A Bleu Streak Christmas Read Online Free Page A

flying?”
    My gaze is still locked on the
terrifying scene outside this window. The land is disappearing right before my
eyes. My jaw refuses to unhinge, so I offer another nod.
    He chuckles and I swear it sounds close
to a melody. “Can you speak?”
    I finally look away from the window and
lock onto his kind, golden eyes. He normally has those babies hiding behind a
pair of aviator shades. I now see why. They are quite intense. Embarrassed, I
ease my gaze over to the silver hoops dressing his ear. Logan clears his throat
and that sounds closer to a velvety two-part harmony. He’s still waiting for me
to answer. Oh boy.
    “Not right now.” I manage to squeak
this out around a tight throat.
    He chuckles again and finally releases
my hand.
    After we’re told it’s safe to release
our seatbelts—I do not—Ben scoots over to the guys and starts going over a few
changeups for the concert tomorrow night. Tate plops down on the edge of my
seat, which I’m actually okay with. We’ve met several times in the last two
weeks to get me familiar with my new job assignment, so I’ve gotten pretty
comfortable with this ginger-haired flirt. He goes over my duties for tomorrow,
which includes shopping for Christmas gifts. I wonder why the band didn’t take
care of their shopping before the tour, but it’s none of my business so I shrug
the notion off. I get to put together a grocery delivery and I’m sort of
excited over that. Food is definitely my forte. Tate hands over a list of the
band’s likes and dislikes, which pretty much is void of dislikes, making my job
easy.
    An hour passes before a late lunch is
served. My stomach is on a constant flip-flopping mode, so Max gladly takes my
plate off my hands. I take this time to plan a menu. They don’t like to eat
heavy before going on stage, so I’m thinking about whipping up a light pasta
primavera with grilled chicken. A fruit salad with lemon scented whipped cream
will finish the meal off on a good note…
    “Hey, doll. How about hand over that
fork,” Mave speaks, leaning over the small aisle and carrying a hint of a clean
citrusy cologne with him.
    I am absolutely overwhelmed by this
whole blame situation. Where’s Jewels when I need a shield?
    His chestnut-brown hair is a bit long
on top and a few wayward strands dip onto his forehead as he leans my way. I
have the overwhelming urge to brush them off, but keep my hands locked together
in my lap. Oh my. I’m staring at him stunned, when I realize he’s still waiting
with an outreached hand.
    “I’m not a doll,” I stutter out, with
cheeks blazing. I really need to figure out how to get that under control. I
plop my unused fork in his hand.
    His dark-brown eyes twinkle with I’m
guessing amusement. “You sure look sweet enough to be one.” He winks one of
those gorgeous eyes before straightening up.
    Both he and Will have manned sets of
forks and set into tapping out a beat on the tabletop. In perfect sync with
each other, they launch into a deftly skilled routine. I’ve never seen such an
impromptu act so riveting and am unable to look away. Both have their heads slightly
bent and bobbing to the beat they are expertly beckoning from ordinary forks.
    At one point, they set one fork down
and slam their fists on top of the prongs, sending them flying until they
nimbly catch the forks and continue without missing a beat. These two
outrageously talented drummers perform for us as Blake captures it with his
phone.
    “You better ask Daddy’s permission
before posting his baby boy online,” Max says.
    The beat concludes with Mave and Will
fist-bumping.
    “You okay with that, boss?” Blake asks
Dillon as his considerable form emerges from the back bedroom.
    “Sure, man.”
    I manage to work up enough courage to
ask Dillon as he stops by my seat, “How’s Grace?”
    “She’s still sleeping,” he says with a
weary smile while running his hand through his thick black hair.
    His little princess isn’t crazy