Page 12 of Extended Bridge

If only my heart would get the message.

Chapter Four

The car stops in front of a swanky hotel, where the band’s manager stands at the curb with a luggage trolley. “It was a pleasure driving you, Miss. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you so much. You made this ride a lot more pleasant than I anticipated.” The driver’s funny stories sure distracted me.

He tips the brim of his New York Yankees baseball cap. “I’ll help unload your bags.”

Luke opens my door as blood pumps through my body at an increasing tempo. I inhale the distinctive city smell of Manhattan. I can do this—practice physical therapy like I’ve been trained. Doesn’t matter if my patient were a schoolteacher from Aroostook or one of the biggest rock stars on the planet. Heal him, collect my honest fee, and return to my life. Nothing. More.

I step out of the car, watching the two men load my few mismatched bags onto the trolley. My life contained in two large suitcases and a carry-on. The driver wishes me well and drives away, leaving me with Luke. Well, I guess I am the hired help.

Plastering a smile on my face, I say, “Thanks for coming out to meet me, Luke, but I don’t want to be a bother.” I lift my hand,palm up. “If you could please give me my key, I’ll push my luggage into the room and be out of your hair.” Which is darker than Bennett’s by a couple of shades, and much longer, touching his shoulders.

“Oh no, B would have my head if he thought I made you push your own luggage.” He waves off the doorman and positions himself behind the trolley. “Besides, you have to check in. They wouldn’t give me your room key.”

His honesty causes me to giggle. My hand slaps across my mouth. “Sorry. Totally not funny.”

Luke pushes the luggage cart in the front door. “I know you’re not laughing at my being your bag boy.” He makes a turn and grabs my carry-on before it hits the floor.

Something about this man dealing with my luggage is giggle worthy. “Absolutely not.” I smother another giggle.

“Well, it is sort of funny. But don’t get used to it. From now on, you’re responsible for getting your luggage in and out of the bus.”

The use of the word “bus” stops me in my tracks. “Will the bus be like last time?”

“Buses,” he clarifies. “The band has two buses, but Bennett usually rides alone. The crew share a few buses among the roadies, sound techs, instrument techs. You’ll be on one of those.”

I relax. I’m not expected to be on Bennett’s bus—I can’t believe hede factogets one all to himself. I stop myself from wondering why. “Sounds good. I’ll only need one bag at a time, and depending on the schedule, I may be able to get by with only the carry-on.”

We stop and Luke catches said carry-on from falling again. “Sounds like a plan.”

He escorts me to the registration desk where I get my key, and we make our way to the elevators. While we wait, I ask, “Where is Bennett? I need to give him some PT before tonight’s concert.”

“We have a few hours before showtime.” Luke checks his watch. “Impressive. You lasted ten whole minutes before asking about our lead singer.”

My spine snaps straight. The elevator dings and we enter. “The only reason I’m here at all is to give him physical therapy.”

I swear he mutters, “Have you run that by B?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” The elevator stops at my floor and we approach my room. After pressing my card against the keypad, the door opens and I let Luke push the cart into the room.

“Thank you. I’ll unpack from here—we’re staying in this hotel two more nights?”

He pulls out his cell. “Yes. I’ll let B know your room number.”

“You don’t have to do that. I noticed the hotel has a gym. Can you ask him to meet me there in thirty?”

“Of course, I live to be his personal secretary.” He smiles to lessen the sting of his words, but message received that I’ll be doing my own scheduling from now on. After sending a text, Luke leaves me alone.

My first order of business is to set my alarm for the gym. Next, I wander around the sterile hotel room. Nothing fancy, just a bed, television, closet, bathroom, and a longish counter hosting the television on top and some drawers plus a fridge beneath. I bet Bennett has the presidential suite, complete with a bedroom complete with an en suite bathroom, a living room, and kitchen.Not that I’ll ever find out.With efficient movements, I unpack three days’ worth of outfits and change into leggings for the gym.

Someone knocks on my door. Bennett couldn’t wait another ten minutes? I open the door prepared to tell him to meet me in the gym.

Only it’s not Bennett.

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