Page 6 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

“But, also...” I say, my moral compass spinning wildly. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate. Since I’m your manager and all. Best to keep our relationship — ourfriendship— friendly and professional.”

Bronson nods.

“We’re friends,” I say. “We shouldn’t do anything that’ll change that.”

He doesn’t argue. He simply bows his head, his eyes still so friendly, and smiles. “Goodnight, Jordan,” he says.

I swallow hard. “G-g-goodnight, Bronson.”

He turns and walks out of the bar.

I sit back in my seat, my breath still gripped in my chest.

What just happened?

Seriously,whatthe fuckjust happened?

I pace back and forth in front of my bed. I came upstairs to go to sleep an hour ago, but I can’t even bring myself to turn off the lights.

Bronson Isaacs.

Drummer of Criminal Records.

My oldest friend in the world.

My whole life, he’s just been... Bronson.

Now, he’s a guy who just asked if I wanted to go upstairs and have sex.

You look like you could use a break.

Bronson is a man of few words. The strong, silent type, as some people say. He’s more of a listener than a talker. A people-watcher. As such, he notices things; things that others often miss.

Do I need to take a break?

Chrissy said as much back in Kansas City. And no, I still haven’t deleted anything from my to-do list like she told me to yet. There’s too much to do! And there’s too much that could go wrong if I don’t do it myself.

My heart rate spikes. It… doesn’t feel good.

Yeah, they’re probably right. Maybe I am working myself too hard.

I need to take a break.

I need to crack open the mini-fridge or run myself a hot bath or...

Or…

I picture Bronson and his friendly brown eyes. His little smile.

I could have somefun.

“No,” I whisper to myself. “No, no. That’s...”

Wrong.

Stupid.

Deeply wrong and profoundly stupid.

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