Page 30 of Hero on the Road
I didn’t know how I felt. But I didn’t know how he felt, either, and that was the part that was killing me. The tension between us was getting so thick I’d have to have a knife to cut through it, and he seemed intent on ignoring it.
“Olivia?” he said suddenly.
I jumped, realizing that I’d been daydreaming instead of listening to what he was actually saying. “Yeah? What?”
“I asked if you’re ready,” he said, making the face you make when you’ve asked someone something multiple times and they’ve yet to answer you.
“Oh. Right. Yeah, of course.”
We’d stopped in a place called Wolf Creek to get something to drink and see what we could do about money, because funds were definitely running short. The Mystery Tour was underfunded and in need of an income, and though this town seemed small, it had also been our best bet.
I turned away from the café where we’d been sipping water and looked up the street, trying to figure out whether we could do another sidewalk performance here. Those had been going well and had garnered at least a little bit of money, but we needed something bigger than the few dollars we got from that sort of thing.
Like an actual meal. Maybe even a real place to sleep. Because sleeping in the van was okay, but it was no five-star hotel.
We also needed to do some laundry and get more gas for the Mystery Mobile. And I could really do with a decent cup of coffee.
I gazed down the street, looking for a park or a driveway where we could set up, but didn’t see anything like it. Then I turned and looked across the street, to see if there was anything over there. I didn’t see a park, but I did see...
“A bar,” I said quietly. “Connor, there’s a bar right there.”
Bars had become our favorite place to perform, because they meant getting inside and out of the sun—or rain. Sometimes they even meant a meal.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.
I grinned. “I think I’m thinking exactly what you’re thinking.”
“Copycat,” he muttered. “As usual. Can’t even get your own thoughts.”
I smacked him in the arm. “You’re the one who asked if I was thinking what you were thinking!”
He gave me the grin I’d known was coming—man, I was getting good at reading him—and started across the street, motioning for me to follow. I ran after him, hoping that the bar had a steady stream of people going through and that they’d let us borrow their stage for the night. Looking up, I saw that there was a second story.
God, please let them have rooms up there too. Rooms that they would let us sleep in.
I never thought I’d pray for a bed and a real pillow, but here we were. I’d be quite willing to sing myself hoarse for such a thing.
I laughed at the thought, and Connor turned to stare at me like I’d lost my mind.
“What?” I asked. “I’m not allowed to laugh now?”
“You’re allowed to laugh, but only if you tell me what you're laughing about,” he replied. “Is it me?”
“It’s not,” I assured him. “I was laughing because there’s a second story up there, and if we’re lucky, they might actually give us rooms. Can you imagine? A room with a bed? I’d just about kill for it. Is that bad?”
He snorted and held his hand out. “Probably even worse if we’re both thinking it,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go play our butts off for some food and a bed.”
I slipped my hand into his and darted after him, chantingfood and bed, food and bedin my head as I went. I’d heard from Parker earlier this morning and she’d been full of warnings. Playing gigs outside of the tour was against the rules, as I’d feared. The contract was very specific about us only doing things the label had specifically planned for us. They didn't want us freelancing out here on the road. She’d warned me that we had to stop doing those extra shows, and that we were putting our contract at risk doing them.
She’d also said she was going to have Danny put more money into Connor’s account.
She’d noted that we shouldn’t have the blogger following us around, writing about everything we were doing, because Atomic was bound to stumble across the blog, realize that we were performing shows other than what they’d scheduled, and drop us.
But the funny thing was, I didn’t care.
I was tired and hungry and sick of sleeping in a van that, it turned out, didnothave a/c. But we were in this situation because Atomic had refused to spend money on the tour. They weren’t coming to save us and they weren’t letting Parker or Taylor or Avery save us, either.
So I seriously doubted they’d bother to keep track of anyone who might be writing about us, or figure out whether the rumors were true. They didn’t care enough about us to check on what we might be doing. And Connor and I were having too much fun doing it to stop.
