Page 58 of Poetry By Dead Men
"I don’t think that’s a good idea. You wouldn't be comfortable. There's not enough space to spread out. Maybe we can still get a room somewhere?”
"Not comfortable? Isn't that where you sleep every night? You certainly look well rested." Harrison’s voice has a bite to it that I’m not comfortable with. If I know Harrison at all, he thinks he deserves this—a VIP, all-access backstage pass. A peek behind the curtain so he can go home and brag to his co-workers.
"I do, but it’s still Bobby's space. He doesn't really like having people on the bus." Maybe if I make it a general rule, instead of just about him, he won't get so offended.
"Bobby, huh? Seems like you two have gotten close." That lump of coal grows hotter, and I feel like I’m choking, but I push it down and force myself to swallow.
"Not really." I keep my voice light. "But that’s what everyone calls him. I must’ve picked it up."
"Hmph…" Our car arrives, and Harrison tosses his bag into the trunk while the driver opens the door for me.
"Tell him the address to the bus, Beth," Harrison orders as he climbs in beside me. There’s tension in his voice, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m shifting away from him a bit. He looks at me expectantly, and I know there’s no changing his mind.
"I think I should see where my girl has been spending all her time. Don’t you?" And though he smiles, it sounds like an accusation—but what is he accusing me of?
My blood heats. I didn’t want to come here, but Harrison forced my hand.He’sthe one who made me take this assignment. And now, what? He’s questioning what I’ve been doing with Bobby for the past couple weeks?
I reluctantly give the driver the address, somehow keeping my tone casual.
"See? Was that so hard?" Harrison grumbles, opening his phone and returning to his emails, so I pull up Bobby’s number on my own phone.
Me: I’m so sorry, but I have to bring Harrison by the bus.I type, then press send.
Bobby: We made a deal, Beth.His reply is instant.
Me: I know. And I’m sorry.
I don’t know what else to say. If I tell him Harrison’s just trying to mark his territory, it will only make Bobby hate him more.
Me: Just this once. It won’t happen again.
Bobby doesn’t answer for several minutes, but as we’re pulling in, I finally get a reply.
Bobby: Just this once. But if he's an ass, he’s gone. Got it?
I exhale in relief.
Me: He’ll be on his best behavior, I promise.
I press send on the text and slide my phone back into my pocket as we pull up next to the bus.
"Home Sweet Home," I say brightly, climbing out of the car. I might be all smiles and cheeriness on the outside, but inside, my stomach is churning, and I have to swallow down wave after wave of nausea. Harrison’s possessive hand on my lower back and the way he’s studying me makes me think he doesn’t plan on being on his best behavior at all.
Bobby’s the perfect gentleman as Harrison makes himself at home. After Harrison introduces himself to Johnny, who has his feet kicked up on the coffee table in a way I’m certain Bobby hates, he promptly asks if there’s anything to drink on board.
"Of course," Bobby says, grabbing him a scotch and settling into the chair across from us on the couch.
"So, Robert," Harrison says after taking a swig of his drink. “Is Elizabeth here doing her job up to your standards?"
Bobby smiles broadly. "I have no complaints," he says. “Thanks for letting me borrow her. I’m sure you’ve missed her since she’s been gone."
"Boy, have I. You know, I never realized how much I detested going to all those functions alone." Harrison takes another long sip.
"I'm sure," Bobby says under his breath, appearing to fight against rolling his eyes, but Harrison doesn’t seem to catch it.
He takes another swig. “Nice bus, man." Harrison looks around. "Little dated, though."
"Harrison!" I scold, bristling.
