Night, Wednesday, February 18th
at the Revel Coliseum in Kerva, Armav

“Where’s my blue Nibson?” Nik shouted. “Baby Go! Why isn’t it here?”

Through the narrow opening into the back room, beyond the recessed bunks along the sides of the luxury RV, Margot, also known as Baby Go when the band shouted at her, could see Nik weaving back and forth, scanning the rows of instruments on the back wall for his beloved guitar. She rolled her eyes at her cousin and finished the last of her iced tea, gathering up her plate from where she sat at the small table across from the kitchen and putting both in the trash can under the sink.

The luxury RV was much bigger than her converted TW bus. It had two cushy seats in front of a long couch that ended at the small kitchen table. Beyond the kitchen, the Party Bus, as Nik had dubbed this RV, contained four oversized bunk beds for the members of Stone Dragons. For this road tour, they spent most of their time here lounging between shows. Earlier tonight, the band had been sitting on the couch watching TV while Nik absently strummed his guitar—which still sat on the couch.

She picked up the battered Aniphone and walked back to where he stood, shaggy dark hair wet from his post-show shower. “It’s packed with the rest of the show gear,” she reminded him, tapping his shoulder with her free hand. “Because you don’t take the fancy guitar to the afterparty, Niklaus.” When he turned, she handed him the dark brown guitar. “You take the ancient Hummingbird when you show off for all the ladies.” After a pause, she added, “Since you like to leave your instruments behind for your adoring fans.”

He took the guitar, giving her a conspiratorial smile. “What if I want to show off for you instead?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

Margot gave him a solid push toward the door. “Take your guitar and go,” she ordered. “I know you too well for you to show off for me.”

“You know you love it when I sing,” he crooned but started walking toward the door, snagging a t-shirt from atop his bunk and sliding the small privacy curtain closed, sealing off his space until he returned. Standing in the small hallway, he dragged the green shirt over his head, managing to shove his arms through the sleeves without losing the guitar in the process, a display of back muscles and tattoos that Margot could appreciate on a certain level. Niklaus Hodges was a beautiful man: dark eyes, tousled brown hair, the taut forearms of a guitarist. If he wasn’t her cousin, she might have responded to his charm. Then she saw that he was wearing yet another of his t-shirts emblazoned with a picture of himself—playing drums—in high school. She sighed, shaking her head.

“Again with the shirt?” she asked, knowing he did it to annoy Timothy, the actual drummer of Stone Dragons.

He grinned at her. “Chicks dig it.”

“I don’t know how you manage to get laid at all,” she commented but didn’t mean it. The number of groupies surrounding the band had grown the last year. Even though they were doing an actual road tour, no airplanes and no hotels—much to the delight of their manager Cayla, who thought they were all crazy but wasn’t going to stop them if they wanted to drive across the country—the number of wild fans the band continued to pick up was starting to be a nuisance.

Margot could understand why the people were drawn to Stone Dragons. Rock star status aside, all of the members were beautiful, blessed with that unearthly presence that called followers to them in droves. They sang like angels—or demons—depending on the song. In addition to playing lead guitar, Nik was backup vocals and chorus, but he was working on songs of his own. He liked to entertain the ladies at the afterparty with his works in progress.

Margot blew him a kiss when he turned at the RV’s door. “Knock ‘em dead,” she told him.

“You coming?” He took the first step down and patted his pockets to make sure he had his phone.

“Later,” she assured him. “I still have a few things to do. Some of us work when you’re not on stage.”

Nik gave her a look, knowing that Margot’s “later” often meant “never.”

“Timothy is heading over,” he told her. “And I saw Ash…”

“I know,” she said quickly. “I saw.”

