Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
It’s exactly what I think we need tonight.
A safe, bland movie. Popcorn. Mom and Dad.
Normalcy.
It takes TJ a while to relax. I can tell. We’re spread out in his “cinema room”, which is basically a small movie theater with long, pillow-filled couches and loveseats filling four raked rows, clearly for them plus a dozen or more friends. The room’s complete with a sound system beefy enough to drown out the rest of the world, and isn’t that kind of literally what we need?
His parents sit near the front. TJ and I are a couple rows back.
He’s cuddled against me, his popcorn already eaten with the tub set aside, and I’ve got him safe and warm in my arms as we pay attention to the movie. Well, half attention. I’m not sure either of us are really following the plot. Isn’t that the thing with rom-coms nowadays? You can fall asleep through half of it, wake up, and feel like you’re still a step ahead of the adorably predictable plot.
I just wish our own story was as adorably predictable.
I have no fucking idea what Ian or my team are doing. If they have a handle on anything at all. How stupid was I, to believe that leaked photos of us from that night in Houston could somehow be magically contained, never to see the light of day again?
That was way back in Atlanta that I first learned about the photos. It’s now a whole ass-load of weeks later. That’s a fuck lot of time for those pics of us to circulate and stir shit up.
I’m honestly surprised a headline wasn’t written right away.
Don’t click-bait websites jump on that shit instantly, even if it’s speculative and unconfirmed?
“You okay?”
I stir from my thoughts at TJ’s sweet voice. He’s looking up at me from my lap. I guess he can still see the movie. I give his arm a squeeze, then nod. He smiles, then turns back to the movie. So do I, putting my thoughts aside, determined to be present with TJ.
His parents go to bed after the movie. I’m surprised when Tim gives me a hug right after Cissy, like I’m already part of the family. I linger there after they head across the foyer to their bedroom. I think I underestimated how much I miss this feeling of family.
“Be right back,” says TJ, a little cheerier after the movie, then heads off to take a shower.
That means I’ve got about fifteen minutes.
I head downstairs, across the foyer to the guest wing, and into its dark kitchenette. After a deep breath, I finally return Ian’s call.
“Clever of you to call back at this exact minute,” he answers.
“Why? Did I interrupt dinner? Or sex?”
“Dollhouse hour with the little one before she goes to bed,” he corrects me, “which means I’ll be speaking to you sweetly, because we only speak in sweet voices when it’s dollhouse hour, isn’t that right, princess?” The squeaky, unintelligible words of his daughter fill the silence. “Now I’ll ask a question I already know the answer to: are you on a flight back to Nashville tomorrow? Or do I have to send our devoted Rob there in person to box you up and ship you like a repaired amplifier?”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m on my break with TJ, livin’ my life and being a human being.”
“Living your life and—” He chuckles to himself after mocking my words, then he lets out a sigh. “Alright, alright. You deserve to do that. Y’know what? I really feel like a—” He edits himself. “—a big ol’ silly nincompoop. Here I was, encouraging your two-week spa date, thinking you’d get it out of your system and return back for the rest of the tour refreshed …”
“TJ isn’t somethin’ I’m ‘getting out of my system’, Ian. We’re so much more than …” I suddenly fight for the words. I don’t know why it’s harder to say to Ian, like I’m admitting something bigger than I can handle.
“Oh, why yes, but of course dear,” he says to his daughter—in a voice I’d normally find adorable, but that comes off grating right now—“I would love a tasty beverage.” I hear his daughter giggle. “You like when I say that? Beverage.”
“Is that supposed to be an English accent?” I ask.
Ian takes a breath. “I know what you want, Chase. I know how I’d treat this as your friend and how I’m currently treating this as your manager are two very different beasts. Beasts!” he repeats in a cute tone for his daughter, inspiring another giggle from her. “I want nothing more than to be high-fiving you, cheering you on … I might even believe you’ve got genuine feelings for this guy.”
“His name’s TJ.”
“TJ.” He sighs gently. “But that’s not the world we live in.”
“It could be,” I say just as reasonably. “I need to trust that you and the label aren’t trying to spin this against him. That you aren’t giving in to this narrative that he’s some groupie who stalked me, or a college-boy fling I’m entertaining on this tour.”