Did I ask?

I imagined her annoyed sigh from my lonely watch under the moon. The buses where our roadies bunked were parked farther away, but I could still hear them enjoying their night.

It must have been nice to live free.

Bound had all of life’s luxuries except one.

Future GF: Cheese…with pineapples.

I groaned as I typed back. You’re definitely not marriage material. Men like meat and girls who like meat.

Future GF: I’ll get over it.

I chuckled under my breath when I read her response. She was quicker to text back that time.

Braxton was a challenging book to crack open, but fuck if those pages weren’t worth it.

I made a quick call to the same pizza place and ordered a cheese pie—reluctantly with pineapples—and then stood outside for the hour it took both orders to arrive. The time quickly passed since I spent it texting Braxton.

Returning to the bus, I dumped all but two of the pizza boxes on our dining table, grabbed one of the beer cases the roadie had procured and started back out the door.

“Wait. Where are you going?” Rich shouted after me. He was sitting alone on the couch, looking sad as fuck. Houston was gone, and I didn’t care where. My guess?

He was brooding in his bunk.

“To the fucking moon.”

I stormed off our bus and headed over to Braxton’s with the pizza and beer balanced while I sent another text.

I’m outside your door. Open up.

She was back to making me wait longer than fucking necessary for a simple, goddamn response.

Bummer, she sent when she finally texted back. You should have called first. No one’s home.

I didn’t bother to respond. Braxton was anything but coy, so I knew she wasn’t opening that door. Setting the case of beer on the ground with the pizzas on top, I headed for the bus where Xavier was bunking. He was busy on a call that had to be personal since it was after midnight.

Lucky me.

Snagging the spare keys to Braxton’s rig, I escaped without him asking questions.

Marching back across the lot, I stopped when I noticed the empty ground. Where the hell was the beer and pizza? There wasn’t a person in sight.

Unlocking the bus, I stormed up the steps, and to my surprise…Braxton wasn’t alone.

She was cozy on the couch with Rich, who had the balls to be eating my pizza and beer on top of ruining my plans.

“So that’s how it is? You let him in and not me?”

“He’s nice without a motive,” she responded with no remorse. “How did you even get in here?”

“Spare key.” I teased her by twirling the cheap ring it was attached to around my finger.

“Boundaries, Loren. You need some.”

“Not interested,” I said as I flopped onto the couch next to Rich and spread my arms along the back, “and it’s too late, so don’t bother trying.”

“It’s never too late to grow up, but I digress. Why are you two here? Isn’t being alone with me forbidden?”

I sighed and scratched the stubble growing under my chin. “Houston leads when we’re in the mood to be led.”

“And it was never our decision to kick you off,” Rich mumbled.

I agreed with a nod even though I knew Rich’s rebellion would pass quicker than a shooting star. He wanted too much for us to be friends again and thought being a doormat was the way to do it.

Braxton perked a brow. “So this is an ‘I Hate Houston’ party? Are you sure you don’t need adult supervision?”

“Yup, you’re the guest of honor, and no, unless you’re feeling frisky.” I winked, but she was too busy staring at the ground with this lost look in her eyes.

“I don’t hate Houston.”

“We figured when we caught you kissing him.” And how could I forget his hand up her shirt? Until this morning, I was the only one who’d copped a feel.

As far as I knew.

I cut my gaze at Rich just as Braxton spoke.

“Jealous?” she shot back.

It turns out I preferred her smug. It sparked my creativity. Sitting three feet from her, I imagined all the ways I’d fuck that look off her face.

“I took you on a date,” I answered her. “That should have at least gotten me to third base. Houston blew through first and second, and all he had to do was make you cry.”

“The only man around who’s made me cry is you.” That shut me up, and she noticed too. “Nothing to say?” she challenged.

“No. I’m not proud of that.”

Braxton didn’t seem impressed by my sincerity. “So what happened, Loren, because nothing’s changed. Did you forget to tell your inflated ego?”

