Mayhem

Shawn groans and buries his face in his arms. I smirk and pull out the tablespoon measurer.

“HEY SHAWN,” I say in an obnoxiously loud voice as I scoop coffee into a filter. “HOW ARE YOU FEELING THIS MORNING?” I pretend to “accidentally” kick the stove for good measure, the sound ringing through the kitchen.

“I’m sooorry,” he groans into his arms.

“What was that? YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO SPEAK UP.”

Shawn raises his bloodshot eyes from his elbow, looking downright pathetic. Then he lifts his head and holds his temples between his palms. “I’m sorry, okay? I was completely wasted.”

I finish pouring water into the coffee maker and close the top, pushing the ON button before I turn around and lean back against the counter. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I’m sorry for blowing up your spot. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I nod, accepting his apology. I feel a little sorry too—I know he hated keeping that secret from his best friend, but he still should’ve kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his secret to tell.

“What do you need?” I ask. “Tylenol? Eggs? Pancakes?” It’s my form of an apology, and it’s the best he’s going to get.

He gives me a bashful smile. “All of the above?”

I pour him some orange juice from the fridge, and then I find some Tylenol in a medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I set them both down in front of him as softly as possible, not making a sound. “Coming right up,” I tell him, and then I shuffle him to the front of the bus so I can get to work.

Last night was definitely . . . interesting. Adam and I hadn’t made it very far back into the club when the rest of the guys changed our direction, ushering us out. They took the party back to the bus, and I was grateful when I saw that Michelle wasn’t part of it. I asked if we should give her a lift back to her car, but Joel assured me that a girl like her wouldn’t have a hard time getting a ride.

When Adam told the band about me being the infamous Peach, my cheeks burned with embarrassment. It was a long story with a lot of questions and confusion and teasing. Ultimately, it culminated in a very drunk Shawn getting punched ruthlessly in the arm. Adam flexed his hand afterward, and I smirked with approval.

Once the upstairs was clear, I crawled into the black satin bed, hoping it wouldn’t be weird. But I fell asleep before Adam ever came in, so I didn’t have to find out. And this morning, I snuck out, tiptoeing between arms and legs and blankets that were hanging out of bunks.

By the time the other boys wake up, I’ve made bacon, scrambled eggs, buttermilk pancakes, and toast. There’s not nearly enough for all of them, but they make do. The roadies eat quickly and then head out for a smoke break while the rest of the band stays on the bus. Adam isn’t up yet, so I make him a plate and stash it in the microwave.

“Where’s mine?” he asks groggily when he finally comes downstairs. He’s wearing his shades, and I’m guessing it’s because he’s just as hungover as Shawn. He’s also shirtless, with his faded, tattered jeans hanging low on his hips, revealing the waistband of his black CK boxers. Even though he sleeps without a shirt or pants on, I haven’t indulged in a good look at him. Now, I can’t help it.

A stilted laugh bursts from my mouth, and I hurry to cover it with my fist. When I’m confident I’m not going to burst out laughing again, I ask, “A unicorn?”

Adam looks down at the tiny unicorn stenciled on his lower abdomen and smiles wide. Then he looks back up and shrugs. “Shawn dared me. We were teenagers.”

Adam’s body is lean and toned. He doesn’t have an eight-pack or anything, but the sight of his hard stomach still makes me blush all the way from the tops of my ears to the tips of my curling toes. He has slight indents marking the muscles beneath his skin, but I think it’s the line traveling down the center that makes my cheeks heat the most. On his left pectoral is another tattoo—a Magic 8 Ball that says “Ask again later.” It’s so Adam, I’d smile if I wasn’t busy trying to pretend I wasn’t just shamelessly ogling him. I stand up and heat his breakfast in the microwave before carrying it over to where he’s sitting at the kitchen table.

“You saved me some?” he asks as I set his plate down in front of him.

“You’re welcome.”

He chuckles and picks up a piece of bacon, eating that first.

Joel finishes his last bite of pancakes and leans back in his chair, patting his belly. “I think I’m going to miss you, Peach.”

Shawn chuckles and says, “You’re just saying that because of the pancakes.”

“Am not. She’s one hell of a dancer, too.” He smirks over at me, and I blush, remembering how tipsy and dirty we got on the dance floor last night.

“Well,” Mike interrupts, “I’m going to miss having anyone around here who’s halfway decent at Call of Duty.”

“Hey!” Cody protests, making us laugh. His legs are dangling from where he’s sitting on the counter, distractedly texting on his phone.

“I’m going to miss you guys, too,” I say, feeling all warm but sad inside.

Adam scoffs, pouring a layer of syrup on his pancakes. “I don’t know why everyone is going all Hallmark on me. It’s not like you’re never going to see her again. You’ll see her in two weeks.”

“They will?” This is news to me.