To be fair, neither am I.
Babe
Why? You missing me?
Mia
I mean not happy in the picture. I’m completely happy right now, thanks.
“Texting a lover?”
I glance at the accented waiter addressing me. He’s holding a menu and wearing a white-collared shirt with a napkin thrown over his shoulder. Definitely out looking for tourists to lure into dinner.
“That smile,” he says with a heavy accent, pointing to my mouth. “I know it.”
I slip my phone in my back pocket and rearrange my expression into something more neutral. But he’s right. Iwassmiling.
I politely wish him a goodnight and purposely don’t check the text message when it buzzes in my pocket, focusing on enjoying the sights until the crowds start to thin out and I remember we have a 7:00 rehearsal in the morning.
I don’t look at my phone until I get to the tour buses.
Babe
Sorry we didn’t get out to see the city earlier today. If I’d known you were going tonight, I would’ve come with you.
My eyes hone in on the wordwe. Did he really think the planwas to go out together? And would he really have come with me if I’d let him know?
More importantly, why does part of me wish hehadcome?
The second nightof the concert is every bit the rush the first night was. The energy is unlike anything I’ve experienced. Hearing my voice—blended with Rose’s and Kelly’s, of course—piped all around the venue as fans cheer and sing along?
Chills.
I’m so glad I said yes to the tour, but now the bug has bitten, and I can’t help feeling the tiniest bit jealous—okay, a lot more than a tiny bit—of Austin. He’s the star of this show. It’s his music we’re all singing along to. This whole vibe is his creation, and to know that strangers across the world who don’t even speak the same language paid money to hear and watch him?
He has everything I want.
Professionally, I mean.
Fine. If I’m being honest with myself, there’s a lot about Austin I’d want in a man. He’s funny, attractive, and I think he’s even thoughtful? His publicly thanking the girls and me both nights of the concert, his introducing me to his fans at the meet-and-greet—kind of promoting me to them—those were thoughtful actions.
But call me old-fashioned, I want a man whose eyes aren’t wandering and who isn’t comfortable being groped by strangers the way Austin seems to be. I want to be flirted with, but I want to be theonlyone he’s flirting with. And that’s not the case with Austin. Not by a long shot.
So, when he looked me straight in the eyes on stage tonight after pulling off his shirt to shrieks and screams and winked, I didn’t think anything of it.
At least not anything beyond it being him trying to embarrass me.
We head to the buses with the bittersweet knowledge that tomorrow we leave Prague for Munich. Which means I’m going out again. I will see Old Town Square if it’s the last thing I do.
Austin’s bus already has a steady flow of traffic. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s the beginning of the tour or if this is how it always is. I’m admittedly curious about the goings-on there, but given what I saw at the meet-and-greet, I don’t think I’d come out of that situation feeling inspired. I’m not walking in on a Doctors Without Borders planning session or anything. This is a celebrity-on-tour-partying-with-his-groupies scenario.
In a way, it’s maddening to see all these people encouraging and reinforcing Austin’s high opinion of himself.
“Mia!” Austin yells from the door of his bus as Kelly, Rose, and I reach our own. “You’re coming, right?”
I feel Rose’s and Kelly’s eyes on me, but I keep mine on Austin, well-aware my cheeks are pink at being singled out. Probably because he already knows Kelly and Rose are an auto-yes. “Um, I think so?”
He looks at me for a sec, then points a finger at Kelly and Rose. “Make sure she comes, okay?”
