“Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one.”
I glance up and find Kevin with a stopwatch in his hand, his hard gaze on me.
I set my phone down and dial the next number with quick fingers. Once Kevin has gone to terrorize someone else, I pick up my phone and respond to Austin.
4
AUSTIN
Dots.
No dots.
More dots.
This girl is keeping me in suspense with her text response. On purpose, of course. She’s probably composing an essay to tear me to shreds and let me know she’d rather go on tour with a howler monkey quartet than with me.
“So is that a yes?” My sister, Tori, glances at me as she rifles through my cupboards. It takes a second for me to register that her question isn’t referring to my texts with Mia. “I’d ask Mom, but that feels more humiliating.”
“If you really want to come, yes, I’ll buy you a plane ticket.”
She scrunches her nose. “Of course I want to come.”
I assume theof courserefers to the fact that the tour is in Europe. I’m not under any illusion that my family listens to my music on repeat. My sister, Siena, doesn’t seem to plan on coming, either, and neither does my brother, Troy. They’re all occupied with jobs and marital bliss. “I’ll get you a ticket for the last leg. That way, you can see Madi and Rémy. They’re coming to Paris for the show.”
She comes over and bear hugs me, her bush of curly blonde hair attacking me. “I’m sorry I’m too poor to pay for it myself. I promise to leave you everything in my will when I die.”
“Can’t wait,” I say.
My phone buzzes.
Mia
When and where?
It takes me a second to process her unexpectedly short—and positive—response.
Austin
Mama Choo’s. I can pick you up at 7.
More dancing dots. Maybe I should’ve taken a few minutes instead of sending my overeager response. I’m just so relieved she’s willing to discuss the option at all. After the recon I did last night—looking at her social media accounts and watching her videos—I’m eager for Mia to agree to this. She’s crazy talented.
Am I also a little miffed she seems to hate me so badly when she doesn’t even know me? And did I find our interaction last night refreshing in a weird and confusing way?
Maybe. But that’s secondary to everything else. I need this tour to be a success, and I’m confident Mia would be an enormous asset.
Mia
I’ll be there at 7.
I chuckle. She doesn’t want me picking her up. I get it. I leaned into the whole cocky sleazeball persona last night, but that’s because it’s what she clearly expected of me. Who wants to spend their energy trying to convince someone to like them? It’s humiliating.
Tonight is about more than Mia liking me, though. It’s aboutthe success of my tour—and her future success, I’m guessing. I’m shocked at how small her following is given her talent.
In any case, tonight I don’t intend on taking no for an answer.
I pullinto a parking space at Mama Choo’s, glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror, then head inside.
