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"Well, it's not like the movies. That's for sure," I answer.
"How so?"
"For one, there’s not a horde of groupies riding along. Secondly, no one is doing blow off the countertops." I'm only sort of kidding about that last one.
Ryan laughs. "Nah, no blow. Just pot occasionally. You really thought there would be groupies with us?"
I shrug. "I mean, maybe. That night, backstage? There wasn't exactly a shortage of them."
He takes a bite of the granola bar. "That's different. Shows are a whole different world. In here, we're just the same guys we were before getting signed. We like keeping those worlds separate."
I shift a little, turning so I can see his face. "How long have you guys known each other?"
"Shit, I've known Gareth since we were kids. We grew up on the same street. Neil moved to our hometown during junior year, and we adopted him into the group. We started playing in his garage and slowly working our way up to real gigs. For a while, it was just the three of us. We planned some half-assed tour to try and get our big break but ended up just playing a bunch of shit-hole bars for a few weeks. That's how we met Ant."
Ryan's sudden openness with me is nice, and all I want is for him to keep talking. I could listen to him all day.
"We set up to play at a dive bar in Oklahoma. This kid with crazy hair and wild eyes jumped on stage and asked if he could be our drummer for the night. We said what the hell and the rest is history. He loaded up in our van with us the next day and has been with us ever since."
I smile, picturing his memory. "That's an incredible story. Look at you now."
"Yeah, life is funny like that sometimes. Truth is, none of us ever expected we'd make it in this business. We just got lucky; I guess." He crumbles up the wrapper from the granola bar and puts it into my empty yogurt cup. "What about you? What's your story."
"I don't really have one. I figured out pretty young what I wanted to do with my life, and I dedicated most of my time to getting to where I am now. I live with my best friend, Alyssa, in a small apartment. We met in college, though she never graduated. She wants to be an actress. We're like yin and yang, but it works." My story pales in comparison to the rags-to-riches tale he just shared.
When he rises from the booth to throw away the remnants of our breakfast, I take the opportunity to stretch my arms above my head. Apparently, my shirt rises just enough for him to see the faint yellowing bruises that still remain from my encounter at the club and it stops him in his tracks. Within seconds he is back at my side, sliding my shirt up so he can examine them.
"Fuck, you still have those marks?" His calloused fingers graze my skin, and my breath hitches in my throat.
I want to push him away, but this closeness is intoxicating.
"It's not a big deal. They're almost healed." I say quietly.
To be honest, I haven't spoken about what happened since that night. The whole ordeal was humiliating.
"Yeah, well, I should have killed that motherfucker for touching you," he grits through his teeth.
I slide my shirt back down, covering the marks. I think he will pull away, but instead, he takes my cheek in his hand. "If some shit like that happens on this tour, you tell me. Okay? I won't always be able to watch you, but if anyone screws with you, I want to know about it."
Unsure of what to say, I nod. His hand rests there, and when he uses his thumb to brush a stray strand of hair from in front of my eyes, I almost come apart at the seams.
Our breathing has intensified, and I know he feels it too. This strange flash of electricity seems to spark whenever we touch.
Just when I think everything is about to burst around us, that this magnetic pull is milliseconds away from causing us to crash our lips together, a groan from the sofa snaps us back to reality.
Ryan's hand jerks away from my face, and just as quickly as it began, the moment is over.
Wayne's mountain of a body shifts on the sofa, his weight causing it to creak. "What time is it? Why are you assholes up?"
"Sorry man, Ant was snoring loud enough to raise the dead," Ryan says, apologizing to the bodyguard.
He gets up from the table and finally tosses our trash into the bin.
The sudden distance between us brings me back to my senses.
What the hell are you thinking? He just slept with Katarina, he doesn’t want you and YOU don’t want him… right?
I am here to do a job, not swoon over the most unavailable man on the planet. My job, I remind myself, is the reason I'm even on this damn bus to begin with.
