A Bleu Streak Christmas (8 page)

“Just call me Kent,” he offers along
with his hand.

“As long as you call me Mave and this
lady Izzy, we’re good.” Mave nods in my direction.

“Yes, sir.” Kent grins widely. He’s
still waiting for us to load up, but Mave makes no move to do so.

“Say, Kent. I got a special favor.”

The smile slips from the driver’s face.
I’m sure he’s used to all kinds of weird demands from celebrities thinking
they’re entitled.

“Yes, sir?” He definitely forms it into
a question.

“I’ve been stuck on a plane all
morning. It would be really tight if you’d let me drive.”

Now Kent looks completely skeptical.
I’m feeling the same way with the idea of Mr. Accident-prone at the wheel.
Plus, what’s the point in hiring a private driver if you don’t let him
drive
?

“My assistant already okayed it with
your boss.”

“Umm…” The poor guy is looking around
for an answer that’s not coming to him.

“Go ahead and call. In the meantime,
load up with Izzy, so we can hit it.”

Mave doesn’t wait for an answer.
Instead, he eases around to the driver’s door and climbs in—leaving me and Kent
staring after him in bafflement. I shrug my shoulder over to the confused guy
and climb on in.

Once we’re loaded, our surprise
chauffeur merges into traffic and drives on as though he’s lived in New Orleans
all of his life. Maybe he has some. Who knows?

Kent mumbles a hushed conversation into
his phone with his boss. From the sounds of it, Mave gets his way for the day.

In no time flat, he pulls up to a mall
and we strike out with our list. As the day moves on, Mave goes undetected and
we are able to knock out our list. Bags are mostly filled with an assortment of
high-tech electronics and clothes. Mave specially orders a remote control
helicopter and the gasp escaped me before I could stop it at the money he
handed over for it. Nothing has been in the thousands on my lists so far.

He shrugged his shoulder at my reaction
and mumbled, “It’s just money.”

And I guess for a world-renowned rock
star that’s all it is…
Just money
…

Hand in hand, we are approaching the
exit within an hour of arriving. I’m relieved to be done so soon, until a
high-pitched squeal sounds from behind us. I know before knowing.

“Mave King!” a girl screams out, almost
sounding to be in pain. More shrieks join in with her. We are surrounded by a
mass of teenage girls in an instant.

On instinct, or maybe
self-preservation, I snatch his shopping bags and make a run for it—leaving him
to fend for himself.

Kent is standing by the SUV when I
emerge from the mall. Pointing impatiently behind me, I screech, “Mave! They’re
attacking him!”

Kent somehow understands my frantic
gibberish and takes off running into the mall. I fling myself into the back and
try regaining some composure. That was terrifying!

My patience is coming close to running
out. They’re taking too long. Should I call for help? Should I go back in
there? No. Not doing that. There is no appeal in that option. Before I can
reach a decision, the door yanks open. A scream slips out as a tattered mess of
Mave dives in. Gone are his hat, coat, and hoodie. Them crazies almost claimed
his shirt as well. Only shreds of it remain.

Outside, there’s the wild mass of girls
tapping on the window, crying and screaming. Thank goodness, Kent mans the
wheel and gets us the heck out of here.

“These New Orleans chicks don’t play
around. Very direct…” I mutter, trying to slow my heartrate.

“You should try some of that on for
size,” he says.

I’m not clear if he’s teasing. “It
won’t fit,” I say, thinking about those stick figures we just abandoned.

“Yeah. You’re right. Those
personalities would be a bit too big for your little self, but it wouldn’t hurt
to maybe fit some confidence in all that sweetness of yours.” Thankfully, he
redirects his attention to the driver as my cheeks blare my response.

“Kent, my man, I don’t know about you,
but that just worked up a mean appetite.”

Kent chuckles. “Yes, sir. Anything
specific?”

“Where’s the best place to get
authentic creole cooking?” Mave asks.

Kent’s wide grin reflects in the
rearview mirror. “I know just the place, and you won’t have to worry about
being attacked.”

