TO NOT SEND ME ONE!
I might just have to leave my buddy’s house early and get myself photoshoot ready.
The summer evening light will be perfect.
It’s been a week since I manscaped. Are you into the au natural look or would you like me to tidy up?
I’m blocking this number.
No you’re not.
You’re right, I’m not. But please don’t send me one.
I won’t.
Yet.
Crosby kicks my ass in Scrabble because I was fixated on spelling the word Charming.
I let Crosby chirp me for my poor performance. Taking the verbal beating is way better than trying to explain what I was trying to do, and why.
Chapter eighteen
Rhys
So he’s just someone you know?
"WhydidIgeta call from a reality TV producer saying you were excited to be doing a show with her?" Zara says with both her phones open in her palms as she walks up the few stairs to the kitchenette of my tour bus.
"Oh, it was a favor for a friend." Of course he told her I was interested.
"Duncan Paisley, a hockey player. How do you even know him?" She asks.
What do I say here? That I met him when I was supposed to be home moping and had the best thirty six hours of my life.
That he’s a guy I have maneuvered my entire life to be closer to.
That he calls me Charming but really, he’s the one who charms the pants off me.
He’d probably say he charmed the kilt off me.
"His family is from Scotland, just a few miles from my parents."
"Really?" Zara finally looks up at me.
I shrug.
Her eyes narrow. "So he’s just someone you know?"
"Yep."
"There’s more to this but I don’t have the time to figure it out. You don’t actually want to do a reality show, right?"
"No, absolutely not."
"Got it." She exhales. "Alright, you’re on at three. Four songs, no encore. They’re hoping to get everyone back on stage at dusk to sing the anthem before fireworks."
"But I’m not actually American." I always feel a little guilty when being a country musician requires patriotism to a different country.
