Page 59 of Four More The Merrier

He groans, his hand tracing idle patterns on my skin. "Do we have to? I mean, the world outside this room is full of critics and deadlines."

"True," I say, chuckling softly. "But it's also full of nosy bandmates who might decide to get inspired and barge in here."

Austen sighs, rolling onto his back. "Fine, but only because I don't want to explain to Jarron why we're naked in the sound room."

"Or worse," I add with a smirk, "he'd want a detailed play-by-play."

He laughs, the sound vibrating through the room. "Yeah, that's definitely not happening." He gets up and starts gathering his clothes, throwing my dress over with a practiced flick of his wrist.

I slip it back on, feeling a little awkward but also exhilarated. "So," I say as I zip up the back of my dress, "what's our cover story?"

Austen looks at me, one eyebrow raised. "Cover story? We're adults. We don't need a cover story."

"Yeah," I say with mock seriousness, "adults who sneak around like teenagers trying not to get caught."

He grins and pulls me into a quick kiss. "Alright then. We were...uh...discussing creative differences?"

"Over candlelight and moonlit serenades?" I tease.

"Exactly," he says, winking at me as he buttons up his flannel shirt.

We make our way out of the sound room and down the hallway, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The dim lights cast long shadows on the walls, making it feel like we're part of some covert operation.

As we reach the door leading back to the main part of the bus area, Austen stops and turns to me. "You know," he says softly, "we don't have to keep this a secret forever."

"I know," I reply, squeezing his hand. "But for now, let's just keep it between us."

"Agreed," he says with a smile that makes my heart flutter all over again.

We step outside into the chilly night air, and I shiver slightly. Austen immediately wraps an arm around me, pulling me close as we walk back toward the bus.

"Thanks for tonight," I say quietly.

"Anytime," he replies. "And I mean that."

As we approach the bus, we can see faint light seeping through the curtains of one of the windows. Someone's awake.

"Great," I mutter under my breath.

Austen squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. "Relax. Just act natural."

We step inside the bus to find Lyle sprawled out on one of the couches with an acoustic guitar in hand, strumming softly. He looks up at us and smirks.

"Well, well," Lyle drawls, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look who's back from their 'creative differences' discussion."

"Hey Lyle," Austen says smoothly. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Nah," Lyle replies nonchalantly as he continues strumming. "Had a melody stuck in my head." He glances at me with a knowing look but doesn't push further.

I offer him a small smile and head towards my bunk. As I settle in under the covers, feeling both exposed and exhilarated by our secret moment together, Austen catches my eye one last time before heading to his own bunk.

Lyle's guitar strumming fades into background noise as sleep starts to claim me. Despite everything—the stress of touring, dealing with Jarron and Austen's antics—I can't help but feel like things are finally falling into place.

For now at least.

But I'll take it one note at a time.

28

---