I don’t know if this is a completely charitable gig she’s taken on, protecting me from overzealous fans, or if maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t like seeing other women with their hands all over me.
Either way, I kind of like it. Paul’s always let me handle fan interactions the way I want to, but sometimes I wish he would play the bad guy a bit more.
When one fan undoes the top button of her shirt for me to sign her chest, I can’t help glancing at Mia to see how she’ll quash this one.
“Oh, for the love of Pete,” she says. But she doesn’t move. I half-expected her to come do up the button herself.
But nope. I’m on my own for this one.
I hate signing skin. It doesn’t stay still like paper, and I’m always worried about positioning my hand in a way that will lead to an accidental boob graze—and a potential lawsuit. I keep my wrist up as I do the worst signature of my entire life under the woman’s clavicle. For her picture, she pulls her shirt to the side so it’s visible in the shot.
A lot of the fans are normal, thankfully, and have a proper sense of boundaries. Mia is especially helpful with them, offering both portrait and landscape orientation shots, and saying goodbye to them in Czech.
She draws a hard line, though, when a fan grabs my shirt and pulls like she’s trying to rip it off. Mia intervenes, kind but firm, as she helps the fan keep her hands to herself. Or at least a little more to herself—her arms are still around me. The fan doesn’tspeak English except for a few lines she was kind enough to sing to me, and she gives Mia the stink eye.
“I know, right?” I say to the girl. “She gets pretty jealous.”
“Sojealous,” Mia says mockingly as she snaps the shot and hands the fan her phone.
I grab Mia’s arm before she can step away again, and I pull her toward me as I take the phone out of my back pocket with my other hand.
“What’re you doing?” she asks.
“You’ve been waiting so patiently.” I flip the camera and hold it out for a selfie. I press the side of my head against Mia’s, smile, and snap a shot before she can compose her expression—or hit me.
“Sorry, that’s all I’ve got time for,” I say, feigning sympathy. I jab my thumb behind me toward the fans. “Got this whole line to get through.”
“Behold me in despair,” she says flatly as the next fan steps up and hands her a phone. “You didn’t even give me time to physically assault you like the rest of the fans got to do.”
“We can arrange for that later,” I say with a wink.
I’m not sure what my problem is and why I have to act like such an idiot around Mia. Her disdain for me makes me do weird and dumb things that reinforce her reasons to think badly of me.
I feel guilty she’s been stuck on photographer duty for so long, so I call Paul over and ask him to relieve her.
When I look around for her a couple minutes later, she’s gone, and so are Kelly and Rose. By the time the meet-and-greet’s over, I’m ready to hang out in my bus with people less eager to grope me. Mia is the CEO of that group.
But when Rose and Kelly step inside the bus, joining the rest of the crew and a couple of girls the audio guys invited, Mia’s not with them.
“Where’s Mia?” I ask, trying to ignore my disappointment.
They shoot each other a glance.
“She changed the second we got back and headed out to see the city,” Rose says.
I swear under my breath. I promised her she’d get to see the city today, but things got so crazy, there wasn’t time for it.
“Think she’ll be okay by herself?” I ask.
“Um, did youseeher with the fans?” Kelly asks. “She’ll be fine. She won’t take crap from anyone.”
I chuckle. I, of all people, know this. I can’t help sending her a text, though.
Austin
Where are you?
Mia
