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My body stiffens as I wonder if I received another package. “Did something happen?”
“Sy…” He clears my real name from his throat and pulls me to a quiet corner and his eyes dart around. “Sky, calm down. Nothing happened. He’s running checks, inspecting and scanning everything to make sure it’s safe. Not that I already did that,” he says sarcastically. “It seems he doesn’t trust me these days.”
His joking tone helps calm my frazzled nerves. “Nice catch,” I quip about his slip with my name.
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. That’ll take a little time to get used to.”
“Here you go, Sky.” I turn around to Demi, the backstage concierge, handing me water. Stone grabs it before I can, inspects the clear liquid and the lid before twisting it open. The seal breaks, which is enough reassurance for me.
“Where did this come from?” he demands. Demi’s green eyes widen at the abrupt question. I snatch the water out of his hands and roll my eyes. Stone’s jaw tightens.
“Chill, Stone. It’s fine.” I turn toward Demi and smile. “Thanks, Demi.”
“You’re welcome. And just so you’re aware, I got it from the barrel of water over there.” She points to a rolling barrel and then pins her eyes on Stone, squaring her shoulders. “The same place I grab all the waters for everyone.”
In a slothful move, I bring the bottle to my parched mouth and stare at Stone while I take a painstakingly slow drink, all while trying not to laugh. Everyone got the memo that anything delivered to me needs to go through security first, but this is a little extreme. It’s water. I drink water all night and while I am more cautious about who hands me things; I trust Demi.
When she walks away, Stone leans into me and says, “Don’t be naïve just because you like someone.”
“I’m not,” I huff. “Stone, I can’t live in fear of everyone. I was driving myself insane this week. I’m around hundreds of people every day. I’ve worked too hard to become a strong, independent woman for someone to rip that away from me in the blink of an eye. He’d have to tamper with all the waters in that barrel if that was the way he wanted to get to me.”
Stone releases a heavy breath, softening his intense gaze. “I know how hard you’ve worked.” He crosses his arms, tilting his head. “But why do you assume it’s a male?”
I contemplate it for a beat and can’t really come up with a valid reason. “I just assumed, I guess. Aren’t stalkers usually men?”
He bobs his head a couple times. “Statistically, yes. But there are some catty bitches out there, so you can’t rule out the female population.”
My body deflates with the new revelation. I never imagined it was a woman. The new fear wraps around my spine, just as Zoe walks up. “Hey Sky, let’s get you touched up before you head back out.” I stare at her, my mind reeling with our past encounters. Did I ever piss you off? Have you ever seemed upset with me? Would you be able to kill someone? She waves her hand in front of my empty stare. “Sky?” I shake the thoughts from my head.
“Sorry. Yes, I’m ready.”
Dammit. Just when I had control back.
* * *
My imagination hasn’t stopped the full throttle of females that could be out to get me as I stomp on the bus. I head straight to the back. The guys have already figured out I’m not in the mood. I don’t even care they assume it’s that time of the month.
Jerking to a stop at the door leading into my space, I stare at the large man sitting at the table, working on his computer. He glances up at me and smiles. No. He can’t be this close to me—all night.
“Max,” I murmur. “Why are you in my room? Or even on the bus?”
The bus shakes to life as the engine turns. I jerk around. No, don’t go—we have a stowaway.
“What did you think would happen when you demanded you stay on the bus versus flying to your next concert?”
It wasn’t this!
Blowing out a hard breath as I turn back, I toss my bag on the couch that wraps around the back of the bus in a U-shape. My butt hits the hard bottom frame from the impact of dropping onto the cheap cushion. I sigh in defeat.
“Sooo, this is cozy.”
He nods, glancing around the room. “It’s actually nice. It’s the first time I’ve been on a tour bus,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm.
“I’d give you a tour, but you had it walking all the way back here. To my room. Passing the multiple places you could have sat and done work.”
He leans forward, his fingers laced on the tabletop. Silence hangs between us, and I fidget under his scrutinizing stare, shifting one leg over the other. Finally, he calmly says, “I needed privacy, and everyone was coming on the bus soon. But me being back here isn’t what has you acting like a bitch. So, what’s wrong?”
My gaze jerks to his as his words shoot spikes to my raw nerves. “If you really want to know, calling me a bitch isn’t the way to get it.” He shrugs but stays quiet. I don’t expect a sorry to be crossing his lips — especially when it’s true. I fold in half, covering my face with my hands. I’m the one that should be apologizing.