“Perfect.” Mave chuckles as he tries
taming his locks back down some. His hair should be the least of his worries.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. Just a little worse for the
wear.”

His shirt is so stretched out at the
collar that it hangs off his right shoulder. There are actual chunks missing
out of the fabric. How on earth does a shirt tear like that?

I summon some courage and speak up,
“Kent, can you make a pit stop at a clothing store? I need to pick our tattered
drummer up something to wear.”

Both guys laugh.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kent answers as he
switches lanes.

If I thought the day was already enough
of an adventure, well, I was wrong. Over lunch at Kent’s family’s
restaurant—where he tucks us in a private dining room and Mave insists he join
us—Mave gets Kent to talking about his son Jence. It’s obvious he’s a proud
daddy. Then they get on the subject of Mave’s tattoos over spicy gumbo, and
Kent admits he has always wanted one.

The next thing I know, Mave chauffeurs
us over to his buddy’s tattoo parlor and treats Kent to his first tattoo. He gets
a Chinese symbol signifying health on his left shoulder.

The day tries to get away from us, so I
have to remind Mave about the preconcert radio interview to get us back on
track. I’m on copilot duty up front with Mave as we head back to the hotel. I
keep stealing peeks at Kent in the back. His smile is infectious and won’t even
relent as he munches on fresh beignets.

Smiling myself, I dig Mave another
fried treat out of the greasy bag and hand it over to him. Needless to say, we
are both dusted with powder sugar. A few stoplights back, Mave watched me with
such rapt attention as I ate one of the beignets, he totally ignored the
greenlight. When I asked him what was wrong, he muttered something sounding a
lot like that was the sexiest thing he ever witnessed. My ears could have heard
him wrong, but my cheeks flashed hot knowing I didn’t.

The hotel comes into sight just as the
bag empties. Mave pulls up to the curb and says, “Kent, my man, this has been
one tight day.” We both turn to look at the chauffeur in the back.

Staring into his greasy bag, Kent
clears his throat. “Been one of the best days I’ve had in a really long while,
sir. Thank you.” Sounds of his sniffles follow him as he quickly exits the
back.

After we gather our bags and say our
goodbyes, we head into the hotel.

“Chauffeuring the chauffeur,” I say as
we walk through the lobby.

Mave shrugs his shoulders. “Everyone
deserves a day off. Plus, I was really in the mood to drive.”

“You most certainly march to the beat
of your own drum.” There’s plenty of irony in this statement.

“I don’t just march to it, doll. I
compose the beats first.” He raises an eyebrow as the elevator doors whirl open.
Saying nothing more—really, does he need to?—Mave ushers me inside and sends
the elevator way up.

The ride to our floor is silent as a
few things click into place for me. Once we arrive to my door, I ask, “Kent
wasn’t a coincidence, was he?”

He tucks his hands into his pockets and
rocks on his heels. “Tate may have done some homework.” A happy glint shines in
his dark eyes.

I hold up the shopping bags. “The
Christmas Ninjas are visiting him and his family tonight, aren’t they?”

“Well done, Watson.” He bows slightly,
causing a brown lock to graze his forehead. This time I don’t resist the urge.
I reach up and tuck it back into the tousled style he totally owns.

“There’s something more to the story,
though.”

All of the joy erases from his handsome
features as he nods his head. “Kent’s son is very sick. Been battling a rare
disease for the last few years. They’re struggling financially on top of that.”
He nods his head before turning away.

I replay the day through my mind with
Mave intentionally treating this deserving man to a day off when he could have chosen
to chill in his hotel room.

Emotions overwhelm me as I watch him
head down the hall.

“Maverick.”

He turns back, so I drop the bags and
act on those emotions. Reaching up on my tiptoes, I press a kiss to his cheek.
This bad boy drummer just touched my heart in the sweetest way—much sweeter
than those beignets.

