Carter must have read my mind because he waved a hand as he rounded his table. “I’ll get the dolly,” he said.

Well, that explained a lot. Over the course of the concert, I’d seen the size of Carter’s wrists and biceps. I was more muscular than he was and that wasn’t saying much; I was a runner, not a weightlifter. By the amount of bins and boxes he had stashed on his side, there was no way he was going to be able to carry those things all the way to the bus. I finished tearing down Ghost Orchid’s display while Carter came back. We helped each other carry our backbreaking bins onto the flatbed dolly before he took it upon himself to wheel them out while I pushed both of the tables onto their sides and folded the legs in.

“Flabby!” Eli hollered from across the empty auditorium, skipping around the employees busy mopping the floor. “You need help?”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “You’re like thirty minutes too late. Carter and I are pretty much done.”

The asshole had the nerve to snap his fingers as if he was disappointed he missed out. “I’ll help you carry the tables so we can get going.”

As we walked out, I told him how good the show had been and even mentioned how well he played. After more than ten years of drum lessons and an intense practice routine, he really was good. Eli had somehow managed to avoid doing any actual schoolwork in middle and high school using his drumming skills as an excuse with our parents. Copying my homework when I was asleep or copying whatever girl was dumb enough to share with him, helped too. Luckily for him, it paid off. My dance classes as a kid had only afforded me the opportunity to not look like a complete ass at prom.

Once we made it outside, Eli steered us toward the huge trailer hitched to the back of the bus. My shoulders began burning from carrying the two tables in an uncomfortable position. Four other men stood inside the massive trailer, trying to arrange the protective flight cases of musical equipment in an orderly manner. I recognized two of them from The Cloud Collision’s performance and the third man was their sound guy, who had been checking their equipment before they’d played. Gordo’s presence rounded out the four men packing the trailer.

“We’re stopping at a travel center on the way out of here, so if you wanna shower, grab your shit from your suitcase,” Eli said. He leaned toward me before taking a quick sniff and pulling back with a frown. “Take a fucking shower. I’m begging you.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, taking a step away from him.

I wasn’t going to lie. I had taken a whiff of my armpits when I’d been breaking down the tables and it hadn’t been pleasant. Not at all. I had a feeling I was going to end up buying some men’s deodorant soon or I’d steal Eli’s. Whatever was easier.

Walking toward the front of the bus, I saw someone bent over at the hips, looking through the compartment where the suitcases were stashed. The bare upper body, shadow of dark hair and a full-sleeve tattoo caught my eye while I stopped behind him. “Mason.”

He stopped moving around for a second before continuing to push things over in his endless search for his luggage.

“Mason.”

Nothing.

“Mason, you dick,” I said again.

When he laughed from inside at the same time that I took a step forward, I frowned. I would swear on my life it happened in slow motion. My foot went up on its own, eyeing the target—his ass—at the same time I spotted someone stepping out of the bus. It was another bare chest with a full-sleeve tattoo and a dark head of hair. And as the tip of my foot connected with the black dress pant-covered ass, I realized that it wasn’t my supposed future husband, Mason, I had kicked in the ass.