Page 112 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

“Are you going on the pub crawl with us after?”

“I don’t know.”

She glares at me.

“That’s the best you’re getting,” I add.

Addison sighs. “Fine.” Shifting slowly, she inches toward the door. “I’ll see you then.”

I silently wave. As the door latches behind her, I plop onto the bed again and cover my face with a pillow.

36

JORDAN

I’ve been to Boston a few times, but truthfully, I’ve never really seen her up close.

I can say that about most cities, actually. Between the rush of getting there to the stress of putting on a show to getting everyone back on the bus and doing it all over again, I rarely see the sights up close.

Tonight, I get the chance. I get the chance to see some public parks within a few miles of the Botsford Plaza, anyway.

The air is warm with just enough breeze to stay comfortable in the long sleeve navy blue shirt Harmony lent me. It slots nicely into my black pencil skirt and matches the pair of comfortable flats on my feet; perfect for a long walk through the winding pathways of the park. I spot a few others in Ivy League sweaters hanging out and tossing frisbees and I smile, remembering a time when I considered higher education before becoming a band manager.

I take in the scents around me, from the freshly cut grass to the faint saltiness of the harbor somewhere nearby. The city hums quietly beyond the trees, the sounds of traffic softened by the rustle of leaves overhead.

Bronson would love this.

Bronson would?—

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

I blink at the sound of Christian’s voice, momentarily confused by the company until I remember, uh…

I’m on a date with Christian Myers.

I glance at him walking beside me and my teenage heart goesthump-thumpagainst my ribs. He’s wearing an old pair of ripped jeans and a classic leather jacket over a tight white T-shirt — a jacket that I’m pretty sure he’s had since long before I was even legal.

“Yes,” I answer. “It is.”

Christian points down a pathway toward a bench about twenty feet away. “I passed out on that bench one time,” he says.

I spot it and nod. “Neat.”

“Yeah, it was a good night,” he says. “At least, I assume it was. Memories are a little fuzzy from that era.”

I chuckle. “I can imagine.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, pausing on the path. “I knowcheck out all the places I’ve passed outis horrible first date behavior.”

“No, it’s okay. I mean, for a normal guy, maybe. But for you? That bench might as well be a historical landmark.”

He grins. “Wow. I never thought of it that way.” We chuckle. “Still, I’ll try to keep it to a min.”

“If you want.”

“You make me kinda nervous, is all.”

I widen my stare. “Now I’m the one who’s sorry. Iwhat?”

---