Free Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll by Sawyer Bennett

out of place in this world already, and I’ve only been gone from my house for five minutes.
    “Hey,” he says as he leans toward me a bit. “You gotta remember… this is all new for me too. I only broke onto the scene last year, and I’d never even opened for another band before. Stepping out on that stage in Atlanta… we’re going to be lucky if I don’t have a stroke. I’m going to be so nervous.”
    And that makes me feel all kinds of better, knowing that about Evan. That perhaps both of us are stepping into this world together, and it makes me feel slightly braver knowing he’s overwhelmed by all this as well.
    “Now,” he says dramatically as he stands from the couch. “How about we get going on some of the legal mumbo-jumbo I hired you for, so you can get up to speed? There will be reporters in Atlanta we’ll have to address.”
    My stomach drops, curdles, and threatens to expel the bagel I ate for a hurried but late lunch today. I hate public speaking and the thought of getting up in front of reporters to field questions about Evan’s legal issues makes me want to hurl my guts up.
    But instead, I just put on a brave face and give him a nod, hoping this next month goes by fast so I can get back to the sanctity of my real life and a job that’s much more suited to me.

CHAPTER 7
    Evan
    A cupboard opening, the rattle of a cup against granite counters, and I come slowly awake. I assume we’re in Atlanta at the venue, as the bus is quiet and at a standstill. Morning sunlight is filtering through the blinds on the bus window above me. I roll from my back to my side, craning my neck so I can verify that Red is indeed not in the driver’s seat, before I look into the kitchen.
    Emma’s standing at the counter, making a cup of coffee in the Keurig. She’s already dressed for the day, her hair sleek, shiny, and without a stray strand to be seen. She’s wearing what I’ve come to dub as her “mom wear” of perfectly pressed Bermuda shorts and a prim little blouse with lace around the collar. It’s buttoned to her throat. I suppose it was too much to hope she might come out in a see-through negligee with nipples pushing outward and maybe a tiny silk thong underneath that would show her bare ass through the material.
    I have to stifle a groan, particularly as I realize I’ve got morning wood—getting imminently woodier as I think about Emma in a negligee—pressing against the loose cotton material of my sweatpants. I rearrange the blanket over me, hoping to make the “tent” less obvious before clearing my throat and saying, “Good morning.”
    “Good morning,” she answers in a somewhat flat, professional voice. “Would you like some coffee?”
    “I’ll get some in a minute,” I say as I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the couch, planting my bare feet on the floor. I didn’t bother pulling the couch out into a bed last night as I was too tired by the time I was ready to go to sleep. Even worse, I couldn’t get to sleep, my mind plagued with a variety of worries.
    What if I suck when I get up on that stage?
    How am I going to deal with my former band and their ridiculous lawsuit?
    Let’s not even get into the stress I feel over having to decide if I want to cut a deal with one of the record labels.
    And the thing that repeatedly kept me from falling asleep was wondering how I was going to deal with Emma. She thinks she’s here to work for me, and on its face… that’s true. But my motives are far more selfish. She’s here merely because she intrigues me. I’ve got the leverage and privilege behind me that ensures she stays within my line of sight so I can figure out how I want to play with her.
    Last night, she read over the lawsuit brought by the members of my former band, Kickback —sans Keith Carina, of course. It essentially alleges that they jointly own the copyright of certain songs on my Core Deviance album and they were entitled to a portion of the royalties. That