“We’ve got a meet-and-greet after,” Paul continues, “and it’d go a long way with some of these fans to get some extra special treatment.”
I frown as I tug on the bottom of my shirt. It takes a gentle hand. These shirts are made to rip at the slightest touch. “Meaning…?”
Paul shrugs. “Whatever. Tickets to your next performance. An invitation to hang out after the meet-and-greet. Something to show them your appreciation. They really came through for you.”
Voices sound, and I glance behind me, where Kelly, Rose, and Mia appear. Mia’s eyes dart to me, and I smile.
It’s been three days since our outing in Prague, and we haven’t talked much. Well, we’ve talked, but not much beyondwhat’s been necessary for the tour. I’m trying to be satisfied with that.
Guess what? I suck at it. I’m trying not to ignore her entirely, because she didn’t do anything wrong. I should be old enough to have a platonic, business-focused relationship with a really attractive, funny, intriguing woman, right?
“You ready?” Mia asks.
“Never.” I glance at her outfit—silver, wide-leg sequin pants instead of the usual dress. On top, she’s wearing a matching blazer, with a silky white shirt beneath. “Nice pants.”
She looks down and smooths the sequins, making them glint in the light. “Thanks. Victor decided he likes them, so he made some for Rose and Kelly too. But I think you’ve ruined them for me.”
I raise my brows. “How’d I manage that?”
She slides her hands around the waistband, where a thin white belt is threaded through the loops. “I had to ask him for a belt because I was having nightmares last night about them falling down.”
I chuckle. “Like I said, you’re a smart cookie.”
Her eyes dart to mine, and I know she’s thinking of Old Town Square, just like I am. Has she thought about it as much as I have? Not sure that’s even possible, but a guy can dream.
“But hey,” I say. “No hiccups.”
She smiles, puts out her hands, and takes in a deep, even breath to demonstrate. “I think I’m getting used to the nerves.” She crosses her fingers. “At least I hope so.”
Paul pops over, his gaze darting to Mia for a split-second before returning to me. “You’re on in thirty seconds.”
I nod, and Mia smiles as he leaves again. “Keep those pants up,” she says. “I’d ask you to keep your shirt on, but”—she grimaces—“I’m not crazy.”
“Watch out, or I’ll throw it straight at you at peak sweatiness.”
She cringes, then disappears to join Kelly and Rose again. I suppress a sigh as I watch her.
Andthat,my friends, is exactly why I’ve had to keep my distance. Mia’s turning into a weakness for me. A distraction I can’t afford.
I shut my eyes and envision the stage I’m about to walk on, the audience who’s been waiting to see me, to hear me sing.
And take your shirt off.
I clench my teeth. They’renotjust here for that. They’re here because they recognize my talent, and they like my voice. There’s nothing wrong with giving them a great concert. What does Mia want me to do? Sit with a guitar on a barstool the whole time?
Success requires more than that, and I’m willing to do what it takes, even if she isn’t.
14
MIA
Lyingon the couch of our tour bus, I swipe through the photos I’ve been tagged in over the past few days. I’m in the background of all but one. Austin is the main feature, which gives me plenty of opportunity to admire his infamous shirtless body. Not like I’m hurting for that chance. I have a front-row seat to his performances, and that image is forever and very unhelpfully emblazoned in my mind. Despite that, my eyes dwell on him like an art student studying the David.
The fans from Munich really came through with the love and follows. Austin did his usual acknowledgement and call-out of Kelly, Rose, and me, which is the only reason I’m up a hundred followers today. I haven’t posted new content since leaving on tour, yet I’m gaining way more followers than I did when I posted daily.
That’s the power Austin Sheppard wields, and it frustrates me to no end. Once again, it’s not my talent that matters; it’s who I’m associated with.
You know what Austindidn’tdo the last two nights? Look at me. Or throw his torn shirt at me like he threatened to do.
