Outwardly decent but inwardly cringing, he left the bathroom and headed to the refrigerator. He paused at the refrigerator door, his hand on the handle, and stared at the sliding doors that he’d closed as he fled the back lounge. He wondered if she was okay. Maybe he should check on her. Nah, she probably preferred some time to herself. Or maybe he was a freaking coward. Beer would help remedy that malady.
“An hour,” Steve said. “You beat your own predicted time.”
It took Logan a moment to realize he was talking about how Logan had bet that he’d get into Toni’s panties within three hours. If he’d known then what he knew now . . . Had to play it up for the guys, though. He had a reputation to uphold. A reputation that currently made him sick to his stomach.
He twisted the cap off a bottle of beer and took a long swallow before locating his wry grin and plastering it to his face. “I told you nice girls were easy.”
“You do realize we have to maintain a working relationship with her,” Max said. “Sleeping with her wasn’t your brightest idea.”
That was an understatement. Logan perched sideways on the sofa arm, resting his feet on the cushion, and took another swig of beer and another and another until the bottle was inexplicably empty. His gaze landed on Toni’s gym bag, which was sitting on the floor near the sofa. He turned his head to see if she had emerged from the lounge, but the door was still shut. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. Should he talk to her? Avoid her? How was he supposed to avoid her for a month? Why did his little head make him do such idiotic things?
A bare foot in the center of his chest shoved him backward. He managed to catch himself before he fell on the floor. “What the fuck?” he shouted at Steve, who was attached to the bare foot.
“You don’t look like a guy who just got laid. You look like a guy who committed a hanging offense.”
Logan scoffed. “Whatever. It just wasn’t that good.” Which was a total lie—he couldn’t remember a time that he’d enjoyed as much—but how else could he explain his sour mood?
The gym bag near the sofa shifted. He cringed at the sound of dainty feet retreating to the back of the bus. The quiet latching of the bathroom door was like a stake through his heart.
One eye squeezed shut, Logan asked, “Did she hear what I said? About it not being that good?”
All three of his friends looked at the ceiling and nodded. Logan rubbed his forehead with one hand. He hadn’t thought it was possible to fuck up this situation any more than he already had. He had thought wrong. With a heavy sigh he climbed to his feet and tossed the empty beer bottle into the bin under the sink.
“I’m going to bed.”
“Don’t you think you should apologize to her?” Dare asked.
Probably. He had no idea what to say.
“Fuck it, I’m tired.”
He stripped down to his boxers and climbed into his bunk. He jerked his curtain closed and stared up at the bottom of Steve’s empty bunk. He contemplated turning on the small television that was installed overhead, but then the guys would know he wasn’t in his bunk because he was tired, he was in his bunk avoiding Toni. She had to come out of the bathroom eventually.
When he heard her soft voice a few minutes later, his heart rate accelerated.
“Do you have any hydrogen peroxide?” she asked.
“Are you injured?” Dare asked. The concern in his voice made Logan’s stomach clench. He better not fucking touch her.
“No, I-I need it to get bloo—um . . . a stain out of something.”
Logan’s ears strained for sound. Rummaging in the bathroom. A relieved sigh from Toni.
“Thanks,” she said.
The lounge doors slid shut. Had Dare followed her in there? Logan knew how Dare comforted women. It started out all tender and caring and ended up with the women on their backs and him pounding them. The fucker.
Dare jerked open the curtain of Logan’s bunk. He punched him hard in the shoulder, shook his head in disgust, and then yanked the curtain closed again. Logan rubbed his aching deltoid. Yeah, he had totally deserved that. He was sure Dare had put two and two together. Max and Steve were probably oblivious, but Dare was too fucking perceptive for his own good.
“What’s going on?” Steve asked.
Logan tensed. All he needed was for his entire band to know he’d defiled a virgin and was now hiding from her in his bunk.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dare said.
Logan was one hundred percent certain that Dare was being tight-lipped for Toni’s sake, not his. Logan rolled onto his side and stared at the wall. Things were going to become mighty uncomfortable on this bus if he didn’t set them right. He had no fucking clue how to do that.
May 2
Dear Journal,
Today didn’t go exactly as planned. Apparently the band wasn’t expecting me and for a while there, I wasn’t sure I was going to get to start the book, much less finish it. But after they straightened it out with their manager and Max admitted that he had known I was coming, I was allowed on the bus and even got some really good material when they ran to interact with their fans behind the stadium.
I can’t express how excited I am to be involved with their book. They are all so cool.
Okay, first impressions of the guys.
Maximillian Richardson or Max. He’s surprisingly calm. I don’t know what I was expecting. I guess watching all that high-energy concert footage gave me a mistaken perception of him. But of the four guys, he definitely seems to be the most . . . What’s a good way to describe him? Professional? I guess that’s the right word. He’s also incredibly gorgeous—especially his ass. Lordie! But he doesn’t look like a rocker the way the rest of them do. I could easily imagine him as a high-profile CEO in a tailored Armani suit. I wonder why he chose to become the singer of a metal band. I need to make sure I ask him that for the book.
Darren Mills or Dare. This guy has presence. You can’t help but notice him. It’s as if a strange gravitational force surrounds him and sucks all attention right to him. The weird thing is, he doesn’t seem to do anything consciously. He’s not trying to be the center of attention, he just is. He’s another one who is knockout gorgeous—honestly, they are all. But he 100 percent looks the rock star part. As if he was born to play the guitar and have millions of fans. Maybe it’s the hair. It’s jet black and barely touches his shoulders, but I don’t think there are many men who could pull off that length. I’m totally jealous of how silky smooth it is, like rich black satin. I need to ask him what conditioner he uses. Maybe it would calm my rat’s nest. And he has the most gorgeous green eyes.