The smile teasing the corners of his
lips has me backtracking with not just cheeks blazing, but my neck, too. Before
I can flee through my door, he stops me by grabbing my hand.

“That was the sweetest kiss, doll. I
bet lip to lip, it could get a whole lot sweeter.” He winks before releasing my
hand and sauntering away.

I’m thinking more on the lines of it
getting sinful, but I hold my tongue and hide in my room until it’s time for
the concert.

Chapter
Nine

M
ave

Idling
in a private back lot of the arena, our tour buses sit twinkling blue from
crazy-cool running lights—Blake did good on those bad boys. Something about the
sound of the two diesel beasts rumbling always causes my skin to tingle with
anticipation.

Blake and Tate took care of Ninja duties
tonight since we had Kent and his family in the front row at the concert.
Dillon even pulled his son on stage at one point and sung the littles dude’s
favorite Christmas song on the fly. “Jingle Bells” was knocked out with all of
us manning tambourines that Izzy hustled to gather from our stock at the last
minute. That chick is always on it. Nothing slack about her.

“All right, doll. Looks like we are
bunkmates for the next while.” I sling my arm around her shoulders and lead her
over to the other bus. “This one has a blue shooting star over the door. Makes
it easy to remember this one is the Bleu Family’s bus. Jewels told me Grace is
already knocked out for the night, so she’ll have to give you a tour tomorrow.
Logan and Ben bunk with them.”

“And on the other bus?” she asks, not
sounding so sure of this.

I lead her over there and point to the
silver shooting star over our door. “This is us. Jen is joining us in Alabama,
so her and Trace get the bedroom.” I motion for her to enter and follow behind.
Her gasp is out before I can take a step inside the front lounge area.

“Wow. This place is gorgeous.” She
wanders along the small kitchen with all those stainless steel appliances that
never get used and runs her fingers over the vibrant blue quartz countertops.
“It’s so sophisticated.” Everything is etched in black, electric-blue, and
silver hues.

“It’s too sophisticated for us punks,
but we like it.” Tapping a beat on my thigh, I stand back and let her check the
place out.

She stops to inspect the fully-stocked
fridge. “Oh, I can whip up some French toast in the morning.”

“The kitchen may finally get used.” I
laugh.

“What? You guys have this
state-of-the-art kitchen on your bus, no less, and don’t use it?”

“For coffee and cereal.” I shrug as I
look over all the stuff crammed in the fridge. “Looks like Blake was hopeful
you’d break the kitchen in.”

“I bet you guys are starving. How about
you show me where to put my bag and I’ll fix something now.”

 
She
doesn’t have to say that twice. That protein shake after the show did nothing
to satisfy my appetite. I pull the black velvet curtain back that separates the
bunks from the living area. “Me and you are on the lower bunks with Max above
you and Tate above me. Sorry to tell you, but Tate snores, so we all wear
earbuds or plugs at night. In the very back is the bedroom. The leather sofa
turns into a bed. Blake sleeps there.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch. I don’t want
to take anyone’s bed.” She turns to head back that way, but I swipe her hand.
With my free hand, I pull the bag off her shoulder and place it on top of her
bed.

“No. We all flipped a coin for the
sleeper sofa. Dude lucked out. It’s bigger. He had to agree to have coffee
ready in the mornings, though.”

“Okay,” she mutters, still not sounding
so sure of this setup.

I point to the right just past the
bunks. “Shower is in there. Everyone gets ten minutes to wash it and get out. The
toilet and sink are on the opposite side. They’re not like the hotel suites we just
hung out in today, but they’ll do.”

“This place is a mansion on wheels,” she
says in awe. “No more downplaying it, sir.”

Izzy heads back to the kitchen and
makes herself at home while the rest of us help load things and get settled.
Before the bus pulls out, this chick has managed to make flatbread pizzas, some
kind of creamy dip to go with sliced vegetables, and a fruit salad. Izzy brings
our driver, Joe, and our bodyguard, Sonny, a plate up front, and Blake delivers
a tray full of the goodness to the other bus before we take off. No one says
anything until all the food is gone.