I dug my fingers into the couch to keep from reaching for her neck. Braxton had this innate ability to turn the most forward-thinking guy into a prehistoric caveman. I was a sleeping bear, and she was daring me to wake. Houston and Rich were no different. The latter might have been a nice guy, but he was a liar too. She’d learn that sooner or later if Rich ever made a move this century.

“If you’re looking for someone to be good to you when he’s not inside of you, I’m not your guy. Rich might ask for seconds, but that’s about it. Houston will forget you the moment you’re gone.”

“Why are you telling me this like it matters? First, I’d have to be interested.”

“Your head may not be, your heart is still up for debate, but your pussy cries a river whenever one of us walks by, so save your bullshit for the limp dicks and the simps.”

Her lips parted at my audacity before she caught herself and narrowed her big, brown eyes.

Yeah, I know.

I’m an asshole who’s just leveled up, but it’s like I said before. Braxton brought the shit out of me. She was under my skin and getting deeper by the day. I turned to Rich, who had his head back, eyes closed tight as fuck, and face pinched from wincing. I was fucking this up even worse than Houston. “This rig have cable?”

Opening his eyes, Rich looked at Braxton, then me, and sighed. “It should,” he mumbled.

I stayed silent as he grabbed the remote from the cushion next to him and turned on the TV. The sound immediately filled the bus. I didn’t care what played if it was distracting. Rich channel surfed for a few minutes before settling on a movie that looked like it was just starting. It wasn’t until Gal Gadot popped on the screen that I realized what was playing. Snatching the remote from Rich, I cranked up the volume.

A stunningly sexy woman running around in armored lingerie and knocking douchebags on their asses? Count me in.

It wasn’t nearly as exciting as Braxton claiming to be a fucking sex addict, though. I didn’t buy it, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Braxton, the nympho.

Nothing else sounded sweeter.

Or too good to be true.

Rich went to grab three beers from the fridge. They were only slightly chilled, but they would do. Popping the tabs on all three, he handed one to Brax, who surprisingly accepted. He shoved mine into my chest, spilling some on my shirt.

Fuck, I just had this dry cleaned.

We exchanged angry looks, warning each other to back off before focusing on Wonder Woman.

Yeah, I got his beef. I kept screwing up. So sue me.

Luckily, the one useful skill my father taught me was how to clean up a mess.

Rich had already eaten most of the three-meat pie meant for me, so I grabbed the one still closed and lifted the top. I watched Braxton pretend to watch the movie for a moment before I spoke. “Cheese and pineapple,” I announced like I’d baked it myself.

“I told you I wasn’t hungry.” Just then, her stomach growled loud enough to be heard over the movie.

Perfect timing. I wasn’t surprised since I doubted she had much of an appetite before and after the show.

“Your stomach disagrees. Eat up.”

“I don’t need you to tell me when to eat, Loren. I’m perfectly capable of reading my body’s signals without your help.”

On cue, her stomach growled again, only louder this time. Huffing, she leaned forward and snatched one of the slices. After taking a bite, chewing, and swallowing, she tossed me a cheeky smile before rolling her brown eyes.

Grabbing one of the slices from her box instead of mine, I tore off half in one bite as if it would feed me insight into Braxton’s mind. It wasn’t bad. Of course, I was hungry as fuck. I couldn’t recall the last time I ate either. Being on the road could be brutal. There were times when even the most basic human necessities were either optional or forgotten.

We watched the movie mostly in silence. Rich and I made more than a few male appreciation sounds, which disgusted Braxton to no end.

“Do you ever dress up for Halloween?” I asked without preamble, rhyme, or reason.

She cut her gaze toward me. “Where is this going?”

I nodded toward the TV and Gal Godot playing a fierce Amazonian yet clueless demigod. “With the right phone calls, I’m sure we could get you an authentic costume. Then again, I’m thinking of Poison Ivy. Assuming you’re a natural redhead.”