Jigsaw walks over, stretching out his back.
“You all right?”
“Just tweaked. I shouldn’t have teased Shelby about all the yoga. Now she probably won’t teach me anything, will she?”
“You’re smart. Look it up.”
He follows me into the van. The other guys mill around outside, rehashing the ride here and going over their plan for the night.
“Logan! Glad you’re here,” Dawson calls out as I’m stepping out of the RV.
He jogs over the pavement to meet us, nodding hello to all my brothers.
“Congrats, heard you got a nod too,” I say when he stops in front of me.
“Oh yeah.” He waves it away. “It’s good for Shelby. She can use the exposure.”
I nod and keep moving.
“The big, big one, Wrath? He said half your crew is headin’ home tomorrow?”
I nod to Remy, Griff, and Hustler. “Yeah, they gotta get back. I’ll still have some guys with me, though.”
“Good, good. Look, I got a buddy with a ranch about ten miles outta the city. We’re parking there after tonight’s show. Probably camp out at his place for a day or two.” He motions toward the truck. “You’re more than welcome to park there too and hang with us.” He glances at the guys. “Everyone’s invited. I already cleared it with him. We always do a big bonfire. There’ll be beer, music, and barbecue. It’s usually a fun time.” He glances at the parking lot. “Some ladies from the show usually find their way out there with the crew…”
That gets the attention and approval of my more degenerate brothers, naturally.
“Thanks, Dawson.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Appreciate it. Yeah, we’ll do that tonight.” I glance at Jigsaw. “We’re heading to our mother charter in Mississippi tomorrow. Not sure if we’re staying for the whole four days off, though.”
“Don’t matter. Come and go as you please.” He glances over his shoulder again. “I gotta run. I’ll text you the directions later.”
“Thanks.”
Once he’s gone, the guys circle around me. “That sound all right to everyone?”
“Fuck yeah.” Pants pulls a wrinkled, filthy pink card out of his pocket. I groan when I recognize it. “I gotta catch up or I’m gonna miss my patch.”
“Jesus Christ,” I groan.
“Oh, like you haven’t been gettin’ your card punched every night,” he says.
“I’m gonna punch your face if you don’t knock it off.”
Jigsaw remains mercifully silent.
Pants scans the crowd already gathering at the front entrance. We’re too far away to make out many details but that doesn’t stop him from searching.
“Please, stop eyeballin’ my girlfriend’s fans like they’re your own personal meat market,” I warn.
As if I hadn’t said a word, Pants continues. He slaps Jiggy’s arm and leans in close. “Let’s be selective with who we bring with us. Some of these girls are too loose.” He makes a squeezing gesture with his hand. “I need a real tight pussy, you know?”
Steer groans. Jiggy rolls his eyes skyward as if this isn’t the first time he’s heard this complaint. Hustler laughs. Griff backs away like he wants to distance himself from the bunch of us. Remy shakes his head as if he’s never heard of such a stupid problem.
Dex eyes Pants for a few seconds. “Bro, I’ll be honest, that sounds like a you problem, not a her problem. Relax your fucking grip when you’re jerking off.”
Pants glances down at his meaty fists and laughs. “Yeah, you might have a point.”
The rest of the guys crack up.
“And maybe stop watching so much porn,” Griff suggests with a straight face. “It gives you brain damage.”
“Not-even-a-prospect says, what?” Pants says, cupping his ear and pretending to search the area as if Griff is invisible.
Dex high-fives Griff while the rest of the guys laugh.
I’m so close to punching one of these fuckin’ clowns.
I snap my fingers in front of Pants and Dex’s faces. “If we’re done with jack-off tips for the sad and single guy, can we get back to serious topics? Help me carry this shit inside.” I jerk my chin toward Shelby’s guitar case and one of her suitcases.
Even though I have no idea where we’re going, I end up leading everyone into the building. It’s the easiest way to get the pack moving. Backstage is chaos with roadies moving shit around and security checking everyone out. Dawson’s bodyguards give us a cursory glance as we pass by. I stop and ask one of them where Shelby’s dressing room is and he gives me directions.
Outside her dressing room, I nod to the guys. “Everyone has their pass, right?”
They either hold them up or dig the passes from their pockets.
“Dawson asked if I’d help his guys set up tonight. That all right with you?” Steer asks.
“That’s fine.”
We go over our game plan for the night and I set them free for now.
Hopefully everyone can behave tonight.
After I set Shelby’s stuff inside the room, Jigsaw follows me out to the merchandise booth. We pass plenty of people. Some I recognize from the tour, some I don’t.
Night after night, tons of women backstage try to get my attention. Some seem to assume giving me a blowjob will get them access to Dawson, even though the pass around my neck clearly has Shelby’s name on it. As much as I’m dying to tell them to fuck off, I don’t want to be rude to Shelby’s fans. Instead, I smile and politely—well, as polite as I can manage—decline.
She sends me a text, asking for tea, so after the merch booth, we head backstage again.
“Why the fuck didn’t we think of going into this type of work when we were younger?” Jigsaw elbows me and not-at-all-subtly lifts his chin at a gaggle of girls in short, tight dresses who keep waving at us.
“How is this different from all the club girls you’ve ridden over the years?” I growl.
“I don’t have the knowledge that any of them have fucked my brothers for one thing.”
“No, but they’ve fucked every roadie and band dude who’s passed through town.”
“So judgmental,” he scolds.
Yeah, maybe. More like, I don’t need him doing anything that brings negative attention to Shelby.
“Come on, I don’t want to leave her too long.” I hurry to grab some hot water and honey packets. Wish I could get Shelby to eat something before she goes on stage but she always refuses.
“You know, I could’ve done this for you,” Jigsaw says, grabbing a fistful of ketchup packets.
I smack the packets out of his hand and they scatter all over the table. He stares at them with wide cartoon-like eyes. “So. Much. Ouch. What the fuck, bro? We got no condiments in the RV.”
“Shelby’s allergic to tomatoes.”
He glances at the scattered packets again. “Does ketchup even qualify as a tomato? It’s mostly corn syrup and vinegar at this point.”
“I don’t want to take chances.”
“On what? That I’ll accidentally squirt ketchup down her throat?”
“Stop being a fucker.” I grab as many sandwiches as my big hands can hold. Jigsaw snags cans of soda and we head back to Shelby.