Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
The guy I used to be before my sister convinced me to join the band.
Be the person I was before I fell for Nola.
I walk past everyone without giving them a second glance and head upstairs to the lounge where my guitar is. My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Elle
Getting high is a new thing . . .
I stare at the screen and contemplate how I should respond. With my sister, honesty is the best policy.
I’m wound tight and need to relax. Besides, you’re not my mom
She responds right away.
Elle
As I tell all my musicians, only buy from a cannabis store. I don’t need you guys getting something laced. As your sister, I’ll tell mom just to piss you off. Don’t smoke on the bus, it’s against our contract. Remind everyone.
Roger that.
Upstairs, I walk by the bunks, hoping I’m not disturbing anyone, and head to the lounge where my guitar is. Justine and Priscilla are in there, watching TV.
“Do you want us to leave?” Priscilla asks.
“No, you’re fine,” I tell them as I glance at Justine. She smiles sheepishly.
I sit down, grab my guitar, and strum a few chords before writing down some words floating around in my mind.
Why’d you go / where’d you hide / was I blind / was I blind?
The door closes, and I look around to see who came in, only to find Priscilla has left.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” I say to Justine. “I’m going through some shit, and I snapped at you. I appreciate you buying the worms for me.” I rip the bag open and offer them to her.
“It’s okay,” she says as she puts her small, delicate hand inside. She hands me one and takes one for herself.
“What’s your favorite candy?”
“Caramel coffee cold brew M&M’s.”
“That’s a flavor?”
Justine smiles, not the polite, quick smile she gives fans. Not the forced stage grin she gives me after our duet. This one is different. It’s slower, softer, like she’s letting me in on a secret she hasn’t told anyone.
It pulls at the corner of her mouth, tipping just a little higher on the left side.
Mischievous.
Knowing.
Playful.
It’s the kind of smile that says, “I see you even when you’re trying not to be seen.”
This one is for me and only me.
She sees me.
How long has she been looking?
And for a beat, I forget what I’m angry about.
I forget about the note dragging my pocket down and the ring causing my heart to ache cruelly.
For a beat, I’m Quinn, musician and lead male singer of a very successful band . . . all because of Justine’s smile.
TEN
If you want to know what a man’s really feeling, don’t read his words. Read his setlist. It’s what I’ve learned over the past three days, staring at this sheet of paper like it’s a Ouija board that might spell her name.
Only, my life doesn’t work that way.
Unless you’re Dana and believe in the paranormal shit. She actually spends all her free time doing ghost tours in the cities we visit, dragging Keane and Chandler along with her.
We’re in Nashville for two shows. Imagine that, selling out two shows in a predominantly country music town. I think Elle is proud of us for doing so, but also, it’s the only way to hear our yet-to-be-released single that Justine and I perform during the encore. Someday, we’ll put it online and send it to the radios.
This is not someday.
Elle and Ben are here for two days of promo. During the day, Ben has us booked with multiple radio stations, a three-song performance on a morning show, and we’re “hosting” a fashion show at the mall. Elle wants us to be more community-oriented in the places we visit, especially when we have more than one show there.
My phone dings with a text from Elle. I know better than to ignore it, but I’m busy writing out a new setlist for the last half of our tour. Another tactic from my sister. She never wants things to become stale or predictable.
Elle
Come downstairs to the restaurant.
I groan.
I’m busy.
Elle
Be busy later.
Later.
Elle
Quinny, please come downstairs.
I roll my eyes. I hate that she can bring me to my knees with her nickname for me. Not even Peyton calls me Quinny.
Just Elle.
It’s our thing.
Ugh, I really need to finish this.
Elle
It’s not going anywhere. Come downstairs.
The truth is, being with her and Ben hurts. I really don’t want to be around people who still have their hearts intact. The lovey-dovey crap makes my longing for Nola so much stronger that it hurts to breathe sometimes. I set my pencil down on the notepad, filled with one-line lyrics, verses, choruses, and random words that only make sense to me, and make my way to the restaurant. In the hall, I almost run smack dab into Justine as she’s coming out of her room. We’re in a hotel for the duration of our Nashville stay, which I find relaxing. Being on a bus for too long will make us stir crazy.