Page 40 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

“Thank you,” I say. “Earlier tonight, you told Knox to back off, and I forgot to thank you, so... thank you. I really appreciate you doing that.”

He nods.

“I probably didn’t deserve it, though,” I add, sitting back. “I lied to you guys about where I was going. By omission, but technically still a lie. And you can hate me for that. I definitely deserve it.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Oh. Well, good. That’s good.” I catch myself looking at his bare chest, and stop myself. “Still, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were just doing your job.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s what I keep telling myself, too. It’s just that... I know everything Monroe said was manipulative and all part of some dumb scheme to ruin us, but... I don’t know. It felt good. It feels good to be acknowledged. He said I’ve done an extraordinary job and that Criminal Records would be nothing without me.”

“He’s right.”

I look down. “Who knows for sure?” I exhale hard, somehow feeling even worse for saying these thoughts out loud. “Am I stupid for feeling good about this?”

“No.”

“Well, I feel stupid.”

“You’re not.” Bronson stares hard at me, fully awake now. “You’ve never been stupid, Jordan.”

“I don’t know if I’d saynever,”I joke. “Bangs before prom was a dumb choice.”

Bronson smiles. I feel it in the tips of my toes and the center of my palms, and I instantly look away before the sensation spreads elsewhere.

“Anyway,” I say as I stand up. “Sorry again, and… thanks for listening. I’ll let you get some sleep. Goodnight, Bronson.”

I walk down the center aisle toward the exit.

“Jordan.”

As I turn back around, Bronson climbs out of his bunk and takes several steps toward me, his bare feet tapping along the floor.

“What?” I ask.

He looks at me for a moment, his jaw clenched in thought. “I’m sorry,” he says. “We don’t acknowledge what you do for us enough.”

I smile, blush tingling my cheeks. “It’s okay,” I say.

“No, it’s not. You shouldn’t have to go to a prick like Monroe to get that kind of thing. He never should have been the one to say it first.”

My blush deepens. “Thank you, Bronson.”

He nods.

“Get some sleep,” I say. “Secure the door behind me?”

Another nod.

I step off the bus into the parking garage. Still quiet and empty at this hour, though, I hear the rumble of an engine somewhere on the far side.

“Jordan?”

Bronson steps down from the bus, his shirt halfway over his head, and stops a foot away from me. He pulls it the rest of theway down and pauses for a moment, his hands coming to rest lightly on his hips.

“Yeah?” I ask.

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