Page 14 of Layla

After a moment John returns and gestures us towards the door. “There’s a bit of a crowd waiting but the team has them contained. I need you guys to go straight to the bus without stopping, please.”

“We usually stop for autographs and pictures,” James says, frowning. He takes our relationship with our fans very seriously. We all do. “Those people have probably been waiting for hours just to see us.”

John shakes his head. “Not today, sorry.”

James looks like he wants to argue but Louis has rejoined us now and he starts to move us toward the door. “We need to get moving,” he says briskly. “Lot of miles to cover today.”

Once we’re outside, John immediately moves to the rear of the group while our two usual security guards, Eddie and Sean, flank our sides. A man I’ve never seen before moves into position in front of us. They herd us across the parking lot, where a rather large crowd of fans has gathered behind a metal barrier. Security hurries us towards the bus as the sounds of our fans screaming surround us, several flashes going off as multiple people take pictures. It’s fast and kind of overwhelming and before I know it, we’re at the bus. A firm hand grasps my elbow as I climb the first step and I look over, surprised, to see John’s face next to me. He looks completely serious, his eyes darting from side to side as if he’s taking in every possible detail.

I try to wrench my arm away but he tightens his grip, not releasing me until I’m safely onboard. As soon as he does I turn on my heel and stomp towards the back of the bus, needing to catch my breath.

What in the hell is wrong with me? I’ve passed by screaming groups of fans dozens of times on this tour. Why did that time freak me out so much?

You let Louis and this new guy get in your head,I think, angry at myself.

“That was a little intense,” Dylan mutters as I pass him in the minuscule kitchen area. “You okay? You look flushed.”

I glare at him. “I’m fine.”

His eyes widen at my tone but James just laughs as he opens the fridge. “Careful, Dyl. I think she might have exaggerated how caffeinated she is. Still sounds pretty grumpy to me.”

I ignore them both, making my way past our empty bunks to the rear lounge. It’s quiet back here, as the rest of the band usually gathers on the front couches near the kitchen and the beer we keep stocked in the fridge. I collapse on the couch, grateful to see the paperback I left back here yesterday. Before I can do more than pick it up, Haylee pushes open the privacy curtains that separate the lounge from our bunks.

“Hey,” she says, plopping down next to me. “What do you think that’s all about?”

I feign ignorance. “What part?”

“That whole rushing us into the bus part,” she says. “And the new security. I counted two new guards, in addition to that Jeff guy.”

“John,” I say automatically, and then wish I hadn’t. Haylee can read me way too well. “I think that’s what Louis said,” I add hastily.

“Whatever his name is, he’s still on the bus,” she says. “With Sean. I heard him tell James they’re riding with us instead of on the crew bus.”

“That’s kind of weird,” I agree, hoping she can’t see how uncomfortable I am. “I guess the label wants them to step things up? Willa was saying the crowd was really nuts the other day. I guess it freaked out Simon.”

She frowns. “That sucks. I don’t want Lance getting stressed out about it.”

“Well, that’s probably what the new security is for.” I roll my eyes. “Either that or it’s more label bullshit. Like we don’t get enough of that.”

“True.” She puts her feet up on the table in front of us, getting comfortable, and I cross my fingers that she’ll drop it now. When it doubt, bitch about the label. It works almost as well as ragging on Louis when it comes to distracting my bandmates.

But then Haylee turns to me, a glimmer in her eyes. “He’s pretty hot, isn’t he?”

So much for dropping it. “Who?” I ask, and Jesus, why did my voice come out all strangled like that?

She gives me an odd look. “That John guy. The new security.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I saw that you rode the elevator down with him. Trying to get your claws in already?”

I snort in derision. “Give me a break. That guy is so not my type.”

She looks thoughtful. “He does seem a bit straight-edge for you.” But then she waggles her eyebrows. “But that can be fun sometimes, right? Corrupting the good boy? And holy God, did you get a load of those muscles?”

I struggle to keep my face even. I do not want to think about John’s muscles. I’ve been doing my best to pretend they don’t exist for the last twelve hours.

“He’s pretty built,” I agree, pleased to hear how casual my voice is.

“You do like them built.” She grins. “Who am I kidding—you like them every which way.”

I snort. “You’re one to talk. Remember, I’m the girl who had the front-row seat to all of your hookups before you went and got all boring with Lennon.”