“Thank you, kind sir,” I say as he lingers at my side between my passenger seat and the van door. “Nothing happened last night. I wasn’t that drunk,” I utter confidently, “so, the jig’s up.”
“Good to know.” A smirk.
“What, Easton, what? I remember our conversation, too.”
He gives me a dead stare before I finally catch on.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I say, yanking my seatbelt and buckling in. “I’m a grown woman, you know.”
He shuts the door on me as I roll my eyes and spot LL already sitting in the second row, focus fixed out of the window. Though seemingly unapproachable, I greet him anyway.
“Morning, LL.”
“Morning,” LL replies absently. I look to Easton with pinched brows as he takes the driver’s side before glancing quizzically in the rearview and shrugging.
Tack ends a call at the back of the van before stepping in and giving me a warm grin. “Morning, beautiful. How you feeling?”
“Not bad, considering I drank my weight in potatoes.”
“You had four shots, lightweight.”
“And two beers,” I remind him.
“Right,” he winks.
“Did you read the reviews?”
His smile widens. “A few.”
Tack and I engage in easy conversation as Easton pulls out, following Joel’s lead. Our conversation fizzes out the first hour of the short drive to Dallas as we wait for our caffeine buzzes to kick in. Most of the guys screw around on their cellphones as LL continues to stare out his window.
I lean over in a whisper to Easton. “Is everything okay with LL?”
“Have no idea,” he replies. “He’s not really an open book.”
I chew on my lip and avert my gaze just as Easton’s eyes drift over to me. Last night, he seemed in fantastic spirits and talkative. Today, he seems more the thoughtful introvert I met.
Before my obsessive thoughts can take over as to why he’s acting so out of sorts, Stella’s promised call comes through.
Anxiety already spiking as Easton answers, Tack demands Easton put the phone on speaker. My fears put to rest slightly as she spends the first five minutes of the call spouting off reviews for Easton and the band. Her personality on full display, I find myself stifling my laughs a few times, especially due to her and Easton’s easy banter, which reminds me a lot of my father and me.
As she shamelessly reads his praises, I carefully watch his expression for any sign of satisfaction but only find it when the feedback comes directly from her. This only confirms he was being one hundred with me when he said the only opinions that matter to him are those of the people closest to him. Something more to admire about him, as if I didn’t have enough already.
Tack joins in on the conversation talking to Stella like they are the best of friends, clearly already well acquainted. Even Syd speaks up with a greeting and makes a little conversation while LL remains mute, his gaze trained on the rapidly passing surroundings.
I focus on LL and his concave posture as Tack’s words register.
“…picked up our friend in Austin last night before the show.”
Easton rips the phone from Tack’s hands and takes him off speaker as I shake my head wildly at Tack, pressing a finger to my lips. Mortified, I glance over at Easton as he skillfully clears the speedbump with Stella before ending the call and turning to me, his expression apologetic. Not a second later, Tack’s inevitable question comes.
“What’s up with that, Nat? You don’t want Stella to know you’re with us?”
“Well, I guess you could say it’s out of respect for our mutual profession. We’re both journalists, and since we haven’t met, I don’t want her to think I’m trying to exploit my friendship with Easton for a story, you know? That’s what I would think.”
Lies, and I’m getting too good at telling them. Easton spares me further by speaking up. “Or how about this? My mother doesn’t need to know who the fuck climbs in and out of this van or my hotel room or anything else of a private fucking nature regarding me, period,” Easton bites out in nasty warning.
“Shit, I get that,” Tack cups his neck. “Sorry, man. Guess it’s already a bit of a family affair with Dad, right?”
Easton dips his chin in confirmation as the hotel room part of his blanket statement gnaws at me.
Not yours. He’s not yours.
“So, when’s Reid coming back, anyway?” Tack asks in a quick change of subject.