Page 48 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

I wrap my weak arms around his neck, and he rises off the bench. He carries me as if I were weightless, careful not to knock me against anything as he takes me to the bunks in the back.

“Bronson?” I mutter as he sets me down.

“Go to sleep,” he says, his voice so far away, his touch so close.

A warm blanket falls over me. “No...”

“No?”

“Bunk,” I say, my eyelids so heavy. “Not comfy...”

Bronson’s chuckle echoes. “Sleep, Jordan,” he says.

“O... K...”

I feel a kiss touch my forehead.

And then I don’t feel anything else at all.

15

BRONSON

Mornings suck.

But this one is kinda nice.

I slept in the bunk opposite of Jordan on the bus. When the alarm on her phone went off at five sharp, I quickly snatched it up out of her jeans and turned it off before it woke her, too.

Poor thing is exhausted.

It’s all our fault.

Well, I’m willing to stick Paul Monroe with some of the blame. Hearing about his offer — no, his attempt to poach Jordan right from under us — pissed me off more than I expected. The way he tried to sweet talk her and turn her against us… yeah, that crossed the motherfucking line.

Suddenly, she wasn’t just my oldest friend. Or my manager. She was something to be treasured and protected.

Do what you will to me.

But don’t fuck with Jordan, you smug piece of shit.

I send a few texts from her phone, then set a new alarm for eight o’clock and lay back down in the opposite bunk.

When the alarm goes off again, I roll out of the bunk. I quietly confirm that Jordan is still snoozing before flicking onthe coffeemaker. The space soon fills with the welcoming scent of hot coffee and Jordan stirs with it.

I kneel by the bunk and wait. “Jordan?” I whisper.

She hums tiredly.

I smile. “Jordan.”

“Hm?”

“Wake up.”

She squirms beneath the blanket. Her eyes flutter open and, for the briefest of seconds, she sees me looking at her and she smiles.

Then she lurches up and looks around. “Oh, shit.”

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