Page 81 of Reverb
“Nah. Domino’s got an acoustic on the band bus. That’s what they use when they’re writing new songs. I hear Mish tends to sing the bass part, and Zavier can drum on any damn thing and make it sound sweet.” He shook his head, then eyed David. “You hooking up with Mish?”
The parking lot was bright enough David had no doubt Travis saw him blanch. “Yeah. She asked me to ride with them to Philly.”
Travis smiled and held up his fist for a bump. “Good. She needs someone to make her happy.” He paused. “And to look after her.” He waved a hand at the band bus. “She takes care of the whole damn band, you know? Those guys are like her brothers, and she’ll stand against the world for ’em.”
“It’s all pretty mutual.” David stared at the band bus.
“Still. Good that she wants you there.”
He considered that. “Does that happen a lot?”
Travis cackled. “God, no. Mish fooled around with people, don’t get me wrong. But you’re the first she’s ever asked to ride with her and the band.” He sobered. “I’ve seen her watching you, my man. There’s no mistakingthatlook.”
“What look?”
He shrugged. “The same look she gets every time she’s on a stage.”
Oh shit. “I better get my bag.”
Travis nodded solemnly, then headed back toward the venue.
David bounded up the stairs of the bus, greeted the driver, threw together his bag, and headed to the other bus. That driver regarded him. “Joining us?”
“Yeah, looks like.”
She grunted as if that had been expected. Which seemed like it had, for everyone but him.
When he got back to the venue, it was time for the signing. That was a whirlwind. David stood near Mish and kept a sharp eye on the fans, but nothing bad happened—only good. Fans sharing their stories. Beaming. Some crying. All the joy in the world.
The band was in that giddy stage of tired by the time they boarded the buses. David sank down onto a couch. They were all wiped out from the Boston show. Band, crew, Adrian. Even Marcella had the glassy-eyed look they all shared. Too much adrenaline, plus the stress of the morning, coupled with the absolute joy that had been that show.
“I need a fucking beer,” he murmured, mostly to himself.
Domino—Dom—rooted around in the fridge and pulled out several beers. “Mish, you doing beer or wine tonight?”
“I could really use a shot of whiskey. But a beer will do.” She leaned against David, her hand on his thigh.
Adrian rose from his seat, reached into his berth and pulled out a hip flask. “Why not both?”
“Adrian, you brilliant man, you.” Mish held out both hands, and he tossed the flask. “Got a shot glass?”
“Nah. I figure if one of you gets sick, we’re all getting it anyway.”
“Shut your mouth, Adrian Doran,” Dom said. “No one is getting sick.”
Ray laughed. “I wouldn’t worry. No one’s ever gotten sick on our tours!”
“Shut it, Ray,” Dom said. “You know that’s not true.”
“Eh.” He waved Dom’s words away. “Nothing more than a small cold.”
God, these people. “Are they always like this?”
Zavier took one of the offered beers. “After a show like this? Yup.”
Cold glass touched David’s arm. “Endorphins,” Dom said. “An hour after we’re on the road, we’ll all be crashed out and snoring.”
“Except me, because I don’t fucking snore,” Mish said.
