Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
No one follows us, but there are a few who stand outside the store and watch us with their phones permanently attached to their hands as we drive away.
“You got hand sanitizer in here?”
“As per ridiculous rule number six hundred and eighty-five that I must be able to supply Mr. Valentine with hand sanitizer at any given moment, I put some in the glove compartment.”
“I swear someone sneezed on me in there.” I take out the small bottle that claims to kill ninety-nine percent of germs and wish I could bathe in the stuff.
“Question. Is your germ phobia about all germs, or do you just hate people touching you?”
“I don’t hate people touching me,” I argue. “It’s more in situations like back there where I’m touching people’s hands and I don’t know if they’re sick or not. I’m not germophobic, really, I’m … flu-aphobic. One bad case has scarred me for life.”
“Ah. Got it. A fan could theoretically lick you so long as they didn’t have flu symptoms.”
“Eww, no. But theoretically … yes. I’m not pedantic or obsessive over it. I just feel better if I’m able to wash my hands frequently. Anyway, I want to say I told you so because that was far from a successful shopping trip, but seeing as you didn’t get your precious protein, I think that says it clearly enough.”
Brix shifts gears. He looks all badass with his lips pursed and a concentration line across his forehead. “I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
“The mania. It’s not like you’re a Beatle.”
“I think you’re about thirty years too young to understand Beatlemania and not Eleven fandom. When Iris said you didn’t know who I was, I thought he was fucking with me.”
Brix side-eyes me. “I know of you … well, Eleven. I’m not dead. I just didn’t know any of your names or …”
“Or any of my solo songs.”
“Sorry.”
As refreshing as it is to be next to someone who can’t even fathom my fame, I can’t help the small seed of disappointment—as if all the work I’ve put in these last eighteen months to broaden my horizons and gain new fans outside of twelve- to seventeen-year-old girls and their moms hasn’t been enough.
Which is bullshit because Brix isn’t even my target demographic. Twenty-something females? Sure. The queer community? Definitely. Hardass ex-military tough guys who look like they could break a person in half with their bare hands? Not so much.
“You shouldn’t be offended,” Brix says.
“I’m not.” Okay, that came out defensively.
“When you first became famous, I was doing my first tour overseas. Music was the last thing on my mind. Not dying was the first.”
Wow. Perspective.
“When did you get out of the military? Let me guess. You were a Marine.” For some reason, he screams Marine.
“Army. Wanted to become a Ranger.”
“What happened?”
“Enlisted right after high school and did six years. I was about to be promoted to staff sergeant, was almost ready mentally and physically to apply for Ranger School, and then …” He pauses as if stuck in a memory. “Then I got offered a job at Mike Bravo, so I didn’t re-up. But my point is, after six years in the army and another four working for Trav, my whole life has centered around that. My pop culture references are all from when I was a teenager.”
I can’t hold back the jab. “And the Beatles were from when you were a teenager?”
Brix laughs. “Fuck off.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to say that to your boss.”
“Are you my boss, or is Gideon my boss?”
“I pay you. That means I’m your boss.”
“But can you fire me without going through Gideon first?”
I hesitate because I don’t know. Sure, if I was adamant and told Gideon he had to get rid of Brix, he’d do it, but I’d have to be firm and give an appropriate reason. Saying “because he told me to fuck off” would get laughed at.
“You don’t know for sure, do you?” Brix taunts.
“I can’t decide if I hate you more now or when you tackled me yesterday.”
“I’m gonna go with yesterday. Because now you feel sorry for me. How am I supposed to get my protein intake?”
“If you don’t hit your daily limit, do your biceps deflate like a balloon overnight?”
“That’s exactly how it works.”
I hold up my phone. “Mind if I get things done the famous-person way now?”
“By all means.”
One traffic jam and an hour later, we pull into my driveway to find my assistant unloading bags of liquid egg whites from her trunk.
“I think I might like the famous way better,” Brix says.
“Yeah, well, don’t become accustomed to this lifestyle or you’ll never want to leave.”
Brix laughs. “Oh, there’s no danger of that ever happening. I may have to do my own grocery shopping in my real life, but at least I get to blow shit up.”