Fuck. He groaned, once again fisted his cock. And jerked off a second time before he finally thought he had enough control to go back out there. He didn’t think he had a chance in hell of actually sleeping, but maybe now he wouldn’t attack her like a rabid animal. At the moment, it was the best he could hope for.

He’d just pulled his sweats back on when the bus slowed down and veered to the right. Grabbing a clean T-shirt from the stash they kept in one of the bathroom cabinets, he headed for the front of the bus, making damn sure to avoid the area where Jamison was sleeping with the others. Maybe Steve was pulling into a truck stop to get gas. He could run out, grab a cup of coffee and a pack of the cigarettes he’d given up two years before.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Sure enough, the bus shuddered to a stop under a few bright lights. Wyatt groaned from his spot on the couch, pulled a pillow over his head. Ryder took mercy on him and yanked the shades down over the blacked-out windows to block the small amount of glare that was leaking through. Then slipped his feet into a pair of shoes—he wasn’t sure whose—grabbed his wallet, and joined Steve where he was getting ready to pump gas.

“Hey, man, where are we?” Ryder asked, leaning against the bus.

“Artichoke capitol of the world—or at least that’s what the sign we passed a few miles back said. We’re about three hours from San Francisco.”

Ryder looked beyond the lights, out into the fields of crops that blanketed the area as far as he could see. “Artichokes?” he asked, nodding to the big, leafy plants that looked more like weeds than a food source.

“That’s what they say.” Steve started pumping the gas. For long minutes, neither of them said anything more, until he turned to him. “So, you going to tell me what you’re doing out here so early, man?”

A million answers ran through his head, but he left it at, He looked across the parking lot, at the brightly lit grocery store that was the only thing open at this hour. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. You want anything?”

Steve smirked, but didn’t call him on his bullshit. “Coffee sounds good.”

He was at the checkout, paying, when Jamison walked in. She was dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, all her glorious red hair somehow bundled under the sweatshirt’s hood. Not exactly her sexiest look, but still, one glimpse of her had his dick hardening and every nerve ending in his body standing at attention.

Cursing his unruly libido under his breath, he crossed to her. Held out one of the cups. “Want some coffee?”

“No, thanks.” She avoided his eyes as she spoke, which made him nuts considering the dreams he’d just been having about her.

“Then we should head back to the bus.” He stepped too close, deliberately crowding her in an effort to get a rise out of her. It was knee-jerk, and a total asshole move considering he had no right to pursue anything with her. But right now, he didn’t give a shit. She looked soft and cuddly and half-asleep and he wanted nothing more than to convince her to climb back into bed—this time with him.

“Actually, I talked Steve into an extra half hour here.” She nodded toward the highway, still making sure not to look him in the face. “I’m supposed to be cooking for you guys. And since all I found in the fridge last night was beer and orange juice, I’m thinking that might be a problem if I don’t get to a store soon.”

To be honest, he wasn’t sure how he felt about her cooking for them as a job. It smacked of inequality, something he definitely didn’t want her to feel around him and the other guys. He didn’t know what he wanted to be to Jamison, but he knew he sure as hell didn’t want to be her employer.

“I’m not here for a free ride.” She looked at him then, those damn purple eyes of hers so much darker and more shadowed than they had been even yesterday. He hated it, almost as much as he hated the knowledge that he was responsible for at least some of those shadows. Not to mention the pain she was trying so hard to hide.

Impatience burned in him. “No one would care if you were, Jamison. You earned your spot with the band years ago.” He still remembered how she’d spent hours, days, posting flyers on every lamppost in town, not to mention bullying everyone she knew into attending their early gigs.

Her eyes called him a liar even as she said, “Yeah, but being the band mascot doesn’t exactly take a lot of time.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it, Ryder.”

He was worried about it and started to tell her so, but she turned and started toward the baskets before he could get the words out. Band mascot? That really wasn’t how she saw herself, was it?

Anger boiled up inside of him at the thought, but Ryder bit it back. Swallowed it down. After all, it wasn’t Jamison’s fault he’d been acting like an ass for the past twenty-four hours. No, that was squarely on him. He was the one who’d messed with their friendship, who had sent her so many mixed messages it was no wonder she was so confused. And he was the one who was going to have to fix it.

He and Jamison were going to be living together—in very close quarters—for the next seven weeks. If he had any hopes of making it through with his sanity—and his cock—intact, he needed to get the hell over this crazy attraction he had for her. Needed to get their relationship back on an even keel so things could go back to normal.

Anything else didn’t bear thinking about. Jamison was one of his closest friends, had been for years. She was one of the few people he let see who he really was, one of the even fewer who he trusted not to screw him over. There was no way he was going to jeopardize that just because he suddenly couldn’t look at her without wanting to make her come.

Since just the thought of bringing Jamison to orgasm made him rock hard, Ryder shoved that shit down deep. Locked it up with all the other crap he wouldn’t let himself think about Then climbed the bus steps two at a time.

If Jamison wanted to go grocery shopping, he’d take her grocery shopping—and Steve would just have to wait until she was happy, schedule or no schedule. It’d be a good chance for him to smooth things over between them, get everything back to normal. Back to the easy friendship they’d had for so long.

Because no matter how much he wanted her, the last thing Jamison needed was to get stuck with him and all his fucked-up baggage. He wouldn’t ask that shit of anyone, let alone a woman as sweet and innocent and deep down beautiful as she was.

…

Jamison was surprised—and not pleasantly—when Ryder grabbed a basket from the front of the store and pushed it through the automatic doors like he did it every day. Like it hadn’t been months—maybe more than a year—since he’d last set foot inside a supermarket. The other guys were still snoring in the bunks, exhausted from the show and their late night, and she’d half-expected Ryder to crawl back into bed himself. What she hadn’t expected was for him to walk through a public place so nonchalantly, with not even a baseball cap or sunglasses in place to keep him from being recognized. Admittedly it was barely dawn and they were in one of the smallest towns in California, but still. Rock stars had shown up in stranger places than this.

He didn’t seem aware of her disquiet, though, as he asked, “Where do you want to start?”

“The produce department.” Her voice came out a lot huskier than normal, and she cleared her throat a couple times to try to get rid of the tear-induced lump in the middle of it. The last thing she wanted him to know was how uncomfortable it made her to have him tagging along with her. Or how much it still hurt that he didn’t want her on tour with the band. That he didn’t want her. “You guys need to eat something besides pizza every once in a while.”