when you say that, do I imagine disguises, and white carnations?’
‘Because it’ll be fun. We’ll dress up. I’ll wear glasses and a trilby, and we can leave each other coded messages. Doesn’t that sound more romantic than being holed up on a tour bus with a dozen sweaty men?’
Maybe it did. She liked the idea of him in a trilby, and maybe a pinstriped suit. Then again, she wasn’t averse to the notion of being confined with several heavy rock stars, except maybe it was possible to overdose on man candy, and she had to remember she wasn’t a free agent any more.
‘OK, maybe it’s starting to sound interesting. So, where does our first tryst take place?’
‘On the Chunnel. I’m sure we can find a quiet spot. Then in Paris, after that. I’ll send you all the details.’
Ginny nodded. She still couldn’t quite squash the disappointment over not going with him tonight, but at least she had something to look forward to. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something, and that something was better than the possibility of them not being together at all.
She entwined her arms around his middle and breathed in deeply the smell of his skin. ‘You know, if we’re going to be apart for that long, I think I need to say goodbye to you some more before you go.’
‘I’m totally with you on that.’ He lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. ‘Phone me every night, even if we’ve already spoken a million times that day. I want your voice to be the last thing I hear before I sleep.’
She nipped at the faint trace of stubble lining his jaw. ‘What makes you think I’m going to let you sleep? If I’m calling you last thing at night it won’t be to sing you a lullaby.’
‘No?’ He wrinkled his brows as if in disappointment. ‘What will it be for?’
‘To torture the fuck out of you with my dirty thoughts, of course.’
‘You’re going to talk dirty to me?’ She heard the catch of excitement in this throat. ‘Babe,’ he purred, ‘you’re way too good to me.’
Paris, France.
Dinner had seemed like such a good idea when Spook had suggested it. Seriously, what wasn’t to like about the idea of decent food, in a nice restaurant, and someone else footing the bill? However, that had been before the adrenalin rush of the Paris gig had worn off, and he’d had to talk Iain down from the rafters. Ash didn’t recall Iain being quite so big a diva when they’d played together in the past. Apparently these days he didn’t take criticism at all well. He was rather peeved himself that Iain had screwed up ‘Fatal Error’, since it was normally a major crowd-pleaser, but he’d had to bite his tongue, given that the rest of the band were already seething and they couldn’t actually afford to give him the boot, or see him walk. Without a drummer, the whole tour would collapse, and none of them could afford for that to happen. This perhaps explained why they were all tolerating his motor-mouthed yapping too. Iain had hardly paused for breath in the last forty minutes and Ash was beginning to suspect he’d taken something, but he sure as hell didn’t want to suggest that at the dinner table, because it’d be an instant tour-killer.
And, if he was being honest, he needed this tour. Touring was easy, it made life ridiculously simple: they drove about, they played gigs, he ate, slept and fucked. It wasn’t real, and it wasn’t complicated. He didn’t want to deal with real life right now. Reality was a total screw-up.
Xane leaned towards him, his long black hair falling forward to shroud his angular face. ‘If he doesn’t shut his trap soon, I swear I’m going to throw something at him.’
Ash caught Xane’s wrist as he reached for a bread roll. Although he was relieved it was only food missiles Xane was considering – there were steak knives on the table.
‘He’s nervous, is all. Iain always talks when he’s nervous.’ Not entirely true, but he needed to find some explanation for Iain’s behaviour. ‘Give him a chance to settle in. It’s only been a few days, and you did all lay into him when we came off stage tonight.’
Actually, they’d all given him hell every night since the tour began, nearly a week ago.
Xane withdrew his hand, but rolled his eyes at the notion that they’d given Iain a hard time. ‘What the fuck were you thinking, Ash? He’s so wrong for us, it’s depressing.’
‘He’s a drummer. That makes him perfect for us.’
Xane gave him the sort of look that would have made anyone else wither. Ash refused to shrivel.
‘He pisses me off – deliberately.’
‘That’s a bit of an overstatement. He messed up one song, Xane. And I hardly think he did it deliberately. Why would he? We’re his ticket into the big league.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe that’s my issue. I don’t like freeloaders hanging off my coat-tails.’
‘So work him harder.’
Xane smiled grimly. ‘Oh, I will. Don’t worry about that.’
‘Whose phone’s vibrating?’ Spook asked, his native Swedish lilt coming through, a sure indication that he was stressed. The rest of the conversation around the table had stopped.
‘Heck, mine.’ Ash fished the damn thing out of his pocket and swiped a finger across the dimmed screen to waken it. It was a little late in the evening for his mum to be calling; she’d be in bed with one of her beloved mystery novels by now. There were only two other people with his number and one of them, Spook, was sitting next to him.
You never told me what a nice guy your driver is. Ginny’s message flashed up.
Shit! Ginny. What with one thing after another post show, the fact he was meant to meet her had completely slipped his mind. Although, hang on. He checked the time. He wasn’t due at the Arc de Triomphe until midnight. Why was she texting him now?
Where are you? He typed and hit send.
On your bunk. Flicking through your porn.
Really, where are you?
Your bunk.
She couldn’t really be on the tour bus. Troels, their driver, wouldn’t let her on. OK, he might, depending on what Ginny had said, and if he believed he was doing Ash a favour. It wasn’t as if the band’s resident Cave Troll hadn’t sneaked a girl or two on board in the past for him.
Why don’t you come and check if you don’t believe me? It’s all quiet here, no one’s home. It’s just me and a lot of empty beds. Whose do you think we should try out first?
Ash shot to his feet.
Maybe Xane’s? No. Spook’s. We can rumple all his neat edges and give his mattress springs a workout. It’ll be the only action they ever see if your assertions he’s celibate are to be believed.
‘Ginny,
