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)
“No. Of course not. What kind of—lady—do you think I am?” He said “lady” for his daughter’s benefit.
“You know me better than that, Ian,” I go on. “This isn’t just a fling. I’d hoped you would have gleaned that from this whole past month I’ve spent seein’ him. He’s important to me. He’s … the most important thing to me right now.” I shut my eyes and lean against the counter, a blinking light from the microwave before my face.
“You think I wouldn’t rather cancel the rest of the tour and spend every night having dollhouse hour with my little princess?” That inspires his daughter to cheerily shout a ton of words I can’t make out. “Our team isn’t perfect. I’m sorry you’re going through this. In an ideal world, no one reacts, no one cares who you share tea with …” He says “tea” daintily. “… and all this blows over.”
“I know.”
“Call Drew in the morning. I’ll call Princess Irene … and we will get ahead of this, okay? For your Prince TJ’s sake. Yes, yes, I know, sweetheart,” he says when his daughter shouts something at him, “there are no ‘princes’ allowed in the dollhouse, of course, no, no, whatever was I thinking?”
I close my eyes and pinch my forehead. “I don’t want to take any more of your time up with your daughter. It feels sometimes like Chase Holt’s stolen too much from all of us.” The last sentence comes out choked and under my breath.
Ian hears it. “You are Chase Holt. And you’re Austin. If I might leave you with one last thought, perhaps it’s about time you stop separating the two and accept they’re one and the same.”
After we hang up, I stare at the empty screen of my phone for a substantial amount of time.
Letting his last words sit with me.
Affect me.
I lift my eyes to the pavilion, perfectly in view from the small window in front of me in this dark kitchenette. The stars are out, looking like glitter silhouetted by the arching roof of the pavilion. I think about the moment TJ and I spent at the piano on that stage, the song I sang him, and the heated time we enjoyed afterwards.
What if dollhouse hour didn’t have to end?
What if there was no bedtime and we could stay up all night?
By the time I return to TJ, he’s already out of the shower and in his bedroom, chilling on the bed. I’m surprised to see him calm when he looks up from his phone, pleased to see me. “Everything okay?” he asks me.
He’s smart. He knows exactly what I went off to do.
And I respect him too much to keep pulling wool. “I hope so.”
“Me too.” His tone is strangely light. “After your shower, want to just cuddle and complain about how bad that movie was until we can’t keep our eyes open?”
I smirk. “That sounds perfect, actually.”
He smiles back at me.
And that’s exactly what we do. Both of us freshly showered, I snuggle in bed with him while we crack each other up about how such bad movies get made and somehow find audiences who eat them up. Then we kiss. And kiss more. And somewhere between kisses and silence, we drift off to sleep in each other’s arms, feeling safe from the world.
It’s a different story in the morning.
TJ is no longer just the groupie who “got” me.
He’s the one who’s sucking me off in dressing rooms while I write all of this new material. That’s what “Down Bad For Him” is really about, according to these “fans”.
He’s fucking the security too so he can sneak backstage at any show he wants.
He tells me what songs to play every show, writing my setlists for me. He’s the reason I don’t play my hit “Hate Me For a Reason” as much anymore, favoring the love songs.
He sits in the wings and sings along.
He loves the attention.
He’s the reason I’m not as close with my bandmates anymore, because he demands I take him out to eat after every show.
He’s also somehow the reason Cam left the band, even though that happened a literal year before we even met.
Suddenly it’s too much and I grab both our phones out of our hands and flip them face down on the bed, shutting my eyes. “This is my fault,” I mutter, voice shaking. “What kind of monsters have I created? These monsters … are my fans? This is what they do to someone I care about?”
TJ calmly responds, “I don’t think they’re monsters. They just don’t know you care about me.”
How is he so calm? “I can’t stand what they’re saying. I can’t take another fuckin’ second of it.”
“Austin …”
“Seriously. I need to call my people and demand that they let me post on my own damned account. All my social medias. I need to set them straight.”