“Cramped and inconvenient. We rented our buses for the season and they were not luxurious. More like those RV buses we’ve been passing.” He gestured at the traffic outside. “We had several—a family bus that Chase and I slept in with our parents. One for the band and another for the tech and stage crew. Jack allowed us to ride with the band when we got older.”

“Like how old?”

“Fourteen, fifteen.”

Joy’s eyes widened. “That’s not old enough. What about drugs and stuff?”

“Billie, my mom, she wasn’t around then to knock some sense into Jack. My parents had a messy relationship and messier divorce. Jack really screwed her up. If he hadn’t, I doubt she would have let me continue to tour with the band. The guys partied a lot. But they’d also have impromptu jam sessions, which I loved. What else? Conflicts heated up like a lit fuse and things got dicey fast. There isn’t any place to go when you’re on the road. You can’t walk away from an argument or a fight.”

“You guys fought? Like fist fighting?”

“Yep, we had to work through our issues. That was the rule. Another one was respect the driver. He’s the guy that stayed up all night and got us where we needed to be. We had to know his name and there’d be hell to pay if we woke him up. He slept during the day. Daylight hours meant quiet time. Don’t slam doors and don’t leave your stuff lying around.”

“Sounds like home.”

“It was home to me for three months out of the year. Hmm.” He scratched his palm on his stubbled jaw. “Don’t make calls from the bunk unless you wanted everyone to know your business. You can hear everything in the bunk above or below you.”

Joy glanced at him. “Everything?”

“Everything.” He drew out the word so that she’d catch his meaning, then added for good measure, “No sex on the bus.”

The one rule Jack, Uncle Cal, and some of the other crew habitually broke.

“You never—” She blushed. “Never mind.” She turned redder.

He’d had ample opportunities to screw a groupie or do drugs, but unlike Jack, Dylan didn’t like waking up regretting his behavior the previous night. Groupies were clingy. They didn’t always get off the bus at the next stop.

“I never had sex on the bus,” he said in a low tone. His one-nighters had never been frequent, and they’d gotten even rarer of late. They always came with drama the morning after.

Her grip loosened on the steering wheel and a little smile played on her lips. Kissable lips. Naked lips. He dug that she didn’t wear color or sticky gloss.

He averted his gaze before his thoughts took him too far down that road and focused on the passing scenery.