Page 33 of Wicked Truths

I want to snarl at him to get the fuck out, especially since Oakley is a little too interested in studying his physique.

I turn around to handle the stove, and when I glance back, she’s gone. “Motherfucker.”

“I’d love some if you’re offering,” Liam says, nodding to the burned-to-hell eggs.

“What part of that indicated I give a fuck if you’re hungry?” I scoff.

“Don’t be cranky with me because Marky is laying the pipe to the woman you’re lusting after.” He pushes himself up to sit on the counter. “I’m starting to get a very distinct picture. It’s no wonder she went for him. He’s the only one who’s upfront with her about anything. People value the truth.” I growl, scraping the eggs out of the pan and tossing them on a plate. “Right, so can I get a sandwich?”

I turn around, giving him a look that should indicate I wish he’d drop dead where he sits. “You can starve for all I care.”

“Don’t be shitty with me because I spoke the truth. You should try it sometime. I can guarantee it’ll get you farther than hiding things. Thatalwayscomes off as shady. Always.”

“Yeah, I fucking got it,” I growl.

“Good,” he says, his head bobbing up and down. “I’ll take one without mayo.”

I scoff, but the fucker is right. It also wouldn’t hurt to have an ally on the tour bus since we’re leaving within days, so I make the asshole a sandwich, shoving it on the counter next to him.

“Thank you.” He smirks, grabbing the plate.

I’m not gaining any traction at fitting in around here by being a dick, so I make Oakley and Marcus breakfast sandwiches and toss them labeled into the microwave.

Did Marcus get a burned egg?

Absolutely, but he’ll live.

ChapterEleven

Oakley

The next few days are pure insanity.

We have to see a doctor and have full checkups before we can sign the final contract. It’s not a huge multi-album deal, but my lawyers assured me it’s a fair intro contract.

The night before we have the final signing, my dad spends the better part of an hour on the phone trying to talk me out of it.

I think it’s possible I get some of my stubbornness from him because, even though I love him, everything he says seems to go in one ear and out the other.

I’m far too excited to make my dreams a reality to let any of his partially valid points rain on my parade.

We pack up all our belongings from the penthouse and tour personnel come to transport it to the buses the night before we leave.

I wake up alone the next morning, which is unusual because Marcus has been finding his way into my bed more and more often. It’s strange to admit, but I do think I would’ve been less anxious if we had spent the morning together.

By the time we make it to the bus meet up location, my nerves are officially shot.

The tour bus is extravagant, but I’m not complaining. I’m in freaking awe that we get something like this to ourselves.

It’s all one level with the driver’s hub to the right when you enter, and an all-in-one living room and kitchen to the left. Past that in the same direction is the bathroom and four bunks with two on each side. They’re nearly the size of a twin bed and they have curtains for privacy.

“Looks like you lucked out by getting your own room, pretty girl.” Marcus tosses an arm around my shoulder, guiding me back toward the sliding door. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Sullivan and Liam are with the roadies getting their equipment situated. I was a little paranoid handing off my guitar, but I think it’s just first-tour nerves.

Marcus grabs the door panel with a tattooed finger and slides it open. It’s not huge, but the bus has finite space, and it’s more than enough room for me.

There’s a small walkway around the bed on the three sides, and as I step inside, I get a better view of the wall to the left and right of the door. It has floor-to-ceiling cabinets for a closet.

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