My date with Shayna—not Shannon—started off like any of my other dates. Some flirty banter through the app, met for drinks at a bar, and then headed to her place for sex. I don’t mean to sound like a total dick, but we only met two hours prior. We didn’t exactly swap life stories or share past traumas over our margaritas. So, I fumbled a few letters in her name. It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. But to her, it was, and as a result, photos and videos of my bare ass are all over the media now.
When I’m looking to hook up, I try to be smart about it. I never communicate with any of the women outside of the app because I don’t want them to have my phone number. Also, I never take them back to my place because I don’t want them to know where I live.
But now, I need to add one more rule to my list. Memorize their fucking names.
“You need to watch it with the women,” Char sighs. “A date here and there is okay, but you’ve been sloppy lately. Very sloppy.”
“Char’s right, man,” Aiden says, just as his cell phone starts to ring. “The label’s PR team isn’t thrilled with how you’re coming across in the press. You’ve gotta reel it in.” He glances at the screen, then gives me a pointed look. “I need to grab this, but seriously, listen to Charlotte unless you want the label breathing down your neck for the foreseeable future.”
Aiden shuts the conference room door behind him as a melancholy cloud settles over me. I guess it’s time to clean up my act.
“Maybe you should go out to the ranch,” suggests Charlotte.
I can read between the lines. Char wants me out of the city and away from temptation.
I’ve been spiraling ever since I gave up trying to find Annabelle. I spent months searching for her, hiring multiple private investigators, chasing down every lead I could. After our night together, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Finding Annabelle became my obsession. I didn’t date. Hell, I barely left the condo. I threw myself into the music, writing song after song after song.
But after the third PI turned up empty, I threw in the towel.
Then I swung hard in the opposite direction. Started dating like a maniac, trying to drown out the memory of Annabelle with booze and meaningless hookups.
We had one night. One goddamn night and it still haunts me. I keep telling myself I need to move on, to stop torturing myself… but I don’t know how.
“Look, I don’t know exactly what went down after you and Jane split and you met Annabelle,” Char says, leveling me with a look, “but judging by the new songs and the way you’ve been acting out these last few months, it clearly messed you up.”
She pushes her glasses up and locks eyes with me. “I need a straight answer, Hayes. Can you keep your private life locked down until the album drops? Or do I need to hire a PR specialist to clean up your messes and manage your image?”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond.
“Your behavior doesn’t just affect you, Hayes. It affects the band. I’m about to begin negotiating our next contract, and every time you do something stupid, it gives the label more leverage. So, tell me… can you handle it, or do I need to start running damage control now?”
Charlotte doesn’t look angry. She looks tired. Resigned. Like she expects me to screw up and make her job harder.
And honestly? She’s not wrong.
If one of us is making headlines, it’s usually me. As the lead singer, I’m the most recognizable face of Outlaw, so when I screw up, it hits the front page. Rowdy, James, and Josh can get away with a lot more because the public doesn’t clock them the same way they do me.
Not that Rowdy gets into much trouble these days. Bailey keeps him on a pretty short leash. But Dumb and Dumber? Yeah, they still rack up their fair share of displays of public stupidity.
Witnessing Charlotte’s disappointment hits home. I need to get my shit together for the greater good of the band. I can’t let my behavior threaten the success of the next album or our new recording contract.
“Yeah, Char, I can handle it.” Leaning back against the conference room table, I rest my ass against the edge. “I apologize for acting stupid these past few months.”
“You’ve been acting like a dog in heat, Hayes. You’re better than that.” She groans in frustration. “I’m not asking you to be celibate. Just try not to have your dating exploits featured in the tabloids every week, okay?”
Lowering my gaze, I rub my hand over my stubbled jaw, feeling chastised. “Will do. Sorry again, Char.”
Sitting in my truck in the record label’s parking garage, I type out a quick text bailing on the cheerleader tonight. I need to keep my dick in my pants and get my head on straight.
I need to exorcise Annabelle from my mind, but I need to do it in a healthier way than drinking and fucking anything that moves.
Because I’ve tried those, and they aren't working.
9
Annabelle
Now
