Page 26 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

I lurch back to Chrissy. “Tomorrow night, the ballroom here is booked, so I had to move practice to another venue.”

“What venue?”

“A local theater we’ve played at before. It’s nearby. Do you think you can oversee that for me?”

“While you’re having dinner with?—”

“Yes,”I say before she can, even though I know no one can hear us over the music. “While I’m in a meeting.”

“You’re not going to tell them?” Chrissy asks, curious.

“No,” I answer, having already thought this over. “They have more than enough to deal with right now. They need to focus on their music.”

“Sure, but… Jordan, the guy bugged their bus.”

“I know that. Don’t make this complicated.”

“It’s already plenty complicated, honey.”

“Right. So, there’s no reason to involve the others in what’s probably just a boring business meeting with the head of our record label. I mean, we’re having dinner here at the hotel restaurant. It’s not like we’re meeting someplace fancy.”

Chrissy chuckles. “Imagine a life where you spend so much time in Botsford Plazas that you don’t even consider themfancyanymore.”

I pause. “Okay. You got me there. It doesn’t change my mind, though. I’ll go to dinner, find out what he wants, and then I’ll fill in the band after.”

She releases a heavy sigh. “I really think you should give them a head-up first.”

“Can you fill in for me tomorrow or not?”

“Of course I can,” she answers. “August and I will be happy to herd your kittens for the evening.”

“Thank you. It should only take an hour or so, and then you and Mr. Boyd to go back to doing... whatever it is you two do to each other that leaves condom wrappers in your hair.”

“It wasn’t a condom,” she says. “It was a candy bar.”

I blink in horror. “What did you do with the candy bar?”

Chrissy grins.

“Don’t answer that,” I say, shuddering.

“But youshouldtell them,” Chrissy says with a definitive head bob. “That’s it. Last time I’ll say it.”

I exhale hard, but I don’t bother arguing with it again. I look over at the band, my eyes jumping to Bronson all on their own.

He looks at me, too. This time, he doesn’t look away or pretend like he was just glancing at his snare. Bronson keeps his friendly eyes on me, silently shifting to Chrissy, then back at me, a lingering question echoing in his irises.

Are you okay?

I smile and nod, signaling that everything is fine.

I open my planner, ignoring Chrissy’s warning.

8

JORDAN

Tonight, I’m having dinner with Paul Monroe, head of Midnite Music.

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