Consumed (Devoured, #2)(34)

The camera crew follows right on the heels of her gladiator sandals.

Pinching my bottom lip between my teeth, I race my hands across the bounty of jeans and tee shirts hanging just a few inches from my face. It feels like it’s been an eternity since I’ve gotten to do work—even though I have spent a good deal of my bus time focusing on my job back in Nashville. Of course, checking and responding to emails has absolutely nothing on being hands-on.

Call me silly, but having Maggie ask me to help out right now makes me feel a little giddy.

Maggie’s already gone so far as to separate everything on the rack with colored dividers for each member of the band, so most of my work has already been done for me. Because I can hear Wicked Lambs running through their set on stage, I go as fast as I can, humming a Queens of the Stone Age song that Sinjin had been listening to this morning on our bus.

Less than ten minutes later, I’ve made selections for the band that’s suitable for the dry Texas weather.

I load everything onto a shorter wardrobe cart that I find in the back of the closet and then roll it down the hall to Your Toxic Sequel’s dressing room. Because this is a smaller venue, they’re sharing a space that David is standing in front of. His arms are crossed over his chest, making him look the part of badass bodyguard. As soon as he spots me, he offers me the same unsure look—crooked grin and hesitant chocolate brown eyes—that he’s been sending my way ever since Sinjin told him I was Lucas’s girlfriend.

“Maggie put you to work?”

“Finally.” I jerk my head toward the closed room behind him, making my long red ponytail swing around one of my shoulders. David’s gaze follows my hair where it lingers a little longer than necessary on my boobs. I clear my throat. “Um, is it safe for me to go in?”

Yanking his dark eyes up to mine, he lifts his shoulders and reaches back to knock several times on the heavy metal door. “As safe as it’s gonna get.” The door swings open, and David holds it wide for me as I shove my cart through the entranceway. “Are you watching the show tonight?” he asks.

I peek back at him. “Are you kidding me? The outside ones are the best.”

He nods in agreement before returning to the hallway and letting the door clank shut.

Stopping in the center of the room a few feet away from a beverage table, I draw in a deep breath, sniffing the air. And once my brain processes just how good this room smells, I inhale again.

The scent is vanilla and something citrusy. I spot three candles—one on each of the side tables and the last positioned in the center of the coffee table. On the other side of that table, Tyler is on the couch next to Cal. Their heads close together as they talk.


“You put scented candles on your rider?” I ask, stretching my arms out in front of me.

“The candles are Sin’s new thing,” Wyatt answers. I look around the garment rack to find him sitting on a stool on the opposite corner of the room. No surprise, he’s smoking like a freight train, but luckily, Sinjin’s candles pretty much cancel out the odor. I wrinkle my nose as Wyatt stubs it out and immediately fires up another. “Helps him relax.”

I follow Wyatt’s gaze until it lands on Sinjin, who’s stretched out on the loveseat. There’s a folded cloth over his eyes and a bottle of Southern Comfort within reaching distance on the floor.

“How’s the relaxation going, Sin?” I tease. He answers by giving me the finger. Laughing, I begin to distribute everything from my cart. When I get to Wyatt, and he lifts the hangers out of my arms, I arch my eyebrows together. “So what weird shit do you have on there?”

“On what?”

“The rider for the dressing room. Sin’s got his candles and booze. I’m not even sure I want to know what Cal asked for. So what about you?”

Wyatt tosses his clothes on the back of the armchair that’s closest to him. “Gum. Cigarettes. Energy drinks. I’m simple as hell compared to the rest of these f*ckers.”

Cal snorts loudly, dragging my attention back to him and Tyler. “You should tell her how all the weird shit on the dinner and lunch menus belong to you.” Tyler remains wordless—he’s literally said a total of twenty words to me since the tour kicked off—but he nods his strawberry blonde head in amusement.

Wyatt changes the subject. “How are the guitar lessons going?”

I move my hand from side to side. Lucas has been teaching me a little each day since he surprised me with the mahogany Gibson. When I throw that in with the few chords I learned from my grandfather as a kid, I’m average. “It’ll take some time.”

“You’ll learn,” Wyatt says scratching his straw-colored hair.

He doesn’t say another word about the food rider, and I make a mental note to pay better attention to what we’re served during the next couple of days. Spinning around, I pace back to the wardrobe rack, which is empty except for a pair of Diesel jeans, a black, short sleeve Henley tee, and black and white Converse. For Lucas. Who’s nowhere to be found.

Rubbing my hands down the back of my tight, navy blue skinny jeans, I glance around at the rest of the band. “Do y’all know where—?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have him all to yourself after the show,” Sinjin says, sitting upright. He tosses the cloth that was over his eyes behind him, where it lands a few inches from the candle on the end table. “But if it makes you feel better, he’s on the phone in the bathroom.” He points two fingers at the restroom in the back of the room. Sure enough the door is closed.