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)
But now it’s just us.
Me and my still-shaking hands.
Austin and his odd expression as he stares expectantly at me.
That’s when it hits me.
“Oh. I …” I cover my mouth for half a second, then drop my hand. “I didn’t even … I didn’t even think to …”
“Were you plannin’ on cluing me in to your big see-the-world plans?” he teases, coming closer.
“I didn’t even ask if it was okay!”
“Is that what you want to ask me?”
“How presumptuous of me! To just … invite myself into your tour like that!” I cover my face, humiliated, unable to look at him. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.”
“Just forget any of that happened.”
“No way.”
I drop my hands. “I mean, we made that joke by the pool …”
He wrinkles his face. “What joke?”
“Then again when we were talking to Jimmy and Bobby …”
“We said what?”
“And then when we were having sex the night of the concert, you kept talking about me being by your side all the time …”
“I did? Oh, I did.”
“And the thing about me being your department head of, uh, something …”
“That job doesn’t exist.”
“And somewhere between all the joking and the talking … I … I guess it sorta stuck in my head … the idea of leaving this behind and going with you … being by your side …”
He takes me into his arms, bringing me back to my safe space, my protective bubble, where all I know is his face in front of mine, his bright eyes, his sexy smile.
“You’d leave this all behind?” he asks.
I nod. Then I hesitate. “I mean … for now.”
“And you’d hit the road with me?”
“Y-Yeah.”
“It isn’t a pretty ride sometimes, y’know,” he goes on. “Nights spent sleepin’ on the bus … or in a hit-and-miss decent or not-so-decent hotel …”
“Sell the dream a bit more, why don’t you?” I tease.
“I’m just sayin’, it ain’t the glamorous life it’s made out to be. Tourin’ is tough. Sometimes tedious. Or boring. Tons of time spent just sittin’ around waitin’.” He smirks. “And then there’s Wily and his occasional pranks. Fiona will probably big-sis you every day—it’s clear she’s taken a liking to you. And Raj? That guy can eat. You wouldn’t know it from his size, but boy, he can put down a whole turkey if you let him. And then there’s—”
I shut him right up with a kiss.
A soft kiss.
A meaningful one.
It’s a thank you. And a love you. And a celebration. All rolled up into one gentle rendezvous of my lips with his.
Then I say: “Guess I’d better start packing.”
Epilogue.
TJ
In all honesty, it’s like I traded in my summer road trip for a superiorly upgraded version.
Gave up the California beaches and got endless oceans of grass and grain out any given window of the bus, with the noise of Raj’s laughter, or hum of the microwave as Wily awaits his Pop-Tart, or Fiona giggling while on a video call with her girlfriend Laina.
Gave up Las Vegas for a dozen other cities that sparkle and shine in their own unique ways, though perhaps minus a Zombie Marilyn Monroe or an Elvis.
Gave up exploring the breathtaking lava caverns for mazes of backstage hallways that change every venue, some of them short, some of them vast and cavernous. Dressing rooms large or small. Stages deep or narrow.
And instead of AJ, I’ve got Austin by my side.
Every day is a brand new adventure.
Every night is a surprise of what will happen at the show.
Dee captures me on my way to bringing some water to the green room, hand hooked in my arm, and says, “Be a doll and take this headset to Emmett? His isn’t working and I’m tied up with—”
“On it!” I tell her cheerily, do our funny little wiggly-fingered handshake thing, then head on with the water and headset.
No one questions it anymore.
I’m part of this family.
Rob stops me at one of the backstage doors and holds out an arm, blocking the way. “Excuse me, young suspicious man,” he states with great authority, “but I am going to have to see your ID, your backstage pass, and a stick of that tasty-ass fruity gum I know you keep in your back pocket.”
“Will just a stick of gum do?” I suggest, one already whipped out. This is sort of our thing.
His authoritative voice crumbles into a giggly, “Thanks, bud,” as he whips off the shiny wrapper and pops the gum past his lips with a great and satisfied rock-back of his eyes before heading off.
And when there’s nothing going on and I’m in the greenroom with my pink-and-red notebook out, I flip past my recent doodles of various cat and duck and rabbit versions of Raj, Fiona, and Wily respectively, and arrive at a new list I’ve started:
Things TJ McPherson can be:
Sound engineer. (Ever since watching Noah and the tech guys working magic at the pavilion this summer, I’m crazy intrigued by how it all works.)