“Izzy, please let us keep you,” Tate
begs. “Don’t get me wrong. Jen and Jewels and some of these punks can cook, but
none of them have the passion to do so.” He leans back in the leather recliner
and rubs his belly.

“You think the other bus ate all
theirs?” Max asks as he texts on his phone. It pings seconds later. “Dang it.
Dillon said it’s all gone. He says to thank you, Izzy.”

Her cheeks pink up from the attention. It’s
the most mesmerizing shade of pink I’ve ever seen. I swear it inspires lyrics
in me. Itching to write them down, I head to my bunk to pen them before I lose
them. There’s no way I can pass her without touching, so I place a quick kiss
on her cheek. Innocent as it is, one whiff of her sweet, spicy scent sends my
mouth to watering. The guys do one of those stupid
aww’s
, so I shoot them a dirty look and head on to my bunk.

Losing myself in lyrics has become
another one of my healthy addictions. I’ve not even realized it’s gone
completely silent, except for the hum of the bus as it passes mile after mile,
until I close my journal. A glance at my phone tells me I’ve wandered away for
close to two hours. I shuck off the track pants and thermal I pulled on after
my shower earlier and try settling down in my bunk.

I’m about to cram in my earbuds and
crank up some music to lull me to sleep when I hear sniffling from my bunkmate
across the aisle. A few beats pass with no more sound.
Maybe I was just hearing things?
Nope. There it goes again.

“Another mystery stinker got you
upset?” I ask, going for my go-to humor to deflect the situation.

She clears her throat. “You nailed it.”

I already know her more than I realize,
because she’s not fooling me at all. There was no hiding the catch in her
voice. Easing out of my bed and kneeling onto the floor, I slowly pull the
curtain open.

Dang…

Red, puffy eyes and damp cheeks do
something painful to my gut.

“What’s wrong?” My fingers reach out to
wipe the tears away as I wait for an answer, but she stays silent. “Izzy.” Me
using her actual name catches her attention, so she finally looks over at me.

She shrugs. “Just homesick. Stupid,
right?” A weak smile pulls at those pouty lips, but goes nowhere near her sad
brown eyes.

“You ever been away from your mom?”

She shakes her head and more tears
release. I dare not ask if it’s their first time apart since her dad’s passing.
That answer is already evident on that pretty face.

“There’s nothing stupid about that,
sweetheart. It’s okay to miss her.” I settle on the floor. “Promise not to tell
anyone, but I missed my mom like crazy when we ran off to California. I was only
sixteen and thought we owned the world that night we snuck off. That only
lasted two days before I was on the phone with her, crying like a baby, wanting
to go home.”

“Did she go get you?” There’s too much
hope in that question. No way am I letting her bail on this tour.

“No.” I laugh. “Momma told me to stop
acting like a pansy and start appreciating the adventure I was blessed to be a
part of.”

This pulls a hushed giggle from the
doll. Those pretty lips hold a genuine smile now. Wonder when I’m gonna stop
pansying around about that and claim a kiss from them?

“I’m glad Momma straightened me out
that night. Look at all the living I would have forfeited had I tucked tail and
gone home.”

She nods like she gets it and I think
she does. The tears have disappeared. I weave my fingers through her soft hair
and gently pull through. As I continue this in a lazy rhythm, I start to hum
what I’m pretty sure will be the opening to the song I’ve written tonight. What
overtakes me to do this, I’m not sure, but she’s allowing it and there’s no
stopping it until well after her eyes drift shut.

Contentment eventually accompanies me
back to my bunk and pulls me into a deep satisfying sleep…

“Wake up, suckers! Alabama!”

I could have sworn I just fell asleep,
but the bus not moving is an indicator that I’ve hit at least seven hours of
sleep since we are undoubtedly already in Alabama. Me and Izzy slide our
curtains open at the same time and catch a glimpse of Trace running by the
bunks and on out the door.

