Page 33 of Only One Tour Bus

CHAPTER 14

CALLUM

Grand, now she has me smiling. It’s not enough that I have to share my tour with an attractive, spineless hedonist, now she’s affecting me in ways I don’t like. In ways that irritate me.

“We’re walking you to your rooms and depositing you to your parents,” I say sternly to the teens walking behind us. I try not to think of all the nights I snuck out to get up to shenanigans like these two, because that would really make me the hypocrite I admitted to being moments ago.

“Yeah, what he said,” Asha says. In what I’m sure she thinks is a stern tone.

I share a look with the teens, agreeing with them for once tonight. The Wee Sunshine is not convincing in her role as authoritarian. But she is trying, so I should not mock her for it.

But damn, is it hard.

We drop the children off at their rooms, making sure the doors are closed before walking to our own rooms, which are next to each other.

“I’m glad you were around to control teenage hormones so I didn’t have to do it alone,” she says, digging through her backpack for her key. She pulls out multiple brightly colored printed pouches with animals wearing human clothes before she finds it. Unnecessarily whimsical when a black pouch would work just as well. Or maybe not carrying that much junk in the first place. I’ve gotten by without a backpack full of provisions.

“I don’t think we controlled anything. But I do think we delayed them, which is all adults can hope for.”

“Probably.”

We stand outside our doors, key cards in hand, not making a movement inside our respective rooms. I don’t know why she’s dithering, but I can guess why I am. Inexplicably, I’m loath to leave her. A big change from the start of this tour, when all I wanted was to be left alone. But spending time with her just makes me want to spend more time with her.

She’s…entertaining. Interesting. A wee puzzle of fun and sometimes historic facts that I like exploring. Despite myself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She’s playing with her key, hitting it lightly on the nails of her opposite hand. The movement causes the hastily shoved pouches to dip precariously out of her backpack. Finally, one loses the battle with gravity and falls out.

Asha doesn’t notice, so I move forward to pick it up for her.

“Oh,” Asha says, moving at the same time.

And then she’s in my arms. One of which is still extended down to the floor to reach for the pouch, and the other of which reflexively closes around her back. And I’m at the start of a squat, which makes me the perfect height for this surprise hug.

“I was…” I clear my throat, not able to finish the sentence.

I’m trapped. Not because she’s a bodybuilder holding me to her by brute strength. But she does have curves. So many I’m intrigued, and want to keep her against me so I can further explore the interesting weight and softness pressed against me. Want to feel it in every combination and every way until I’ve gotten my fill. If I ever could.

She’s holding me with something more effective than strength—my own curiosity.

I thought it was a strength of mine. One that made me successful at school, all the way up through my doctorate. One that makes me a good tour guide, who uncovers the most relevant information for each city we’re in so that the group gets the best education on their vacation.

But now I’m beginning to see it could also be a failing. Like right now, when I know I shouldn’t be hugging someone whose life is a more colorful version of Sesame Street. All bright colors, loud sounds, and fun playtime with some educational value.

And the warmth. She’s so very warm. I lower my head deeper to tuck it into the crook of her neck to find even more of that warmth radiating off her tan skin. And she smells like…sugar. How?

The curiosity at the new sensations won’t let me do anything other than lean in closer to research more primary sources on the issue. Of her and my reaction to her.

That’s the worst part of this; not only am I trapped as effectively as the sirens trapped unsuspecting sailors, my body doesn’t care. Instead, it’s enjoying this hug with all five senses.

Asha finally pulls away, taking the warmth and sweetness away with her.

I clear my throat and try saying what I started to at the beginning of this hug, back when I was an entirely different man. One who didn’t know she feels as amazing as she looks. “I was…” It takes another try, and another violent throat clearing before I can finish. “You dropped your pouch.”

“Oh.” Asha looks over her shoulder to see the object of the conversation and picks it up. “Oooooh.” She says it again, longer and deeper this time, with understanding. “You weren’t…” She squirms in discomfort at the revelation. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fi⁠—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She doesn’t let me finish, getting in her room and closing the door with more speed than has ever been applied to the task in the past, closing the door with a firm slam when she’s inside.