Page 2 of Dirty Like Zane
My legalhusband.
Technically, he was also one of my employers. And the one man I’d have to avoid as much as humanly possible on this tour, without making it totallyobvious.
Because no one was supposed to know aboutus.
About the fact that we’d secretly gotten married in Las Vegas almost two yearsago.
Or the fact that he made my heart race and the backs of my knees sweat… and occasionally made me spread my legs for him and scream like I’d never screamed for any manbefore.
To all the world except for the very few people who knew the truth about us, I was simply Maggie Omura, Dirty’s assistant manager, and he was Zane Traynor, Dirty’s lead singer, and we were nothing more to each other than co-workers and, on a good day,friends.
We definitely weren’t a married couple who weren’t really a couple but who occasionally fucked, fought, and generally had a totally fucked-uprelationship.
I just stared at him, afraid to move and not breathing at all. My heart was beating too hard and several parts of my body were starting to sweat, right oncue.
Zane tipped his head back and ran a ring-laden hand through his hair, smoothing it back from his face as he looked up at the sky. He took another drag from his joint… and I slowly backedup.
I got the fuck out of there before he caught me staring athim.
I pretty much ran for my bus, and when I got there, I frowned to see Jesse’s guitar tech, Jimmy, stepping out. Jimmy was definitely one of the good ones; he’d carried my bags for me, whisked them away before I was even out of the taxi—but still. He was adude.
I gave him a look and pointed at the pretty pink sign I’d posted on the window of the front door yesterday, when I’d personally decorated the bus. It said, in giant silver glitter letters: NODUDES.
Jimmy smiled sheepishly. “Your bags are inside,Maggs.”
I gave him a curt, “Thank you,” then disappeared up the steps inside. I set my coffee down on one of the tables in the lounge, glanced around and called out, “Hellooo?” But clearly none of the other girls were hereyet.
There was a loud, statickyblipthat almost made me jump out of my skin—apparently, I was that tense—and a voice spoke over the walkie that lay on thetable.
“Hey, Maggie. Youthere?”
I picked up the walkie and replied cheerily, “Hey,Alec!”
“You seen or heard from Zane or Dylan yet thismorning?”
“Nope!”
Half-true.
I’d definitely seen Seth, Elle and Jesse in the lot. I hadn’t seen Dylan, but our drummer was pretty much always late, so no panic there justyet.
And Zane, well… Alec would find him soonenough.
“Oh, here’s Dylan,” he said. “Hopefully Zane checks insoon.”
“Uh-huh. You know, we can always roll out without him. If he misses the Seattle show, Jesse can cover his vocal parts,right?”
“Uh… okay?” Alec chuckled. “Just let him know I’m looking for him if you seehim?”
“Willdo!”
I tossed the walkie on a couch with my leather jacket and headed down the back hall, where the bunks were. I supposed Alec didn’t share my little theory that we didn’t really need our lead singer, but this was his first Dirty tour. Maybe his opinion would change; Zane had that effect onpeople.
Either way, no way was I holding Zane’s hand—or anything else—through this tour. If he couldn’t “check in” with Alec, not myproblem.
After stashing my pretty makeup bags full of toiletries and cosmetics in the washroom, I started unpacking and putting away some of my clothes in my designated closet/locker. Then I made up my bunk with the bedding I’d brought; soft sheets, velvety-soft blanket and a multitude of cushy pillows. There was no window by my bunk, but there was air and temperature control, some recessed lighting and a little cubby where I could store a fewthings.
Comfyenough.
