Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(85)

“Ahh, college life,” Margo said with a little wistfulness in her tone. “Speaking of college life, we found you a little something.”

Nick peered around Simon. “I see you have a third person.”

“Not just any third person,” Tori said.

Nick frowned and circled Simon. “Well, f*ck.”

“Yes, yes, we have,” Tori said with a happy laugh.

Nick scooped her up off the pavement. “Well hey there, stranger.”

Tori wound her arms around his neck. “I tried to text you when I saw the tour dates, but you changed your number.”

Nick laughed. “Yeah. I left my phone at one of the interviews for the new album. Someone found it and holy shit, they blew up my phone. Posted the number on Twitter.”

Tori giggled. “Oh, I missed that one.”

“How many dirty texts did you get?”

“That number is classified,” Nick said.

“I bet I can get it out of you.”

Margo looked over at Simon, then back to Nick. “So, she really is a longtime friend.”

“I told you,” Tori said. “So, do I actually get to finally see the bus?”

Nick grinned and opened the door. “This one is far more impressive than the last one.”

Tori climbed the stairs and dragged Nick after her. He gave them a happy grin and let her lead him into the bus.

Well, maybe things weren’t going to be too boring, after all.

Simon held his arm out for Margo to go ahead of him. He went up the stairs behind her, palming her ass as he crowded into her.

Instead of the usual admonishing look, she grabbed him by the neck of his T-shirt when she got to the top stair and dragged him in for a kiss.

Her tongue was wild, stroking his until she could suck it into her mouth. He stopped her on the stairs, not willing to go inside just yet in case she changed her mind about touching him within the confines of the windows and walls.

She nipped his lower lip and backed up. “I’m thirsty.” Margo reached for the overhead compartment that she’d commandeered. She pulled down a bottle of Silver Cabo tequila. “I think a little celebration is in order.”

Where the hell did she get the tequila?

His eyebrow winged up and Margo grinned. “I stole it from Jazz’s bus. Not like anyone over there was going to put it to use.”

Simon snorted and she waggled her finger. “Uh uh, no sounds.”

He rolled his eyes and went to the lower drawer and pulled out four shot glasses.

Tori rolled onto her knees on the couch. “Count me in on the tequila.”

Nick got up off the couch and held up a finger. He grabbed for the handle and pulled out the cushion until it was double the size.

Tori laughed and fell on her butt. “Man. Do I want to know how many times this thing has been used?”

Nick laughed. “There’s a surprising lack of sex on this bus.”

“That I do not believe.”

Margo laughed. “He’s right. We tend to have sex in the more inspirational areas of a venue or park.”

Tori’s eyes rounded. “You and…” She pointed to Nick.

Margo shook her head. “No.” She gave a head nod in Simon’s direction. “I’m partial to this guy. Don’t ask me why.”

Simon glared at her, but she just laughed and belted a shot. “Everyone drink up.”





* * *



Margo picked up the half-gone bottle of tequila. Tori had hooked up a playlist that piped through the bus’s speakers. The bass heavy Sixx AM song curled low in her belly.

She’d been introduced to a lot of different musicians since she’d started touring with Oblivion. The guys had an eclectic mix of current music, classic rock, and traditional classic rock from the seventies.

They loved their covers and had inspired her to get creative with her strings accompaniment. So much so that she was actively looking for her own songs to surprise them with.

She and Nick had spent the previous day vetting new songs since Simon had closed himself off from them. It felt weird.

She and Nick had gone from standoffish to an easy truce, but the hours on the bus had cracked the outer layer of his shields. Margo didn’t believe she’d gotten much deeper than the surface, but she felt and responded to the genius living inside him.

All her life, she’d been surrounded by classically trained artists, but this band—these men and woman—was full of natural and instinctive talent that called to her on a deeper level.

And now, yet again, she was seeing a different side to Nick and Simon as a unit. She stepped in front of Nick and her knee brushed his denim-clad thigh as she poured his shot.

He slid his leg out farther until the folds in his jeans teased the back of her knee. Her belly flipped and the odd sensation fluttered through her middle and washed over her skin.

His golden eyes were so very different from Simon’s. They should be warm, but the golden brown was more like amber. A frozen shard of sun in the dark.

He watched, assessed, and she was pretty sure he thought too much. But with the tequila warming her veins, she wasn’t sure if it was just her being fanciful.

She moved onto Simon and his winter blue gaze. He’d gone shot for shot with her, but didn’t seem to be affected by the liquor. His fingers dangled along the edges of the couch. He was settled in what at first seemed like a lazy sprawl, but he was ever watchful, and his fingers tensed on the small ledge under the cushion.