Page 10 of Knot Guaranteed

I laugh, swiping a hand over my face. No, probably not. That’s the kind of shit they end up having to buy to squash when someone gets a video they shouldn’t have.

Tinley jolts, turning to face me as they head down the hallway toward the buses. “Thank you for the save earlier.” She gives me a timid smile. “I promise to try not to need any more rescues.”

Fuck, she’s entirely too naive to be anywhere near a Northern Star tour. She’s triggered my impulses too strongly to back down now.

I give her a nod and mentally remind myself to plan my shows around making sure she doesn’t cross paths with Carter,ever, under any circumstances.

Or Xavier.

Or Jack.

Or half of our fans.

So yeah, totally fucking feasible.

ChapterThree

Tinley

The bus is massive. I’ve never seen anything like it, but it still manages to feel cramped with four of us. There’s a large bedroom at the back of the bus, and although they all make it clear they’re fine with me taking it, I still opt for one of the four bunks.

I’m supposed to be essentially invisible on this tour. Take pictures, splice together some interview clips and videos, provide it all to their social media manager weekly, and job complete.

At the meet and greet, I overheard the guys from the other bus saying they use their bedroom as the groupie hookup spot. I probably shouldn’t take it up, just in case one of the guys wants to use it.

Fitz helped me get settled in my bunk last night before the buses took off.

We’re on one side of the hallway, and Ramsey and Warrick are on the other. For being fraternal twins, their personalities couldn’t be any more different. Their facial features and body types are eerily similar. They both have chiseled jaws, strong noses, and broad shoulders. But even from the little I’ve seen, it’s easy to tell Warrick is serious and stoic. He’s also the older of the two, if the article I read a few years ago was accurate.

Ramsey is playful and more energetic. He reminds me of a surfer, with the long blond hair and dude-bro vibe, but he’s been more than welcoming. He’s the easiest one of Northern Star to be around, but maybe that’s because he spent a few minutes last night making sure to reintroduce himself.

Warrick comes off as super intense. Combine that with how I made a fool of myself, and I kind of wish we could have ended up on different buses.

With a groan, I roll over in my bunk.

I replayed every nuance of our interaction over and over again last night. My instincts are a little obsessed with how growly and protective the whole thing seemed. I’m equally embarrassed, but what’s new?

I’m awkward by nature.

Thankfully, I only have to survive with these guys for two months. I can make it through two months of anything for what they’re paying me.

I have stage fright over peeing on the bus, at least when anyone else is on it. Unless my ears failed me, I think the guys headed out a while ago. I felt my bed shake as their voices followed them down the stairs. The television is on in the living room, and hopefully that will help cover the sound. I remember traveling with my grandparents in their RV when I was younger. There was no privacy at all.

It feels like now is my chance. My overfull bladder agrees it can’t be put off any longer.

I slide the curtain back and eye the distance to the floor. The top bunks have a slightly shallower height compared to the bottom ones. Being the smallest, I figured it wasn’t a bad plan to take the top.

Fitz tried to talk me out of it, and the reason why suddenly makes a lot more sense. I needed a helpful boost into my bed last night, and the ground seems ages away.

My thighs clench.

I don’t have any time to waste.

I roll over, planning to toss a leg down, but somehow, I get all tangled up in my fuzzy blanket. I squeal, frantically trying to grab on to anything solid. My pillows go flying as I lose the battle, rolling toward the ground. My arms fly out in front of me, but a warm, very nude chest collides with my face.

“Oh, fuck.” Ramsey slides around under me. His back hits the carpeted floor of the hallway as he pulls me down on top of him. I have no idea how it logistically happens, but I’m straddling his towel-covered pelvis, and my face ends up plastered to his muscular chest. “That was close, shortcake.” He gives me an easy grin as I push up, using his shoulders as leverage. “You almost face-planted. It wouldn’t have felt great from that height.”

I don’t know where the nicknameshortcakecame from, since my scent is more pumpkin-tinged. If we were giving each other nicknames based on scents, I’d probably call him something likegingerbreadormolasses. My head tilts as I realize I’m still all up on him.

---