Page 20 of Six Ways to Write a Love Letter

“Let me tell you, kid,” David said as he crashed through the bus door, instantly occupying the space with strong, male energy so different from the delicate candy-floss feel that had been Vivi Swan. He went on, “Spend a few hours on Vivi’s bus and you’ll hate this one. You missed out. The floors are heated marble.”

“Heated marble? You’re kidding,” Remy said, grinning and trying to sit casually, aware he was trying too hard. Why was it strange, watching them sling their bags into their bunks? Watching Parish root into the refrigerator and Michael yawn, mouth wide? This was their space, after all.

“Yep, heated marble,” Parish said, rolling his eyes a little. “And she has Wi-Fi. Real satellite Wi-Fi, not just a phone tethered to a laptop—which, by the way, we were supposed to get for this tour, but that shit didn’t happen.Andthere’s an espresso machine that I don’t think has ever been used.”

“Not a bad place to spend an evening,” Michael said, nodding. “I mean, once we got over the fear that this was all a setup to catch us fucking with her stuff.”

“No kidding,” David said. “It felt like I was back at church in Kentucky. Feet on the floor, hands folded.” He crossed his arms and did an impression of a scolded little boy, and it made everyone laugh. “Anyway,” David said, turning to Remy. “What’d you do all evening here with her?”

“Nothing, really,” Remy said immediately, without a second thought. “She sat on her phone, and I sat on the computer.”

“Well. You missed out on those heated floors,” David said, flashing a grin before heading to his bunk.

Remy licked his lips. “Looks that way.”