His grin slips, and I instantly regret my mouth. I need ibuprofen and a fresh filter.
“Sorry, Moose. You’re not hard to work with; my battery just dies faster than yours. You’re the most talented human I know, and when we leave here, at least a hundred more people will love you as much as I do. Most of them will probably be seventeen-year-old girls. Can you handle that?”
He hugs me so hard, my feet lift off the ground. “Let’s DO THIS!”
“Okay, I need a picture to post.”
“One of us on the porch?”
“This isn’t my gig, Sammy.” I laugh. “How about a selfie on the stage with your sign and the camp banner showing?”
“Together,” he insists.
“Fine, take the picture with your big gorilla arm, and I’ll do the caption.”
“Deal.”
Fun fact: Annie and I have managed Sam’s social media since Christmas. He hates it, so that was our gift to him. All he has to do is look pretty and send us gig videos. We do the rest. We’ve taken him from two hundred to five thousand followers in eight months, and he gains more daily.
It’s not rocket science.
He looks like a baby Thor and sings like an angel. Cowboy hats and Wranglers were made for him. Add in a hint of bad boy when he goes all animal on the drums and promoting him’s like giving away Popsicles on a hot day. He gets some wild direct messages, but Annie enjoys those, so I let her have them. She’s been handling his accounts for the last two weeks since I was helping him with his paper, but I can log in anytime.
He drops to sit on the side of the stage with his long legs dangling nearly to the ground. I lean over his shoulder, hooking my arm around his neck, and squish his face, sticking out my tongue while he crosses his eyes. We take a few together, but I manage to get one good teenage heartthrob pose without me in it. Somehow, I fight him off and make a collage with the focus on him.
He doesn’t care, but we can’t look like a couple. I might be protecting myself out of habit, but for marketing purposes, he needs to appear single. I caption it, welcoming everyone to the show, and add my name as special guest at his insistence without my last name or tagging my own accounts. I don’t really know what I’m doing here but keeping all eyes on him is the goal.
I post the instructions for our game, offering a giveaway for winners to receive a signed picture and guitar pick if they play along.
I send Annie a screenshot letting her know what’s up so she can monitor the activity. We have about an hour left to make adjustments, and I’m scribbling out a rough outline while Sam tells me about upcoming events he’ll be doing in this area. Wecould’ve done this yesterday, but that’s not how Sammy time works.
What the heck have I gotten myself into?
The heat has taken pity on us, remaining one degree short of hell’s pepper patch, but the underside of my hair is dripping down my back. I’ll have to burn this outfit if it doesn’t disintegrate first, but the misty overcast skies will get no complaints from me.
“Sam, what do you do if it rains?”
“It ain’t gonna rain. This mist is all we’re gettin’, and the stage is covered. Everything’ll be fine.”
“But what if it does?”
“Remember Goo Goo Dolls? Fourth of July, ’04.”
“Ohh, ‘Iris’ in the rain. I love that video! Think we’d have that kind of magic?”
“Of course not!” He erupts into childlike giggles. “They probably lost thousands of dollars in equipment. I ain’t doin’ all that. But we’d have fun pretending. Tell ya what. If it rains, I’ll play ‘Iris’ for you.”
The mention of that band reminds me of the drive yesterday. Jude’s better on that song. I chew a fingernail feeling a little guilty that I’d rather sing with him while I zone out looking over the stage. They have wooden box risers at three levels, probably award medal podiums. I should be able to climb them and get some height next to the jolly blond giant. I notice he’s texting someone when he looks at me.
“I ain’t your first choice to sing that song,am I?” He stands and pulls me up, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “I bet I’m not even your favorite drummer.” He tilts his head, examining my expression. “Girrrrrl, you got it bad.”
“Shut up. Justwhy?”
“I said I’d play ‘Iris,’ and your face said ‘Meh.’ Your face is louder than you think. I thought I was your musical crush!”
“You are but maybe not that song.” I shrug apologetically.
“Ooh, I know one that’ll put me back in the top spot. I’ll earn it. You watch.”
