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“Who pissed in his Cheerios?” Neil asks as he exits the bus.
“Who knows,” Ant responds with a shrug. “Maybe that brunette with the big tits didn’t put out.”
“You’re disgusting,” Olivia chides, and I shake my head.
“Only kidding!” He holds up his hands in mock defeat.
Picturing Ryan cozying up to someone else backstage makes my cheeks heat, and my stomach turns, but I know where he ended up.
In my bed, with me.
I may not have put out, as Ant so grossly described it, but he seemed more than satisfied when he left.
Something was bothering him, and from how icy that interaction felt, it was something more substantial than whether or not he fucked someone. Sure I’ve seen him get pissed off, but I’ve never seen him look sad.
Those eyes that normally glitter seem dull and lifeless, and the bags under his eyes make it clear that he didn’t get much sleep after he left me.
I wish I could go to him. Ask him what’s wrong and be there for him…
But I can’t. I can’t march onto that bus and console him without opening the door for an endless barrage of questions from everyone else.
That would cross those invisible but very present professional boundaries.
Was it something I did?
I hate being that girl and instantly wondering if his bad mood had something to do with me, but that’s where my mind is going. It’s hard to resist that path when I don’t really have anything else to go off of.
It also makes me realize that even though the two of us have been getting pretty damn close behind closed doors, we really don’t know anything about each other. Sure, I obviously know what Ryan does for work, and what he likes to drink, how he takes his burgers. But he’s never opened up much.
I distantly hear my name and register that Gareth has still been talking to me.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Someone is distracted all of a sudden,” he nudges me in the shoulder with a closed fist.
My eyes train back onto the open door of the bus.
“I just zoned out, sorry.” I force a tight smile.
We stand outside the bus while the guys wait to board.
There is a long drive to Nampa, and now that I’m no longer making the journey on the bus, it means I’ll have to wait to talk to him.
Olivia and I shared an SUV, and thankfully she spent the drive listening to an audiobook with her headphones in. That gave me the opportunity to sleep for some of the trip without feeling guilty for not talking to her. During the second half of the drive, I spent most of it catching up on emails and touching base with the home office.
When I finally got into the hotel room the first thing on the agenda is a long, hot shower to wash away the road trip grime. Next on the agenda? Getting something to eat that doesn’t come from a fucking gas station.
???
I sat at the bar in the hotel lobby and waited for the man working behind it to acknowledge me. The show was great, and they filled every seat in the auditorium. I decided not to stick around for the post-show festivities. For the most part, it’s because I’m too anxious. I haven’t spoken to Ryan since the small exchange before he boarded the tour bus, and he made it abundantly clear then that he wasn’t in the mood to be bothered by anyone.
Including me.
The bartender finishes up with the other patrons and walks toward me.
“Looks like you could use a drink; what can I get you?”
I smile tightly. “Just a vodka cranberry, please.”
