"Sleeping." His voice sounds as exhausted as he looks, the air whooshing from the gray leather bench as he sinks into a seat across from me. His elbows come to rest heavy on his knees, and he rubs his fingers roughly over his eyes. "She fell asleep after . . ." He trails off, shaking his head to himself. I don't need him to finish the end of that sentence, and I'm glad when he doesn't. "It might be a while."
I should ask if she drank too much, or if she's safe sleeping alone on the other bus. But as I stare across the aisle at this man I don't know, at the way his broad shoulders slump like they're carrying an impossible weight, I find myself asking instead, "Are you okay?"
It's a silly question. He's a rock star. He obviously just got laid. Of course he's okay.
But when he lifts his chin, the look in his eyes makes me think that he's not.
"I need a beer" is the only answer he gives me as he rises to his feet. "Do you want anything?"
He walks toward the back of the bus without waiting for me to ask any more stupid questions about things that aren't my business, but before he crosses through the divider, I tell him I'll take whatever he's got.
I resume playing the game on the screen, and when Mike returns with two beers in hand, I set mine beside me and give him my thanks, all without taking my right hand off the controller or my eyes off the screen. I'm probably going to be waiting for Danica for a long, long time. I might as well make the most of it.
"This is Deadzone Five," Mike observes as he watches me play, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
"Shit," I say as I continue playing. "Are you the one beta testing this? I thought it was Rowan."
"You managed to get air support?" he asks, ignoring my question.
"Yeah. And I found a bug. I can keep-"
I trail off after glancing at him again. His eyebrows are tightly knit, and he's staring at me like I've sprouted tentacles out of my ears.
"Sorry," I say as I set the controller down. "I didn't mean to-"
"I've been trying to get air support for weeks!" he interrupts with nothing but awe in his voice. I hide my smile behind a simple explanation.
"I'm pretty good."
"You'd have to be! Holy shit."
That forlorn expression is gone from his face, and this time, I let myself grin. "And there's a glitch that lets me keep using it. Do you want to see it in action?"
I hand Mike the headset, and when the alarms in the game start sounding and the screen flashes red, his face brightens with excitement. I can hear the frantic screams of ten-year-olds from his headphones, and when Mike starts laughing, I do too.
"Do me a favor?" I ask, and when he waits for me to continue, I say, "Tell PussySlayer69 that my mom says hello."
Mike laughs so hard, he sends himself into a coughing fit. "Oh my God, that little shit has been working on my nerves for weeks." He pulls the mouthpiece to his lips and says, "Hey Kyle, you realize you're getting your ass handed to you by a girl over here, right? Her mom says hi."
I can't make out what Kyle is saying, but I can hear his signature high-pitched screaming, and judging by the way Mike doubles over with laughter, it must be good. I'm beaming with pride when Mike finally sits back up and lets out a satisfied sigh. "That was amazing. I needed that."
"Rough night?" I joke, but Mike's smile falls away, and I curse my stupid mouth.
Not my business, not my business, not my business. Danica's business is so not my business, it's not even on the same map. She is Antarctica, and I am the moon.
"Your name is Hailey, right?" Mike asks.
I nod, still trying to think of a way to erase the last thirty seconds of our conversation.
"I'm sorry for being such an asshole, Hailey. I didn't know you'd end up on your own here all night."
"It's alright-" I start, but Mike shakes his head.
"No, it's not. I wasn't thinking."
The sincerity in his gaze makes me swallow hard, and when he frowns at my silence, I shake my head. If anyone should feel bad about tonight, it's Danica. She made me drive her here, forced me to follow her around like her personal butler for hours, and then fell the hell asleep. "Really, it's okay. I haven't been alone for long. I spent most of the night gaming with Rowan."
Mike stares at me a moment longer before a small smile graces his face again. "She's pretty good too. She can wipe the floor with me half the time."
It's true-she was pretty awesome, both in the game and out of it. We apparently go to the same school, so we exchanged numbers and made plans to have lunch together-along with Joel's girlfriend, Dee-on campus on Wednesday. It's the only good thing I got out of tonight.
"Not as good as me though," I brag, and Mike chuckles.
"No, you're something else. I still can't believe you got air support in, what, just a few hours."
I lift my beer bottle into the air for a toast, and he clinks his to mine.
"I play DZ4 with my little brother a lot," I explain.
"And you're Danica's cousin, right?" he asks after taking a long sip of his beer. When I nod, he adds, "She never mentioned she had any cousins."
I take another drink, remembering the way she just tossed my favorite hoodie on the ground. It's currently lying wet in the bathroom sink of the bus. Shawn tried to help me get the stain out of the sleeve, but we only made it worse.
"Probably because she's a self-centered bitch who doesn't think about anyone but herself," I spit, and as soon as the bitter truth leaves my mouth, my eyes go wide and my lips clamp shut.
I can't believe I just said that. Out loud. To the very guy she just finished doing God-knows-what with not more than twenty minutes ago. I've lost my damn mind.
I hold my breath while Mike stares at me, and then he gives me an amused smile and teases, "Why don't you tell me how you really feel."
I take a humongous swallow from my bottle to clear the even bigger lump in my throat. "Sorry."
"For what?"
"I didn't mean to insult your girlfriend."
"Girlfriend," he repeats, frowning. He sits back against the leather seat and lets his head fall back. "Tonight is so fucked."
I repeat my mantra. Not my business, not my business, not my business.
"Do you want another beer?" I ask, dropping my eyes from the dusting of stubble on his chin to his empty bottle. Mike is an enigma. A rock star who doesn't hook up with groupies. A guy who just got laid, yet acts like someone just died. I don't know what's bothering him, but even if I asked, I'm guessing I wouldn't understand. The guy was in love with Danica, and that's something I could never comprehend regardless of how many years I spent playing tour bus psychiatrist.
"There's not enough beer in the world," he answers, but I hand him what's left of mine before taking his empty bottle and walking in the direction of the kitchenette in the back. I know I can't get involved, so instead, I do the next best thing.
"Where are you going?" Mike asks, sitting up.
"To see if you have anything stronger than beer."
Chapter 4
When Danica steps onto the bus early the following morning, Mike and I are sitting shoulder to shoulder in an open space on the aisle floor, game controllers in hand, beer and liquor bottles littering the benches surrounding us. He's drunk, I'm overtired, and the combination of us has resulted in a night filled with so many laughs, I have a permanent cramp in my side and the muscles in my cheeks ache.
"Hey, Danica," Mike says after a glance toward the door, "watch this."
He activates the air support, and when the alarms in the game begin wailing, so do we. We've been doing this for the past couple hours, but it's still the funniest thing I've ever heard, and I struggle to mimic the sound through the snorts that interrupt my laughter. They make Mike laugh even harder, which makes me laugh even harder, which makes us an absolute mess.
I'm laughing, crying, and snorting when I make the mistake of glancing at Danica, and then I'm choking. She's looking a little worse for wear-with finger-brushed hair and day-old makeup-but is still gorgeous in a black top that clings to her curves, skintight jeans that hug her legs, and knee-high boots that are probably worth more than every shitty hand-me-down car I've ever owned.
She's staring right back at me, and the look on her face is deadly.
I lock my eyes on the TV, feeling her death glare burrow through the side of my skull. I don't even want to know what I look like. I've gotten no sleep, I probably still smell like armpit, and I've cried countless tears while giggling the night away with Mike Madden. I'm guessing that last part is why she currently looks like she's going to chainsaw me to death in my sleep tonight.