Louis in the morning, I’ve pushed Sam’s crazy ass note and the discovery of how fiercely some of Lucas’s fans hate me to a dark corner in the back of my mind. As ironic as it sounds, thinking about either is toxic for me, and if I concentrate on it, I’ll just make myself sick again. I think about this day, and night, off instead. As I peek out of the blinds in the galley, I’m practically bouncing on the balls of my feet in anticipation of getting off of our bus. Two of the other drivers have already maneuvered bus into parking places. I watch as the rest of Your Toxic Sequel, and Cilla’s group, start to unload. There’s a white shuttle bus parked in between them, and Wyatt ducks inside of it, lugging a giant green duffel bag. Lucas slides up behind me, tickling my shoulder with his full lips. “Are we taking the shuttle too?” “We’re not even staying at the same hotel. When I told you I wanted you all to myself, I had no intention of half-assing it.”
