Page 49 of Four More The Merrier

Jarron drains his coffee and stretches, his muscles flexing in an unconscious display. "Well, since you're moving in, Quinn, there's one critical rule you need to know." He pauses for dramatic effect. "I always get my first shower. Non-negotiable."

"Oh lord, here we go," I mutter into my mug.

Quinn raises an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

"Because by the third person, it's like bathing in arctic runoff." Jarron shudders. "Ask Austen. Last week he screamed like a kid at his first rodeo when the cold hit him."

"I did not scream," Austen protests, his cheeks reddening. "It was more of a... manly yelp."

"Manly yelp?" Beau snorts. "Is that what we're calling it? Because I distinctly remember hearing something that sounded like a startled chipmunk."

Quinn's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter as she plates more eggs. "So what you're saying is, I should wake up extra early?"

"Don't you dare," Jarron warns, pointing his fork at her. "I've perfected my shower timing down to the minute. Seven-fifteen sharp."

"Unless he's hungover," I add helpfully. "Then all bets are off."

"Which is exactly why I installed that waterproof speaker in there," Austen chimes in. "Nothing gets his ass moving like blasting Dolly Parton at full volume."

"You wouldn't," Jarron gasps, clutching his chest in mock horror.

Quinn grins wickedly. "Nine to five?"

"Islands in the Stream," Austen corrects with an equally devious smile. "On repeat."

"I'm surrounded by traitors," Jarron moans, slumping dramatically in his seat. "Next thing you know, they'll be telling you about the rubber duck incident."

"What now?" Quinn perks up, interest sparking in her eyes.

"Nope!" Jarron jumps up from the table. "That story dies with us. I'm taking my shower now, while I still have some dignity left."

24

QUINN

The smell of coffee drifts through the tour bus as I pour myself a second cup. Lyle appears in the kitchenette doorway, his band tee wrinkled from sleep.

"Got enough for your favorite drummer?"

"Depends. Is Ringo Starr coming by?" I pass him a steaming mug.

"Ouch. That hurts, Quinn." He clutches his chest dramatically. "Speaking of hurt feelings, want to help me with a mission today?"

I lean against the counter. "What kind of mission are we talking about?"

"The kind that involves sneaking a Christmas tree onto this metal tube we call home without the grinches noticing."

"A tree?" My eyebrows shoot up. "Where would we even put it?"

"Corner by the TV. Come on, it'll be fun. Plus, this place needs some holiday spirit that isn't just Jarron's whiskey collection."

"I don't know..." I glance around the bus. "Won't they be pissed?"

"Nah, they'll pretend to be for about five minutes. Then Austen will start hanging his underwear on it as ornaments or something." Lyle grins. "There's this little tree farm just outside town. We can grab something small."

"And by small you mean...?"

"Charlie Brown-esque. Nothing too fancy." He takes a sip of coffee.

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