Page 23 of Rescue

I shrug. “Too babyish?”

“There’s also the fact that we’re stuck on an airplane. Not a whole lot of variety to spy around here.”

I glance around the cabin and see that he’s right. With the privacy booths, I can barely make out the tops of people’s heads. “Hmm.” The band and I actually played a game on the shuttle ride to the airport, but I highly doubt playingChuck, Fuck, or Marrywith Lennon Ransome is a good idea.

“What about Never Have I Ever?”

He scrunches up his face. “I think I know that one.”

I quickly go through the rules. “Of course, we’ll need some alcohol.”

Lennon stills a little. I remember what he said about Xanax being a bad idea for him, about the shame I heard in his voice. Maybe he doesn’t drink, either. “Or,” I say, reaching into my purse and pulling out a bag of M&Ms, “we could play the PG version.”

He smiles. “I don’t usually say no to chocolate. Besides, they won’t serve alcohol until the seat belt light turns off.” As if on cue, the plane gives another shudder, and Lennon winces.

“Well, if I’m supposed to be distracting you from takeoff I guess we shouldn’t wait until we’re at cruising altitude, huh?”

He smiles, and I feel something flutter in my chest.Careful, a voice in my head whispers.The quiet ones are always the most dangerous.

I sling the M&Ms onto the armrest. “Okay, I’ll go first. Never Have I Ever… played a show in Europe.”

He rolls his eyes, reaching for the bag. “You already knew the answer to that one.”

“I’m just warming up.”

He shakes a few M&Ms into his hand and pops them into his mouth. “Okay, my turn. Never Have I Ever… gone skinny-dipping.” I immediately reach for the candy, and his eyebrows go up. “I’m gonna need to hear that story.”

“There’s not much to tell. We were singing at this fundraiser for an art museum outside of Detroit. Real swanky, boring thing, you know?”

“I’m having trouble seeing how you guys fit in.”

I roll my eyes. “Louis managed to get us cleaned up enough to not look out of place. We played jazz standards for two hours.” I shudder, and Lennon laughs. “Anyhow, when our set was over we had to stick around and schmooze with everyone. So lame. But there was an open bar…” I shrug. “I’m sure you can see what happened.”

He laughs. “Actually the connection between a boring museum party with an open bar and skinny-dipping isn’t very clear to me.”

I grin. “The museum had a sculpture garden. With a rather large duck pond in the middle.”

Lennon laughs harder, and I join in. “I hadn’t thought about that night in a while.”

“Europe has a lot of art museums,” he says. “Maybe you’ll get to relive the glory days.”

“Oh, God. Louis would kill me. We’re under strict orders to be on our best behavior on this tour.”

“Why’s that?”

“Probably because we usually aren’t.” Lennon laughs again, and I decide I like the sound. It’s low and rumbly, and I can almost feel it vibrate in my own chest. “And because he thinks this is a good opportunity for us.”

“Well, I won’t encourage shenanigans then.”

“You guys aren’t the type to find yourselves skinny-dipping in art museum ponds?”

“We used to get into some trouble.” He leans back in his chair, and I notice that he’s no longer clutching the arm rests. “Mostly of the drunk and stupid rock star variety.”

I nod. “A condition I know well.”

“Most of that was before Cash got his act together. He was the ring leader.” Lennon shakes his head, his eyes gleaming. Another warning bell goes off in my head, my own gaze glued to those gleaming eyes. “Always been a troublemaker.”

“Why’d he go straight?”