Running Game(148)

“No second thoughts?”

I looked back up at him.

He wasn’t furious.

He was pleased.

“I’m ready.”

“Good,” he smiled, twisting the key in the ignition.

His hand clasped onto my thigh as we kicked out gravel from beneath the tire. My hand rested upon his, enjoying his warmth, his pressure, and his companionship.

I felt like I was where I needed to be.

I felt like, just this once, I belonged.





17





Trent





It was well past daybreak by the time we finally pulled up behind the RipFest venue, parking with the other rental cars. It appeared that half the busses had already left, eager to make distance on the day.

Predictably, Steven flew out from my tour bus as soon as we were within earshot. With his trademarked hands in the air routine, he was even more livid than before.

“Alright, you dumb fuck, you and I are gonna have some words,” my manager angrily declared. “And without the company of your dumb bitch here.” He turned to her. “Babe, show’s over. Your sweetheart’s getting back to work now, bye.”

I poked a firm, commanding finger into his chest, and let my anger be known.

“If you ever call her a ‘dumb bitch’ again, I will shatter your bones under one of these tires,” I practically spat at him.

He didn’t back down.

“Cut the shit, ass-wipe. We were supposed to be on the road over an hour ago, right? Why the fuck ain’t you picking up your goddamn phone?”

“I forgot my phone,” I answered unapologetically.

“You…you forgot your phone.” He was dumbfounded. “That is the stupidest goddamn shit I’ve heard out of your smart mouth yet. You fuckers never leave your phones out of sight.”

“Yeah, well, I was distracted,” I told him, pushing past to bring Angel to the bus. Within the instant, I knew the mistake, but it was too late to backpedal.

“I see that,” he coolly observed. “Speaking of distractions, I can’t wait to see you explain why you’re dragging a…an associate onto the bus.”

“She’s my guest now,” I gruffly replied.

“That’s not gonna fly.”

I opened the door for her.

“Just head to my room. Do you remember where it is?”

Angel nodded quietly.

“Good. Go.”

She pushed inside, her backpack catching on the door for a brief moment before she disappeared through the door.

“She looks primed and ready to hit the nature trail at a fucking campground,” Steven muttered. “You turn down a whole bunch of groupies, but you get your dick wet with a hitchhiker? Bitches literally throwing themselves at your cock not good enough?”

I grabbed him by the cuff of his shirt, tugging his face disgustingly close to mine.

“You want to talk? Let’s talk,” I coldly started. “You have been a fucking thorn in our side from the start. I have no idea what your goddamn problem is, but you need to cut your bullshit and start acting like a fucking manager instead of a spoiled little bitch.”

Steven’s eyes flared with anger, but he didn’t dare try to tug away from me.

“I promise you, Steven, I will work on being easier to deal with. In exchange, I bring this girl with us. She stays out of the way. No problems. No distractions. She’s gonna be great for morale, and she’s coming back home with me. Okay?”

His beady little eyes positively glowered, but he didn’t lose his temper. However, he did seem to evaluate the circumstances, because there was a pause before he finally opened his fat, ignorant mouth again.

“Okay. Fine. Be the fucking prima donna,” my unsightly manager finally muttered. “The bitch – the girl stays,” he quickly corrected himself, “so long as she ain’t a liability. She stays out of my way, she doesn’t interfere with the band, or your performance, and she can stay.”

I let go of his cuff. “Deal.”

“We’ve only got, like, five or six shows left anyway. Don’t go fucking this up for some pussy.”

I contemplated knocking him out, but chose to take the high road. I met his sneer with a furious curl of my lip before letting myself onto the bus.

The others were loitering around the kitchen and entertainment areas. Dylan and Terence were playing Mario Kart on one of the game consoles we kept hooked up to the big-screen TV.

Waylon, however, was contemptuously watching me with a disdainful frown. As I tried to walk past, he stepped in front with his arms crossed, his greasy, lean frame almost comical in threat level.

“What’s this fuckery about you coming in late with some wet-behind-the-ears chick?” He asked me pointedly.