Already done. Checked on your shop too and hung up an ‘On Vacation’ sign.
Me
Thanks, man.
Caleb
Anything for loooooooove. Let me know if you need pointers on how to woo a girl.
Me
You haven’t had a girlfriend in two years.
Caleb
I told you I’m done with my slut phase! I’m waiting for Mrs. Right. Got inspired by a good friend who’s been pining after the same gal since we were kids. Now go and make me proud. I can’t wait to be your best man.
I sigh, dropping my hat on the bed. His confidence is almost too much. Cal’s hearing wedding bells but all I can hope for right now is one week with Tally.
Six days to be precise, the annoying countdown in the back of my head cuts in.
Damn, I need a distraction. Being alone with my thoughts is a bad idea.
I shove my phone into my pocket and take the TV remote from the bedside table, pressing the on button. Why won’t this thing work? I swear modern technology has a grudge against me.
Groaning, I take out the batteries and put them back in. I try every button, but the screen stays lifeless. Outraged, I pull the TV stand from the wall and discover the culprit.
A cut power cord.
Who the fuck does that? I should tell the lady at the reception about this later.
Defeated, I put the remote aside and take the only available magazine from the desk. My lips twitch with disgust. It’s the newest issue of ‘Gossip Grove’, one of those stupid celebrity tabloids.
I leaf through the pages.
“Should’ve brought a book,” I mumble.
I don’t know a single so-called celebrity in this magazine. A yawn escapes me. I just can’t muster up any real interest in their fabricated drama and fake relationships.
I’m about to throw the whole thing into the metal waste bin by the desk when a picture catches my eye and I freeze.
There’s one face Idorecognize. Technically there are two, though they evoke opposite reactions in me.
One’s Tally.
The other is Rex fucking Dalton.
Writing below the image says ‘Manager cleans up messy singer’s drunk meltdown.’
The picture shows Tally stumbling out of a honky-tonk, heels in her hand. Her cow-print mini dress has shifted in all the wrong places, dangerously close to revealing her gorgeous tits and her panties.
Dalton ushers her into a black limousine. He shields her with his silk suit jacket, but he does a piss poor job of it. It looks like he’s strategically leaving her most vulnerable parts exposed.
Then I spot the headline.
Boot Scootin’ Bust?! We have the real inside scoop on Tally Creed’s Canceled Tour Dates!
I nearly rip the paper as I read on.
