I’ve got this. I’m cool, calm, collected. Totally together. The picture of professionalism.
That is, until Jase Wade gives me a lingering look full of dark promises before winking at me on his way out. I force a completely awkward smile and give him two thumbs up.
I just gave Jase freaking Wade two thumbs up. Once he’s out of sight, I cover my face with my hands, including my two humiliating thumbs, and groan.
I have so got to get laid. Preferably by someone who won’t cost me my job.
3 | Dallas
“HEY, SUPERSTAR,” MY MANAGER GREETS ME AT THE FAIRMONT hotel. She lowers the phone she was texting on when the car I was in pulled up. “Just got the official word from your agent. He heard back from Midnight Bay. We’re all set for a meet-and-greet in Denver. You ready for this, baby? You’re about to be the next big thing.”
I still bristle a little at her overly familiar terms of endearment, but I’ve heard her on the phone with her other clients and I know I’m not the only one she uses them on.
“Sounds great.”
The Kickin’ Up Crazy tour is kicking off in Denver, but we’re doing some press first in Nashville. From there we’ll zigzag across the country—Wade on his luxury bus and the rest of us on something a little more modest. Some of the guys in the band grumbled about it, but I couldn’t care less. It’s sure the hell a step up from EmmyLou, the Chevy Express van that me, my sister, Dixie, and my best friend, Gavin, hauled our equipment and ourselves in.
My chest constricts just thinking about Leaving Amarillo. Not the physical act of actually leaving it—that part I was ready for. I just didn’t expect to leave without the other two members of my band.
“You seem a little off, Dallas,” Mandy says as we head to the hotel restaurant where we’re having a quick meeting before I get to crash in my room. “You need to focus on why you’re here. This is about you and your dream. Whatever else is on your mind, you need to have it handled before tomorrow morning.”
“Got it. I’m good. Just a little tired. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” And a good thorough fucking would help, I think but don’t say out loud. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since I’ve gotten laid. In reality it’s only been a few weeks since my wild night with Deidre or maybe it was Debra, a waitress I hooked up with in Atlanta. I’m kind of pissed that I was drunk at the time and can’t exactly remember if I was worth a shit or not. Ah well. One-offs are kind of like cold pizza. Not spectacular or worth writing home about, but still enjoyable so not a total waste of time.
While we eat, Mandy says something else about the meeting with the tour sponsors tomorrow and staying focused, but I keep checking my phone to see if Dixie has texted an update on her location and I’m so exhausted my vision is blurring. My manager has a consistent habit of reminding me to keep my eyes on the prize and stop stressing out over what my little sister is up to.
The check comes and Mandy slips a shiny black credit card inside the padfolio before handing it back to the waiter. Before I can thank her, or her management company, I suppose, for dinner, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Retrieving it, I see a photo my sister sent from some cheese monument in God knows where. After that comes one of her grinning like a maniac beside a giant ball of twine. The fuck?
I’m mildly concerned that she’s having some sort of weird grief-induced breakdown, but every time I talk to her she assures me that she’s fine.
I start to text her a message to call me and let me know her exact coordinates—yes, I’m serious—when Mandy reaches out and places her perfectly manicured nails over the screen of my phone.
Glancing up, I can see that I’ve offended her by texting during out meeting. Pretty ironic since she probably texts in her sleep.