It’s all I can do not to cringe when my
eyes catch sight of her. That long cry is lingering in the form of dark circles
under her eyes. And her hair…

“Sounds like Trace is excited.” Izzy
croaks this out as she rubs her eyes. I think she could maybe use a few more
hours of sleep, but I don’t suggest it. She probably needs to do something with
her hair sooner rather than later.

“He is. His wife is here. Remember?”

She sits up, but I just roll on my
side. Her petite height has an advantage with these bunks.

“That’s right. I forgot Jen is joining
us. I hope she’s up for it.”

“How are you this morning? Better? If
not, I was thinking we could have your mom here before the show begins
tonight.” I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep her here, and I’m pretty sure
the band would back me on it.

“I’m fine. There’s no need to bother
her. We’ll be home in another week.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

I let out a long sigh. “Good, ‘cause we
need to talk about your hair.”

Izzy’s eyebrows pull together as her
fingers comb through her hair. She stills when her fingers meet a section that
I’m pretty sure feels stiff.

“Max tagged you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She doesn’t wait for my reply. Instead,
she bolts to the bathroom.

“Max King!” she screams.

Running back out with wide eyes, Izzy
yanks open Max’s curtain and pinches him awake.

“Ouch!” Max yelps as he pulls out his
earbuds. “What the heck?”

“You dyed my hair
blue
!” she screeches.

 
His groggy eyes focus on her, and he actually
has enough nerve to laugh.

“It’s just one streak, and it’s not
permanent. Couple washes and it’ll be gone. No worries, baby.”

As though it’s no big deal, Max rolls
away from her to go back to sleep. She’s not taking too kindly to that either,
because doll just hauled off and slapped his bare shoulder—hard enough to echo
through the bus and leave a bright handprint blooming on his skin. Idiot just
keeps laughing.

I stay in my spot and watch on as she
slings around, gathering her stuff and storming to the bathroom.

Doll baby stays in there twenty minutes
past the allotted time. By the time she emerges, we are all patiently waiting
our turns. No one dares to call her out on it. I guess the empty shampoo bottle
she just slung in the trash didn’t do the job she wanted. The blue streak is
just as blaring as it was before the long shower. Without saying a word to any
of us, Izzy grabs up some supplies from the kitchen and continues right out the
door.

Thirty minutes later, a text lights up
my phone.

Doll Baby—
Hot stuff? Really? That’s what you saved your number under?

Me
—
Straight
up.

Doll Baby—
Whatever. You, Tate, and Blake are invited to the Bleu bus for b-fast.

A howl of laughter leaves me as I show
the crowd the text and they join in.

“
Looks like Max messed up his meal ticket.” Tate laughs all
the way out the door.

“She’ll feed me, won’t she?”

Max is right on my heels, but I stop
him. “I wouldn’t push it.” I retrieve the empty bottle out the garbage and
shove it in his hands. “Get yourself a driver and go get our girl a new bottle
and an apology.” I leave him to think about what he’s done.

Breakfast is stellar. Best cinnamon
French toast I’ve ever had. Sure am glad a bad mood doesn’t affect Izzy’s
cooking abilities.

•♫•♫•♫•

The thing about touring, is sometimes
it can be confusing what state we’re in at the moment. Looking around the log
cabin, it takes a few beats before it clicks—southern Tennessee, at a river
lodge, pulling out for Nashville tonight.

My feet finally unglue as I toss my
workout bag down and follow the incredible scent coming from the kitchen. My
mouth waters at the same time my gut grumbles. All I gotta do is close my eyes
and I’m at my favorite Mexican restaurant.

“Doll, it smells awesome up in here.”

Izzy looks away from the pot she’s stirring
and gives me that sweet smile that I’m beginning to think she reserves for only
me.

“I’m in the mood for some spice.”

Ah now. No way can I let her get away
with that. I ease behind her, bending close to her ear, and whisper, “Babe, all
you had to do was come to me and I’d gladly dish out all the spice you could
handle.” Her entire body comes alive with a shiver.