfect home away from home. It was downright sexy and modern. I loved it.
With my duffel hanging on my shoulder, I pushed back further, passing the kitchen. The walls narrowed and there were bays of bunk beds on both sides. From the presence of things like bags, books, and iPads, I could tell that these beds were already assigned or taken, and I wondered who exactly I would be traveling with. Because I’d changed the plan, Kat had informed me that I was mixed in with the crew, not on a special bus for me and my band. They hadn’t planned on a special bus for my band.
I passed the bathroom and another set of bunks, then I was at my door. Excited to see my room, I completely forgot that Spatz mentioned someone else was on the bus. Without knocking, I reached out for the doorknob and pulled. My interest in the room was completely obliterated by eyes full of Horse’s firm pecs and cut abs and the line of the V that led down. Oh, God, his pants were unbuttoned. He was wearing black boxer briefs. I snapped my eyes back up. He obviously saw me looking. There was no chance I wasn’t blushing from head to toe.
“What are you doing here?” I managed to stammer out, completely unable to make eye contact with him.
“Packing,” he said matter-of-factly.
I looked at the bed in front of me. There were some things laid out and a duffel similar to mine. What was his stuff doing here?
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Is this your room?”
He shrugged. “It was. Now it’s not.”
I kept my duffel on my shoulder. “No, stop. I won’t take your room.”
He laughed at me, throwing the last few things in his bag. “You already did.”
I started to defend myself. “I didn’t know. I wouldn't have…”
He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, Sarah.”
I loved the sound of my name on his lips. I’d felt that way earlier in the evening too when I was busy being annoyed at him. But I hated that I’d displaced him, and I felt stupid. Again, I was a pouty child who demanded her way, and now—even if he was a total jerk—my actions were disrupting Horse’s life. Somehow, I felt like I was going to come out of this still looking like a prissy princess.
“It is. I don’t want you to move. I didn’t…”
“Of course, you didn’t,” he said curtly. “This is where the talent rides. Period.”
He grabbed his bag and crossed by the foot of the bed and pushed past me. With his back still to me, he said, “Sheets are clean. I just changed them.”
Strangely, I felt disappointed. The idea of sleeping surrounded by the smell of Horse wasn’t unappealing. I dropped my bag and followed him down the hall. He didn’t go very far. He was pushing his duffel into one of the bunks.
“Please,” I whined, desperate to make amends. “I can sleep there.”
He turned to me, stern, and used a tone that felt like ‘let me tell you how the world works, little girl.’ “Sarah, stop whining. You’re being absurd and childish. The big room goes to the talent. Our jobs count on your performances. So, that’s the rule. It doesn’t matter how long my legs are. Move on. I have.”
God, I hated him. He was so rude. I was trying to be nice.
But more than that, I hated how damn hot he was.