The problem was that I didn’t like doing things to get into trouble, but it seemed to follow the trio wherever they went.

So yeah, I scoffed, admiring the teal color I’d painted my toenails the day before. “Fun? Hanging out with you on a bus is fun? Are you shitting me?”

Eli made an exasperated noise that got carried away by a gust of air in the background. He’d mentioned they were at a gas station getting fuel. “We’re going to Australia and Europe…” He drew the words out and then paused for a second. “Nothing? You aren’t going to say anything?”

I didn’t say a word and that made him keep going because just saying the names of the two continents wasn’t enough to black out my least favorite memories of going on tour with them years ago.

And he kept going. “Koalas, kangaroos… fish and chips, the Eiffel Tower…”

When I didn’t automatically scream “yes!” he continued on with the bribes.

“Fine. We can pay you 10 percent of our sales plus whatever tips you get, you greedy prostitute,” Eli offered.

Ding, ding, ding.

Ten percent? I could remember how much they made when I’d last sold merch for his band, Ghost Orchid. They had sold fifteen hundred dollars worth of T-shirts and CDs during their concert. Ten percent of the total was one hundred and fifty bucks. One hundred and fifty bucks for six hours of work. Six days a week? And now they were making even more money? The asshole knew that I’d wanted to go to Europe forever, too, but it was the money that had me.

My bank account had taken a crippling hit when I’d quit my job to move back home to Dallas after I graduated.

Taking a look around my childhood bedroom with its robin’s-egg blue walls and band posters plastered all over it, I sighed into the receiver. If I stayed, I ran the risk of looking for a job for who knows how long. I’d have to life with my parents until I found a roommate that didn’t drive me nuts, and I’d have to deal with facing the Spanish Inquisition each time I left the house. On the other hand, if I went with Eli, I knew life would begin to consist of sweaty nights, an uncomfortable bed and dealing with three imbeciles that would sacrifice me to a group of zombies if it meant they would live.

Work.

Home.

Bus.

Travel.

Sweat.

Even more sweat.

Because, really, who likes to sweat? Who’d willingly sign up for a summer of sweating? It’d been fun when I was younger but now…

“C’mon, G, you’re the only person I trust, and I miss you,” he continued, sincerity stringing his words together.

“I don’t know—”

“Three months,” he kept going. “You’ll probably never be able to do this again.”

The reality of his words sunk in. I was single, practically homeless and jobless. Soon there would be bills, work and life in general that would tie me down and keep me down. I’d be a real adult with real adult obligations in no time.

That notion alone had me wanting to puke.

“Gaaaaaaby.”

The one and only picture that I still had of my ex with a group of friends sat in the corner of the bedroom and seemed to wink at me, calling me a pussy.

“What are you doing with your life, Gaby?” Brandon, my ex-boyfriend, had asked thirty seconds into the conversation that had changed my life months ago.

“This is the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make, but this isn’t working anymore,” he’d said to me. The fucking dickwad. The hardest decision he’d ever had to make before that was whether he was going to use too much mousse or too much gel in his hair. Idiot.

Speaking of, why the hell hadn’t I shredded that picture yet? I needed to do it before I forgot again. Sure, it had a group of people in it but that didn’t seem like enough of a reason to keep it any longer. I’d heard of things called “amicable breakups,” but I’d never seen one in person.