Page 12 of Worth Your Wild

There’s something wedged in behind her wallet. A notebook.

Before I can stop myself, I take out the little book and open it up, my stomach bottoming out when I see pictures…

…pictures of me glued to the pages. My name doodled inside of hearts, alongside June’s, at least a thousand times. Worst of all, there are little diary entries about how we’re going to meet and fall in love when my tour bus breaks down. How sweet I’m going to be to her. How I’m going to be her first

First…what?

Not lover.

No, please don’t let that be true.

Please.

I did not just say that vile thing to a virgin.

A virgin who has obviously idolized me for…for a long damn time. Some of the pictures in this notebook are from my late twenties, early thirties.

My goddamn throat has closed to the size of a straw.

What have I done?

When I glance up, June is standing in front of me. The rest of the bus has cleared of crew and she’s obviously returned to get her purse. She wouldn’t be able to check into the hotel, otherwise. She’s red faced and horrified to find me holding her notebook.

Reading it.

When did she start making this thing? It’s beat up and old.

An ode to…me.

This man who just bastardized every feeling she’s ever had for me.

“June…” I begin, a weight pressing down on my chest.

“Stop. It’s fine.” She snatches her belongings out of my hands. “It doesn’t mean anything. None of it was…real. It’s all just…so stupid. Forget you ever saw it.”

She grabs her possessions and runs.

Cemented to the seat, all I can do is watch her go.

FIVE

June

This is another level of embarrassment.

Beyond any kind of humiliation that I’ve ever experienced in my life.

And I was a weird kid, so I have a lot of embarrassing moments that run through my mind in the middle of the night, refusing to fade. Deke finding my scrapbook will forever be the worst of them. God, the complete and total astonishment on his face.

I will never forget it.

I can feel Deke’s gaze land on me the second he walks into the ritzy hotel lobby, but I resolutely focus on my task and avoid looking at him, as much as possible. He sits in the waiting area with some of the roadies and musicians, his hat pulled down low. Trying and failing to blend in. Thankfully, it’s the middle of the night and there aren’t many people in the lobby to harass him for photos or an autograph.

Forcing a smile at the clerk, I check Deke into his penthouse suite—under a code name, of course—and ask them to send room service with a bucket of cold beer and a selection of sandwiches to his room asap. I arrange to have his luggage taken to the top floor, as well. And he’s not going to like the next part, but I ask them to include some multivitamins with his room service tray, because I doubt he’s getting the essential nutrients from a steady diet of Jack Daniels.

After I’ve taken care of Deke’s needs, I check into my own room, one floor down from the penthouse. No frills. Just a place to cry in the shower and have a recurring nightmare about tonight until the sun comes up.

“Hey,” says the male hotel clerk, before I can walk away. “Aren’t you the girl who sang on stage with Deke Decker tonight? June Bug, right?”