“Jan and Dean?” I frown. “Wasn’t that a real group?”

Dean laughs. “Yeah. It was two guys from the sixties.”

I shrug and go retrieve our drinks. I’ll be Jan as long as I can claim my Frappuccino.

We make our way to the escalators, then down to the baggage claim. It seems like everywhere I look there’s a driver holding a sign. I read a line of them: Ryan, Stephens, Reid, McCarthy. That’s us. A tall man wearing a blue suit holds the sign and looks bored while a petite woman with a raven-colored pixie cut stands beside him consulting her phone.

“Rox!” Dean shouts and waves.

She looks up and waves back. “’Bout time!”

Dean weaves around people to get to his manager and when he does, he hugs her. Then, he steps back and introduces us. “Jen, Roxanne Hughes. Rox, Jen Elliott. Rhythm guitar.”

Roxanne extends her hand and I shake it. “I’ve heard good things about you.” She looks me over from head to toe, appraising my appearance. “This is good,” she says to herself and then looks at Dean. “Nice window dressing. You needed some spice for the men in the crowd. Now you can appeal to more fans.”

Wait. What?

My eyes swing to Dean. “That’s why you asked me out here?  To sex up your band?” Disbelief washes over me. I can’t believe I fell for this. “You brought me across the country to look pretty?”

Dean’s complexion pales. “No!  You’re mad talented.” He gives Roxanne a hard stare. “Why would you say that?  You just met her.”

Roxanne looks stunned, but in a phony way. “I wasn’t trying to be nasty. I’m your manager; I look at your image from every angle. Despite her inexperience, she will help.” Her eyes focus on mine. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. It’s the nature of the business.”

I want to throw my Starbucks at her. I picture it splattering against her chest, and I’m surprised by my visceral reaction. It must be because I’ve been pent up in a flying metal tube for the last four hours.

“Jen.” Dean can tell I’m annoyed. “Gunnar would never support this if he thought I was messing with you. Don’t be upset. Rox is just –”

“Telling you how it is,” she cuts him off. “I’ve been planning this tour non-stop since we were given the green light. It’s Dean’s second chance and everything needs to be analyzed.” She extends her hand again. “Let’s start over. I’ve heard great things about your playing and nothing about your looks.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Jen.” Dean looks desperate. “It’s true.”

I believe him. I really do. It’s Roxanne I’m not sure about. My shoulders relax a little and I focus on Dean’s manager. “Did he tell you this was all new to me?”

“He did.”

“Okay. Then you know I have no idea how the business works,” I stress the word. “If he gains new fans, that’s fine. But it won’t be because I’m window dressing. I didn’t come out here to parade around. I came to play.” I don’t need her thinking she can dress me up like a doll.

Roxanne’s professional expression turns into an approving one. “Good.” She steps to my side, wraps her arm around my waist, and starts to usher me toward the baggage carousels. “I was worried when Dean said you’ve never toured. The last thing I have time to do is babysit you. I don’t need you breaking down on me.”

“You were concerned?”

“The pressure can be stressful,” she says. “There are new people and new temptations. You’re in a new place every other day. I don’t need you getting emotional. My instincts tell me you’ll only do that when necessary. You won’t allow anyone to run over you. That’s important.”

“I wasn’t planning any emotions other than nerves.”

“Trust me,” Roxanne leans closer, “there will be plenty of feelings. Just try to act on them in a positive way. Remember, there are cameras everywhere. Are you on social media?”

I think I know what she’s getting at. “I’m not going to make a fool of myself, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She gives me a curt nod. “Not anymore.”

We step up to a conveyor belt of traveling bags. “Let’s get your stuff and get moving.” Roxanne consults her vibrating phone. “Paul and Drew are already at the hotel.”

Once we find our belongings, we walk outside to where our driver parked a sleek black town car in a reserved space. He helps load everything into the trunk, and then I get in the back with Roxanne while Dean sits up front. Once we leave the airport the ride is stop and go. Traffic is unbearable, even after seven p.m. I stare out the window and pick at my muffin, realizing the time difference. In Chicago it would be after nine. Since I’m trapped in the car, I find my phone and send a group text to my brother, Jules, Gwen, and Latson to let them know I landed safely.

By the time we pull up to the hotel, it’s late evening. Roxanne gave me her contact information, I’ve given her mine, and we’ve gone over our agenda for the next few days. I also received a message from everyone back home. Oliver sent me a picture of a horse’s rear end and one of his own nose. Latson said it was his attempt at a selfie. I also got a nice shot of the two of them wearing paper crowns. It made me smile.

While we’re unloading our bags, Roxanne hands a key card to Dean and then one to me. “You’re both on the same floor as Paul and Drew,” she explains. “I’m one below. Feel free to call if you need anything.”

We head inside and when the elevator stops at her floor, Roxanne says goodnight and she’ll see us at rehearsal tomorrow. When we get to our level, a guy walking past the elevator door stops in his tracks.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He grins. “You made it.”

“Hey, Drew.” Dean steps out of the elevator and they give each other a one-armed man hug. “Jen, this is Drew. Drew, Jen.”

“Hi,” I say as I struggle to pull my suitcases around Dean’s.

“The new guitar player, right?” Drew asks. “Here.” He leans forward to grab one of my bags. “Let me help.”

“Thanks.” I smile and move to the side. Drew is slightly taller than me with clear blue eyes and a little scruff on his chin. I catch a glimpse of a tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirt sleeve. It looks like a skull. “You’re the drummer.”

He nods. “My reputation precedes me. What rooms are you two in?”

“Ummm …” I twist the key around in my hand. “408.”

“410 here,” Dean says.

“I’m across the hall with Paul, 409 and 411.” Drew starts to walk. “Welcome to home sweet home.”

We make it to my door which isn’t far from the elevator. When I step inside my room, I find the typical hotel set up with a king size bed, a dresser with a television, and a small desk with a coffee pot sitting on the corner. I pull my suitcase over near the window and set my guitar case on the bed. Drew stops just inside the doorway. “Do you guys have plans?  Paul and I were going to head downstairs for a beer.”

My stomach growls. “If there’s food involved I’m in,” I say. “Just give me a second to get situated.”

“Great. I’ll let him know and be back in a few.”

He closes the door, and I lift one of my suitcases on to the bed to unzip it. As soon as I open my bag I see the shirt Latson added to my things. Smiling, I unfold the I licked it so it’s mine tee. I start to laugh when I see a few changes. Latson used a black Sharpie and crossed out the words “I” and “mine”, so the shirt now says Latson licked it so it’s his. Of course it smells like him, and I hold it to my nose and breathe deep. I needed this. Between the flight, meeting Roxanne, her stupid comment, and the long drive, it calms me. I know what I’ll be sleeping in tonight.

Just as I start to unpack, my phone rings.

“Excellent timing,” I say. “I just found your stowaway t-shirt.”

Latson laughs. “What do you think?  I thought maybe I could make a bunch and sell them.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“So, how are things going?”

“Good, I guess.” I sigh and plop down on the bed. “Roxanne’s different. How was Medieval Times?”