Consumed (Devoured, #2)(31)

“You’re being a dick.”

“Then use your brain, gorgeous. He’s got you here with him. He’s got Cilla trying to jump on his dick at every turn.” He takes a drag from his joint and exhales. The smoke whispers into my face, and I draw back, waving it away. “Look, the only break that motherf*cker is getting is that Sam hasn’t popped up with the bullshit she usually brings to every tour.”

Sam. Hearing her name makes me curl my fingernails painfully into my palm. Sinjin must notice this because he tilts his body forward and stares down at my clenched hands, his eyes suddenly thoughtful. I spring to my feet and grab a Coke from the fridge adjacent to us. When I return to my spot, the cynical, *-ish expression has returned to his face.

“Way to make me feel better about Cilla,” I say, opening my drink. “What’s your deal with her?”

Besides the fact that her mood is all over the place. So far she’s alternated between being reasonably cordial to me; ignoring my existence; and two nights ago, drunkenly arguing with David backstage that I was definitely not on the after show list.

Sinjin sucks his cheeks in, making his face look even thinner. “You want me to tell you it’s complicated, don’t you?”

“Is it?”

“Not really. I gave a shit about her, she chased Lucas.” He thinks on that for a moment and then snorts dismissively. “Correction, her ass is still chasing Lucas. And she swears she’s not like the groupies, but she’d let him do anything to her.”

Ugh, why does he seem so absolutely gleeful when he tells me that? As if he can read my mind, he winks a green eye at me. “You’ll be alright. Even if she weren’t a drunken bitch, Lucas still wouldn’t want her. Not his type. Not you.” He’s quiet, and just when I begin to think we’re done talking, he slams his netbook shut. “I want you to watch out for her. And stop staring at me like I’m an idiot—I’m looking out for you.”

I let out a coarse laugh that burns the back of my throat. “Is there any woman from Lucas’s past that I shouldn’t watch out for?”

“Kylie. She’s the only one who’s not going to try to drive a f*cking dagger into your back.”

“Good to know.”

Fortunately, his phone begins to buzz on the table between us. I manage to make out the name “Zoe” before he gives me a withering glare and swipes the iPhone up into his hand. He stalks off toward his section of the bus—four bunks in the middle, right before the compartment I’ve been sharing with Lucas—leaving behind the scent of smoke mixed with Ivory soap.

Running my fingertip around the cold rim of my drink can, I close my eyes and scan my brain for ways to solve the Cilla problem. To be honest, I can’t come up with a single solution that doesn’t involve us getting into a verbal—or hell, even a physical—altercation.

She sees me as a threat. I just want her to leave Lucas alone.

I don’t realize that I’m no longer by myself until I hear a male clearing his throat slowly. I open my eyes, expecting to find Sinjin or even Lucas, but Wyatt’s tanned face is grinning down at me.

Seeing that he has my attention, he leans his tall, lean body back against the counter in the tiny kitchen behind him. “You all right?”

I rake my hand through my hair and lift my shoulders. “Decent. You over here to see Sinjin?”

“What can I say? I was good with one bus, but Lucas likes his space. Sin around?”

I jab my index finger to the other end of the bus. “He’s on a call right now.”

“Ah, I see.” Instead of taking Sin’s unavailability as his cue to leave, Wyatt pulls a packet of cigarettes from his back pocket. He shakes one free but then pauses and gives me a questioning look. “You—”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t mind.” His shoulders sag in relief, and as he cups his hand over the cigarette and his New Orleans Saints lighter, my thoughts go to Kylie. “I’m guessing you can’t wait until the New Orleans show.”

He shakes his head briskly and mumbles an “Mmm hmm.”

“Do you think she’ll come around and change her mind?” After tonight’s show, there will be a little less than 40 days left in the tour, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how ecstatic I would be if Kylie was around.

Wyatt blows out a long breath and rolls his midnight blue eyes up toward the recessed lighting in the roof of the bus. “I sure as f*ck hope so. It’s . . . hard.” He offers me a strained smile that I try to return. All I can think of is the little bit of Kylie and Wyatt’s history that I know about.

“Right.”

Bending forward, he crushes the remains of his cigarette in Sinjin’s ashtray and shoots me a sheepish look. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“And I swear it’s not about the assistant at that recording studio back in February,” I say sweetly. He grabs his chest as if he’s wounded, and I narrow my eyes.

“I didn’t f*ck her.” Releasing his chest, he rubs the palm of his hand over the top of his forehead, messing his short dirty blonde hair with his tattooed fingers. “What I let her do wasn’t right, especially since it was fueled by me being pissed at Ky for not coming to Nashville, but I didn’t f*ck her.”

“You don’t have to explain to me.”