I twisted my neck from side to side, trying to get it to crack and ease some of the pressure. Molly’s security, not Lee’s. She wanted me to come back so I could keep someone else safe, not her.

Thoughts worked their way through my muddled mind. If I worked for Molly, I’d be on Molly’s bus, and I wouldn’t have to surround myself with Nia or Late, or whatever the fuck the media was calling them now. I could be near my two best friends without having their sucktastic relationship forced down my throat. I’d get to do the job I love, hang with my friends, and make a living doing it. Hell, I’d get my life back.

I nodded once. It could work. I could make it work. “Okay. For the tour, no more.” I barely got the word out before Lee squealed in excitement and threw herself at me. We would definitely have to talk about appropriate behavior toward employees, but we’d do that later. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. One last time.

Now, I just had to figure out how I’d make it through the next few months with Lee. Or, how in the fuck I’d keep a certain blonde bombshell safe when she was hell-bent on self-destruction. And, worst of all, how in the world I’d tell Jake I was leaving again?

Chapter Three

~ Molly ~

I remember lying in my bed as a young teenager, staring at the posters of N SYNC I had lining my walls and pretending I was on tour with them. While other girls my age fantasized about meeting the members of the band, or having Justin Timberlake fall in love with them, my dreams were all about the tour. What would it be like to perform in front of thousands of screaming fans? What would it be like to live on a tour bus, traveling from city to city, seeing the world as only rock stars could?

Never, not once, in all of the escapes from my mundane life, did I imagine tour life would be a blur of yellow lines racing by and faceless fans in the crowd. Or the bright lights of flashing cameras while people tried to take pictures of you doing normal, everyday things - like eating a cheeseburger. And never, ever, did I picture the members of my favorite boy band lounging around in their stained wife beaters and ratty boxers, arguing over whose turn it was on the Xbox.

Yet that was my harsh reality, the life I’d found myself living right now. Glorious, I know. I watched members of ‘Bama Boys—Nate’s band—over the edge of my Kindle, trying to decide if I should be annoyed or fascinated. Right now, I settled on disgusted. Someone, somewhere, was jealous and wished they could swap places with me. I’d gladly do it.

“Have you heard from Mrs. Kelly at all?” Nate, whom I had started referring to as The Ring Leader in my mind, asked as he plopped down on the couch next to me. He dropped his right arm over my thighs in a familiar manner as he leaned over onto my legs. A move that, if the paparazzi could see, would be the next magazine cover.

I fought the urge to push him away and rolled my eyes at his question. He’d been married for only a few months, yes, but I couldn’t figure out if his constant need to refer to Lia as his wife, or Mrs. Kelly was romantic, or a pathetic way to show she belonged to him. Ah, who was I kidding? It was cute.

I shook my head. “Nope. Not since yesterday. You?”

Nate’s tongue messed with his labret, making the little silver ball jump around in his lower lip, a sign that he was lost in thought. “No.” His lips twisted in a scowl. “It would be nice to know what the fuck is going on though.”

I nodded, agreeing completely. Last I’d heard from my newly hired manager, she’d made it to Maine, had somehow convinced Mike to come work for us, and was going to help him tie up a few loose ends before the two of them flew in to join us on tour. I’d believe it when I saw it. I’d known Mike for a long time, and nobody made him do something he didn’t want to do. He’d left the tour right after the wedding, not wanting to be around. I didn’t blame him. I’m sure being in love with someone, and then watching the person marry someone else, was pretty fucking painful.

In the meantime, Lia had forced me off bus two, the bus that I lived on with the married members of the band, and onto bus one. The bus she and Nate, and the single, obnoxious, and loud bandmates inhabited. Lia said that it was strictly a safety measure, that she wouldn’t worry about me if I was on bus one.

That had been early yesterday morning. We’d been on the bus ever since, stopping once last night for dinner at a truck stop before the long ride to wherever we were. Even now, parked behind tonight’s venue, we were stuck on the bus because there wasn’t enough time before the show to go sightseeing, and we couldn’t go backstage until after setup and sound check. After twenty-eight hours of being in purgatory, I’d decided that Lia was punishing me. I’d done something to piss her off, and abandoning me with the boys was her way of ultimate payback.

“Whatchya reading?” Nate, clueless to my frustrations, leaned further into my lap, trying to see the screen of my e-reader.

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” I answered honestly without thinking.

He barked out a laugh. “Is there a chapter on immaculate conception in there?” His eyes, a crazy mixture of light blue with dark streaks, moved to mine, “‘Cause with your dry spell, that’s the only way that would have happened.”

I narrowed my eyes and gave him a shove, tempted to tell him I’d left my own Kindle on my bus and that I was using his wife’s, being nosy and looking at the books that she’d downloaded, not the ones I owned. I wouldn’t do that to either of them, though; especially not after all they’d been through. Instead, I gave a standard comeback. “Fuck off.”

The asshole didn’t budge, smirking instead. “Sorry, kid. Just pointing out the obvious.”

Just one more reason to hate living on a bus, or out of a hotel, with a bunch of childish boys. They knew way more about my love life than they should, and they scared away any potential company I attempted to bring back to my room with me. “And whose fault is that?”

Dark eyebrows rose as he pulled back a bit, as if surprised I would blame him. “You sayin’ it’s mine? Being a friend of Nate Kelly cramping your style, babe? ‘Cause the boys don’t seem to have any trouble.”

Oh, here we go. It was an argument we’d had many times, but the pigheaded fool never really listened to my words. “I’ve never threatened to beat up the groupies that the boys bring back.”

“She’s got a point, bro.” Noah, Nate’s little brother and electric guitarist, piped up from his spot on the chair across from us.

Nate sat back, pulling away from me. “It was one guy, one fuckin’ time. He was a total dick and you didn’t really want to go home with him.”

“You’re right. I didn’t want to go home with him. I wanted him to come to the hotel. You were a total clam jam.”

I heard Noah choke on his soda, laughing as Reb, lead guitarist, and Billy, the drummer, suddenly got very quiet, pausing whatever shoot ‘em up game had dominated their day. But I didn’t take my eyes off my friend.

“A what?” he asked cautiously.

“A clam jam,” I clarified. “It’s a…”

“A cockblocker,” Noah practically shouted, his voice filled with humor, before I could explain. “She’s calling you a cock blocker. Which you are.”

“The fuck I am,” Nate argued, his face suddenly serious. “I was protecting you.”

“Of course you were. Because I don’t have enough people trying to do that.” I pushed off the couch and walked to the fridge.

“It’s what friends do, Mols.”

“So, the next time Billy or Rhett meet a girl at the after party, are you going to protect them, too?”

Nate stood, his face dark. “Not even close to being the same thing, and you know it.”