"Where the hell are you guys?" Owen read from the screen.
"Here, give it back to me," Shade said.
"You shouldn't text and drive," Owen said, but he handed him the phone.
Shade rarely texted more than a couple of words at a time; he used his voice-to-text app almost exclusively. After explaining to Adam where they were, he asked him to meet them for lunch. He was surprised when Adam agreed. He seemed to be in a much better mood than he had been that morning. Shade decided he wouldn't bust Adam's balls about not writing lyrics until they were back at the venue. Well, unless Adam broached the subject.
"So he's going to meet us there?"
"If he can find it," Shade said. "Where in the hell is this place?" Besides the narrow highway and some fencing, Shade hadn't seen any manmade structures for miles. "Are you sure it exists?"
Owen consulted Shade's map app. "We'll be turning in a few miles."
"Well, don't let me miss it or we'll end up in Mississippi."
"Or Florida."
When his phone's navigation program finally told him to turn right, they bounced down a short gravel drive before coming upon a small open picnic area in front of a trailer that had been converted into a mobile kitchen. Shade wondered if they'd set up business here to avoid city health inspections. The place made gas station restrooms look sanitary.
"Are you sure this place is legit?" Shade asked. He wouldn't want to get food poisoning and spend his evening on the toilet instead of onstage.
"It must be-it's packed." Owen handed him his phone, opened the truck door, and slipped outside.
Shade watched a nearby patron crack open crawdad after crawdad and stuff them into his mouth. When the guy didn't collapse from intense stomach pain or start projectile vomiting, Shade climbed out of the truck and followed Owen to the order counter.
"What will you have?" the aged, dark-skinned woman asked in a thick Cajun accent.
The menu board was limited in variety; Cajun-seasoned crawdads and shrimp, gumbo, and a few traditional side dishes were all they offered. But as far Shade was concerned, they only needed one item on their menu.
"A double order of crawdads," Shade said.
"Good idea," Owen said. "We can share them."
Maybe if they were disgusting. But Shade figured Owen would be going hungry.
Shade was halfway through his mess of tongue-tantalizing bliss when the rumble of a huge Harley announced Adam's arrival. He had his woman with him-the sweet little drug counselor from Dallas-but Shade was too busy stuffing his face and fending off Owen's attempts to sample one of his crawdads to offer either of them a proper greeting.
Dear lord, Shade had never tasted more delicious crawdads in his life. He was glad Owen had thought of this place.
He was starting to feel full, but the bit of spice stinging his tongue and lips made him crave more. He did love spicy food-not so hot that you couldn't taste other flavors, but hot enough to cause a tingle. This place got the flavor and the sensation exactly right. He was so intent on devouring his meal that he scarcely noticed the rest of the group had abandoned him to order at the counter. Until he noted his pile of crustaceans was quickly dwindling.
He was contemplating getting a second mess as he watched the others return with their smaller orders. Smaller? He wasn't sure how anyone could show restraint when it came to crawdads. Especially these crawdads.
He caught the tail end of their conversation.
"I'm a perpetual party, baby," Owen said as he sat next to Shade on the bench.
"Your perpetual party is in your pants," Shade said, checking out the line at the counter. It would be quicker and easier for him if his friends would share. The line of four customers seemed long. He tried staring down Madison-of the three, he figured the woman was most likely to succumb to his charm-but she pulled her basket closer and snapped open one of her crawdads, obviously not willing to share a single morsel, the scrooge.
"Better be careful with that kind of party." Madison laughed at Owen's expense. "Or you'll end up knocking up some groupie."
Shade shuddered as he was reminded that they currently had a knocked-up groupie in tow. Way to ruin his appetite.
"Yeah," Owen said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We wouldn't want that to happen."
Too late. Shade shoved his few remaining crawdads to the center of the table. Few things could diminish his enthusiasm for his favorite dish. Talking about Lindsey was right there at the top.
After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Madison said, "What's wrong?"