Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(89)

Simon dug under their tangled bodies to find his phone in his pocket. The battery was on its last fifteen percent, but it was enough to check in. He tucked his chin onto his arm and scrolled through the messages on the one huge band chat thread.

He smiled at the argument between Gray and Deacon on what was the finer foot pedal brand. That was as individual as a pair of shoes.

He wandered over to the itinerary for the day and the list of interviews that he was actually free from for once.

The fact that relief warred with jealousy showed just how f*cked up his life was. He was growing to hate interviews with his last breath, but now that he wasn’t included, he itched to sit in on them.

He’d be bored in about three minutes, but he still hated being excluded.

Margo stirred against his back. Sleeping with her was new. He liked how she sort of just dropped like a doll that had lost its animation. She wasn’t restless, wasn’t a snorer, wasn’t even overly clingy. She was just completely out.

She rubbed her cheek against his back and stretched then jumped a little.

He turned his head and gave her an easy smile. Her eyes were wary, but she relaxed against him again.

“Anything doing in Oblivion world?”

He flicked the screen so her itinerary got larger and passed his phone over to her. She groaned and slid off him.

He rolled until they were face to face.

“I’m going to be gone all day.”

He took his phone back and flicked to his note application.

She snorted. “Oh yeah, I bet you’re going to hate not being on the second student panel.”

Since the venue was on a college campus and they’d been on the front lines of using social media to build their image, they’d been asked to answer questions.

Pix and Nick would just love to be in the center of that. Well, Pix would, but Nick would probably rather scoop out his own eye.

She folded her hands under her cheek. “Are you going to be okay today?”

He nodded. It was going to suck, but he’d live through it.

Margo fluttered her fingers through his hair then climbed over him. He halted her escape, dragging her astride him. He pushed up her T-shirt—she’d lost the bra long ago—and tongued around her nipple, sucking it until he was sure her eyes were on the verge of rolling back in her head.

He smiled around her hot raspberry flesh and let it pop free. Then he dropped back onto the pillow and stacked his arms behind his head.

He wanted her to think about him, but he wasn’t going to give her a morning orgasm. He wanted her to remember how hard he’d sucked and plucked at her and when she moved, she’d remember.

And she’d want more later.

“That smug smile doesn’t impress me.”

He just smiled wider and waggled his eyebrows. She climbed off him with a disgusted grunt and let the curtain fall back.

Because the thought of being awake and alert with a side of quiet was questionable for his sanity, he plugged his phone into her charging station in the bunk, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

When he woke again, his stomach demanded food and his throat was dry as dust. With showtime less than an hour away, he wandered out to the trucks where Harper’s crew would be with his white board under his arm.

Annie was taking care of most of the cooking since Harper’s reach was similar to a turtle’s. She was all of the pregnant and cranky with it.

He waved at the redhead.

“Hey, Simon. Chicken, beef tips, or turkey burgers are on today’s menu.”

He walked over to the steno stations and filled a plate, plowed through it, then a pot of his tea and finally felt human.

Jazz and Gray laughed on their way into the eating area.

“Hey, Super Slut. You finally decided to join us?”

He made a fishing rod windup action with one hand and a slow middle finger raise with the other.

“Nice.”

He scribbled onto his marker board and flipped it around.

“Rehearsal went great. Gray knows all the songs. Tonight will be great.”

He nodded and tried not to let the fact that Gray was essentially replacing him tonight matter too much. He didn’t want it to be easy, dammit.

“All right, people. It’s time to get on stage. They’re ready for you.”

Jamie and Lindsey, from their opening band, came in looking like a couple of college girls themselves. Jamie in a ripped shirt and cutoffs that were an inch away from indecent, Lindsey in one of her girly dresses.

Lindsey hooked her arm through Jamie’s. “I don’t think we’ve ever played such a cool stage. You’re going to love it out there, Simon.”

Jamie elbowed her in the side and Lindsey’s huge blue eyes went even rounder. “Oh shit.”

Simon waved her off and gave her a thumbs up.

Fucking coolest venue ever and he was a mute. Fantastic.

He followed the sounds of the crowd, his gut clenching and unclenching in nerves he’d never had going on stage.

Excitement, sure—that was a given in his world. Nerves? No, there’d never been nerves in the mix.

He shook out his jangle of silver bracelets, cracked his neck, and tugged his Red Cross shirt into smooth lines. As he was going up the stairs, he stalled.

A roll of silver duct tape was on a trunk. Destination names were always marked on the equipment for protection.