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)
Lighting designer. (Naomi, though not a designer herself, just the one who operates the whole dang thing, shows me some cool tricks and stuff, and isn’t it basically painting with light over a blank canvas of a huge stage? How fucking cool is that??)
Wedding DJ in Iceland—still there, circled twenty times, and finally crossed out with a rueful sigh. Side note: look up if Duolingo teaches Icelandic next time you’re on the bus, por favor, gracias.
Professional pianist. I did take one and a half lessons as a kid.
Caricature artist. I mean, isn’t turning people into cats, ducks, and demented rabbits adorable? How can I not love my life if I’m doing that for a living?
I’m about to add something else to the list when Ian drops by the greenroom. His energy is as unpredictable as the weather. Hot some days. Cold on others. Always happy when he’s on a call with his daughter or wife Hailey, with whom he’s gotten along better lately according to Austin. And tonight, when he meets my eyes, I see him purse his lips in thought, fingers twitching at his sides, as if unsure what to say. Then he adjusts his glasses and says, “Frog.” Satisfied with his answer, he leaves. And I’m left smiling.
I had asked him earlier what animal I should draw him as.
Y’know. So I can include him in my doodle family.
One night on the road, pretty soon after leaving Spruce, I got a call from AJ, and boy, did we have so much tea. He was sorry for being the “dumpster fire of bad news” when he called me while I was in the Strong Fitness Zone bathroom—but more than that, he felt terrible about his “gear crew” stealing my road trip out from under me. Of course, I told him it was for the best. After all, didn’t I just find the man I hope becomes the love of my life someday? He inspires me every waking minute. “So wait, are you his muse, or is he your muse?” asked AJ. I shrugged and said, “Why not both?”
Paris finally cracked. She had gotten her feelings hurt at some party they all went to. AJ had already concluded after a month of chasing her that she just wasn’t into him, so when he comforted her, it was sincere and with no expectations. I guess that did the trick, because it was that night they kissed for the first time.
And I guess they’ve been kissing every night since.
“Will you tell me when you tour in my area?” asked AJ. “You know you’ve gotta get backstage passes for both me and Paris. She is a huge Chase Holt fan. Help me impress her even more, bro! This is still new between us! She might find out I’m boring and ditch me! Help your bestie out?!”
Of course I’m gonna help him out.
Call me a wimp. Or call me compassionate. Or call this a fluke because somehow we all got what we wanted in the end, but I just have to forgive the guy no matter how things went down.
He’s got a good heart and I still love him.
“Who in the fucking fuck ate all the fucking cashews?!”
Oh. I forgot to mention.
Miranda totally met and hooked up with Skeleton from Soul Biter during the two week break. They’re sort of a thing now.
And she’s on the road with us, too.
It works out. There’s something strangely perfect about her being here that balances me out, keeps it real, and helps me take everything a little less seriously. She’s usually roped into working the merchandise stand (which I at first found surprising, thinking she’d scare away customers with her cussing) but she’s actually stunningly sweet and charismatic when she puts her heart into it.
Like, all of her heart. At full blast.
And if no one dares to eat all the fucking cashews backstage.
I don’t know why it happens—perhaps it’s these lucky banana socks I’m wearing tonight—but I’m sent to go grab Austin. He isn’t in his dressing room. My fun little quest is brought to a halt when I hear the soft strum of a guitar. I smirk knowingly, slow down my pace, and follow the enchanting melody. It leads me to a dim hall in the back of the building where Austin is chilling with Glorious, doing his usual preshow ritual of offering something to the venue. I listen to him for a while, unhurried, moved, as he plays with his eyes closed, looking as sexy as a dream.
“Didn’t realize I had an audience,” he says with his eyes still closed, lips curling up.
“Don’t we always?” I echo back, then slowly saunter his way. “You know … I keep thinking back on that first night we met … all of the icky things I said to you … about music … sellouts … a ton of stuff I pretended to know the first thing about …”