Page 64 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

Jordan eyes me playfully, sending another shiver of heat through my cock. “Still a few hours before you have to be on the bus,” she says. “You should get some more sleep.”

And there’s Jordan.

My manager. My friend. My bandmate.

Notmine.

But she could be mine.

All I have to do is say it and…

I give her a silent nod as I swallow the words on my tongue.

I keep my mouth shut.

Just like always.

20

JORDAN

It’s been a strange week.

What started in Chicago with dinner with Paul Monroe and calling a truce with Logan Shock and The Electrics now ends with Criminal Records driving out to the middle of nowhere outside of Toronto, Canada to look at the stars.

And let’s not forgot... everything else I’ve been up to in between.

A lot can happen on tour. A lot can change too, leaving one with the sharpened skills of adaptability. But... shit, man.

It’s rare for me to start the week as one person and end it feeling like someone else entirely.

I don’t break rules. I’m no rule-breaker. In fact, I’m very much the rule-makeraround here. But then Bronson happened.

Bronson is still happening.

And I’m... still me? I think?

I’m definitely calmer. Less tightly wound, for sure.

But I’m still me. Still Jordan Peck, manager of Criminal Records. I’ve got a to-do list a mile long. Still miles to go before the end of the tour.

But tonight, I let it all go.

Because tonight, we star bus.

I sit quietly on the short drive out to the campsite, my ankles quivering with anticipation. The others practically bounce off the walls, eager to breathe in the night sky.

Star bussing,as Knox so perfectly coined, is our newest method of relaxation. We don’t do it every night nor after every show, of course. Just the ones where we all feel the need for a good bit of fresh air. And after several days in a foreign land, keeping track of currency exchanges and our passports... yeah, the band unanimously agreed they needed a moment ofchill.

I glance at Bronson sitting near the back of the bus. He’s the only one other than me actually sitting down, his feet propped up on the bench in front of him. He smiles at the others, chuckling occasionally.

Classic Bronson.

My belly flutters discreetly.

Our little secret.

Our little lie.

---