Page 11 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

Cassidy bursts out laughing, and even Kendrick chuckles. Sam, however, just grins like he’s enjoying every second of our verbal sparring.

“Fine,” he replies, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You win. I’ll be the best damn influencer you’ve ever seen. But only if you promise to post a few selfies, too.”

“Not a chance, I’m not a celebrity,” I reply, standing to clear the table.

Sam follows suit, carrying his plate into the kitchen. I try to ignore him, but the close proximity makes it impossible. He’s suddenly right next to me, too close for comfort, his arm brushing mine as he sets his dish in the sink.

“Emily,” he says quietly, his tone losing its usual edge.

I glance at him, caught off guard by the seriousness in his voice.

“Getting that endorsement is a big deal,” he says, his tone kinder than I’m used to. “For the band, I mean.”

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice is unexpected, and it throws me. This version of Sam—the one who looks at me like he actually sees me—is dangerous. Far more dangerous than his usual teasing self.

“Thanks,” I manage, my voice huskier than intended. We’re standing too close, the air between us charged with a year’s worth of unspoken words and secret glances.

He nods, his expression unreadable, and for a second, the tension between us shifts. It’s still there, but it feels different—less antagonistic, more like that electric moment before a storm breaks.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This is exactly what I can’t afford—these moments where I forget why keeping my distance is so important.

“Is there a point to this,” I ask, forcing irritation into my voice, “or are you just here to annoy me?”

His lips curve into that familiar smirk, but his eyes stay serious. “Can’t it be both?”

“Goodnight, Sam,” I say firmly, needing to escape before I do something stupid—like remember how those lips feel against mine.

“Sweet dreams, Boss Lady,” he replies softly, and I hurry away, my heels clicking against the floor, trying to ignore how my heart races, remembering just how sweet those dreams can be.

Four

Sam

The hum of the engine vibrates through the bus as we pull out of Jacksonville, heading toward Atlanta. The usual pre-tour excitement hums in the air, but my focus keeps shifting to the person sitting stiffly in the farthest corner of the couch—Emily, my wife.

She looks completely out of place. Too polished, too prim. She’s perched on the edge of her seat, pretending to focus on her tablet, but I can see the tension in her posture and the way her fingers hover over the screen without actually typing.

Leaning toward her, I ask casually, “Comfortable, Boss Lady?”

Her eyes snap up to meet mine, and she glares, which only makes me grin wider.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me that,” she says, her voice clipped.

“Nope, that’s not how I remember it,” I correct, leaning back in my seat and propping my feet arrogantly on the table between us. “You sure you’re up for this? The band bus isn’t exactly your style.”

“I’m fine,” she snaps, her tone daring me to challenge her.

I raise an eyebrow, letting my gaze drift to the pile of duffel bags and stray snack wrappers littering the floor. “You sure? Because it’s not too late to switch to the family bus. Cass would love to have you, and honestly, it’d be easier on all of us.” Especially me, I think silently.

Her eyes narrow, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.

“I don’t need your advice, Sam,” she says tightly. “I’m here to do my job, and I can do it just fine without your input.”

“Suit yourself,” I say with a shrug, though the thought of her sleeping in this bus just a few feet from me for the next week has my libido reacting in a way I’d rather not think about.

By the time we hit the highway, the bus feels even smaller than usual. Vince’s sprawled across one of the couches, strumming his guitar, while Luke and Nate argue over which fast-food place we should hit for lunch. Emily stays rooted in her corner, her back ramrod straight as she scrolls through her tablet, dismissing everything else.

I try to ignore her, but it’s impossible. Every time I glance her way, I’m reminded of that night in Vegas, how she looked at me when we said our 'I do’s', and later in bed…

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