Margot hated the sharp jab of jealousy that always surfaced at the lead singer’s name. Though she tried not to, she pictured the long line of sexy women who were waiting for Ash Stonewall as he exited what they called the Entertaining Bus, the RV with the actual bedroom in the back. He would stroll out like the rock god he was, long dark hair aching for a smoothing touch, hazel eyes sparkling as he considered his options. Wearing his afterparty clothes—jeans and a faded band shirt (she predicted tonight would have the Blue Giants logo), he might grab a hoodie if the air turned chilly. Ash didn’t have to worry about looking good; he had rolled out of bed dripping with sex appeal since Margot first met him years ago. All of the scantily clad women waiting for him were eager to parade about on his arm or jump into his bed—women who could stand on spike heels and pull off leather miniskirts—despite the brisk winter air in Armav. Margot glanced down at her sweaty band shirt and jeans, dirty from the grime she acquired setting up for the show.

Nik frowned, then gave her an understanding smile. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, lingering on the bottom step. “They don’t matter.”

“Right,” she sighed, wishing her little crush wasn’t quite so obvious to everyone around her. Ash had certainly talked to her, hired her as their stage manager for the tour, and he was always warm enough when they spoke to one another, but he had never looked at her in that way.

Margot wanted more. She wanted what all those other women wanted, and it was embarrassing. She’d known Ash for years now, and though she’d been starstruck from that first moment, then 18-year-old Ash Stonewall hadn’t looked at the 15-year-old Margot as anything more than a helpful acquaintance who was his friend’s cousin. Ash and Timothy had come to live with Margot’s aunt Maddie only a few months before Margot had arrived—distant relatives on Nik’s dad side.

Margot had been shellshocked from the death of her mother and the end of the carefree life she had always known back in Belsune, but the boys—especially Nik—had done their best to make Margot feel at home in Ardon, helping her learn to live on the new continent. They had explained the little things—like driving on the right side of the road instead of the left—and Margot had always felt that Ash and Timothy were sometimes as lost as she was, adrift in a new place unlike their home, though they were only from Yens, the province north of their home in Arillo. One thing Margot had learned by traveling this continent by bus—things varied immensely from province to province: food, language, customs. She had always thought Ash understood how she felt in a new place, their shared ignorance of local customs something that should bring them together. They may be closer eight years later, and clearly Ash valued her assistance since he’d brought her on tour the last two years, yet Margot still longed for the day he would look at her as something—anything—more, but she was always going to be “Baby Go” to him—never Margot the Woman.

At least Nik and Timothy could appreciate that she had grown up. Both were always encouraging her to find herself a man for the evening.

“You’re the oddest 23-year-old woman I’ve ever known,” Nik would tell her. “Who goes on a worldwide tour with a rock band and stays in her bus reading all night long?”

“Ardon is not the world. There’s a whole other continent out there, and I come to the parties!” she would argue.

“Yeah, to stare at the god himself, sigh a few times, then wander back to your bus and disappear into a book.”

“Sometimes I watch TV,” she would defend. Lamely.

“You’re young. We’re young. And we’re on tour. Have some damned fun, Margot! Let loose a little.”

She never took his advice, but thinking of that long line of women waiting to touch Ash, she let out a long breath, something in her shifting. Maybe it was time to do something else.

“You said Timothy was already there?” she asked Nik, tugging off her sneakers and sliding off her socks, already running through the clean clothes she had that would work for the party tonight.

Nik watched her curiously. “Yeah?”

“And you’re going now?” She yanked her t-shirt over her head, glancing down at her tank top. She could probably still wear it, she decided, tucking the clothes and shoes under one arm.

Nik nodded, still not following where she was going with the questions.

“Good. We’re stopping by my bus on the way there. I need to change. Ten minutes.”

Nik’s face lit up. “Baby Go is coming out with the boys?”

“Margot,” she emphasized, “is going to the afterparty and is going to have a good time.”

“Margot should meet someone sexy and have a very good time,” Nik agreed, stepping aside so she could exit the trailer ahead of him.

“Who knows?” she asked, stepping onto the still-warm asphalt of the lot behind the coliseum. “Maybe tonight’s my lucky night.”