Page 22 of Layla

“Closer quarters than this?” I ask, my eyes scanning the space. The tour bus looks an awful lot like one of those huge luxury RVs. It’s nice enough, but nothing can change the fact that there are currently nine adults sharing this space.

She grins. “Things only took off for us in the last year. Before that, we were really slumming it. Most of the time we took a van to our gigs. And we had to double up on hotel rooms pretty much every night. Let’s just say that I’m well acquainted with the snores of everyone in this band.” She makes a face. “You haven’t known suffering until you’ve had to share a bathroom with Lance.”

But her voice is bright, like the memories she’s describing are happy ones, even if they were roughing it in those days.

She munches on her pretzels, watching me. “What about you? This is the fourth time I’ve seen you awake in the middle of the night too. Don’t tell me you’re getting up just to check on me.”

I shrug. “I’m well acquainted with the joys of insomnia myself.” I don’t tell her that mine is triggered by nightmares. I don’t tell anyone about that.

“I’m sorry. I know it sucks.” She wrinkles her nose as she rubs a hand across her forehead. “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“There’s a reason why they use sleep deprivation as a method of torture,” I agree, and she snorts. “Is it always this bad for you?”

“It kind of goes through stages.” She pops another pretzel in her mouth and I wait while she chews. “Stress makes it worse.”

“Then it’s a good thing your life is so relaxing right now.”

That gets me a genuine grin and I feel my breath catch at the way the smile makes her entire face light up. She looks a lot like she did that first night in the hotel, when I interrupted her after her shower. Her face is bare of the elaborate make-up she usually wears, her long hair pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head. She looks younger in her fluffy donut pajamas. A little vulnerable.

Absolutely beautiful.

I grab the bag of pretzels from her and shove a few in my mouth. Three in the morning isn’t exactly my favorite time for chocolate but I need to do something to keep myself from staring at her. “This is the last night on the bus for a few days,” I say once I’ve swallowed. “That should help a little.”

She averts her eyes. “Yeah. I guess.” She doesn’t sound at all convincing. She looks back at me and her smile seems forced. “It’s always nice to stay in one place for a while. Even if the schedule in New York is just as crazy.”

“Lots of appearances,” I agree. I’m a fan of scheduled appearances. It makes it easier to control who gets close to the band. Unlike concerts, when just about anyone can walk into the venue.

“You know,” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looks up at me. Shit. It’s hard to keep any semblance of control when she looks at me like that. I force my attention back to what she’s saying. “You haven’t really watched one of our shows yet.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? I haven’t even been here a week and I’ve already been at five concerts.”

“You’ve beenatthem,” she agrees. “But you haven’t watched us. You’re always talking to the other security guards or prowling around backstage.”

“That’s because I’m working, Layla.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I get that. And I appreciate that you’re keeping me safe, blah blah blah, all that crap.”

I have to fight a smile. “You definitely sound appreciative.”

She smacks my arm. “The point, John, is that you told me this is a new experience for you. All I’m saying is that you should take a few minutes to actually experience it. Stand in the wings and watch a few songs. Let someone else be in charge of watching out for crazies for ten minutes.”

This is a pointless conversation for us to have. There is absolutely no good reason for me to watch them play, tomorrow or any other night. She’s vulnerable on stage, out there where I can’t easily get to her. I need to be on my guard, need to keep my focus. I should just tell her that—that I’m not here to watch concerts or have fun.

But the words won’t come as I look down at her teasing, almost hopeful expression. I’ve never found it difficult to say no to a client in my life—so why am I finding it so hard to say no to her?

“I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can let Eddie take over for a while.” We do have extra venue security at the shows. And I’ve always believed it’s important to really understand the people I’m protecting. It’s difficult to assess situations and make decisions about their behavior if I don’t really get my clients. And I’m not sure it’s possible to really get Layla without watching her do the thing she loves most in the world.

Of course, I know that all of that is bullshit. I mean, yeah, it sounds good and I guess it’s true on some level. But it has nothing to do with the reasons I said yes to her.

And that should be a really big fucking red flag. I’m in danger of losing focus here.

But Layla’s whole face lights up at my agreement and that makes it really hard to care.

“Awesome,” she says, grinning. “I would shoot for the second set—we’re usually really on by then. And I have a pretty kick ass solo in the third song.” She winks and my throat goes dry.

Yeah. That red flag is enormous.

She pushes the pretzels back at me. “You have to take this away now,” she says. “Or I’ll eat them all.”