Page 72 of Crimson Desires

As the bus pulled back onto the street, Aster’s eyelids fluttered shut. She arranged herself on the bus seats so that her head was propped up on my thighs. I rested my hand over her chest protectively, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her body as she slept.

Curled up like this, Aster reminded me of a kitten.

Her expression was in a rare state of relaxation. Her eyebrows lacked their usual furrow, her soft lips were slightly parted, and her breath was steady. I felt the strong urge to protect her—to keep her safe from whatever dangers lie beyond the safe walls of the tour bus.

Aster slept peacefully for two hours. When she woke, she made a high-pitched noise at the back of her throat that melted my heart.

“How was your nap, flower girl?” I asked.

Aster inhaled sharply through her nose. “Really good. Your thighs are so fucking comfy, Jack.”

For the remaining hour of the bus ride, I looked over Aster’s shoulder as she scrolled through social media. We didn’t talk much, except to comment on a post every so often. Yet somehow, I felt like the casualness between us was more significant than any deep conversation could have been.

By the time we arrived at the Credit One Stadium in Charleston, it was noon.

Since the rest of the band wouldn’t be arriving until at least three, I decided to make myself useful. I helped Aster lug the merch crates to her station and kept her company as she set up. As she did, I scrolled through my phone to see if there was anything interesting that we could do in the city before the tour bus arrived.

Immediately, something caught my eye. A tattoo convention—and not far from the venue, either.

As a touring artist, I rarely got the chance to explore the cities that I performed in. Every now and again, the venue’s marketing team was kind enough to schedule a media opportunity for me at one of the city’s best museums or eateries—and even still, in those cases, I was still technically working—but most of the time, it was too cumbersome to invest in the security necessary for me to properly explore.

But I’d prepared for this. In the bag I’d brought along with me, I’d packed the disguise that Aster had purchased for me back in Raleigh.

Excusing myself to the restroom, I put on my disguise. The hoodie, sweatpants, and mask were sure to kill me in the South Carolina heat—but hopefully, once we got inside the convention center, there would be enough air conditioning to compensate for it.

Axel texted me while I was in the bathroom changing. The tour bus had been fixed and was headed to Charleston. They were set to arrive in a few hours.

Perfect.

When I returned to the merch table, Aster raised her eyebrows.

“Vincent. Long time no see,” Aster said, calling back to my fake stage name.

I grinned beneath my mask. “Come on, flower girl. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Where are we going?” Aster asked, leaving the merch table.

I winked. “It’s a surprise.”

Aster frowned. “I hate surprises.”

“Don’t worry. I think you’ll like this one.”

Chapter Seventeen

Aster

Jack was right. I did like his surprise.

I’d never been to a tattoo convention before. There were a few that had passed through Boston, but they always fell on workdays. And Greg would have sooner fired me than allowed me to call off for a tattoo convention.

The convention center was nice and breezy. Jack, in his dense clothes, seemed to appreciate the air conditioning. Still, even with the AC, I noticed him adjusting the mask several times to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“If I’d known that you’d be wearing that mask more than once, I would’ve gotten you a more comfortable one,” I said apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Jack assured me. “I’m anonymous with this mask. That’s the biggest comfort I could ever ask for.”

My lip quirked upward. I couldn’t help but love Jack’s positivity. As we walked into the convention center, I reached for his hand.

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