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Her shoulders fell as she pouted her thin lips. “No…not yet. Tyson and I are really getting to know each other.”
“Just hang out for a while,” he chimed in, shooting me a grin beneath his blond hair. “Get yourself a drink, relax, and enjoy the night. It’s all good, uh…”
“Lena,” I said, feeling defeated.
“Yeah, Lena.” He smiled. “I promise it’ll be worth your time, just hang out. We never let the meet-and-greet groups stay this long, so consider yourself lucky. It’s a privilege.”
The ego of these guys…
I nodded and turned around, eyeing an empty couch a few feet away. I made my way to it, plopping down and adjusting my black skinny jeans. Taking a deep breath, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I wanted to be excited to be backstage, considering I was a musician myself, but in truth, the band wasn’t exactly all that friendly. Well, Jackson Whiss wasn’t.
“Here.”
My eyes fluttered open to see Jackson standing over me. He held out a water bottle, an unamused look on his face. Reluctantly, I took it from him…
And then he plopped down beside me on the couch.
Great.
“My publicist says I have to entertain you, since you look like you might leave a bad review of the meet and greet.”
“I have no idea why my opinion would matter,” I laugh, shaking my head. “I think you have plenty of fans who wouldn’t care one way or the other.”
“That’s what I said,” he grunted, popping open another beer. “But here we are, so enjoy your water. It’s one of the best.”
I made a face at him. “It’s Aquafina.”
“Yeah, the best.”
“All right.”
“Must be a Dasani lady,” Jackson chuckled.
“Something like that.” I pulled out my phone, staring down at my screen with no notifications. Ugh. I just need something to entertain myself with.
“You’re really going to sit there like this isn’t the opportunity of a lifetime?” Jackson’s voice is dry. “Interesting.”
I glanced up at him. “You’re seriously going to sit there and tell me you consider socializing with you to be such a great thing? Maybe I’d be having more fun if you weren’t so rude to me when we met.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You looked miserable. So yeah, I pointed it out.” Jackson peeled at the label of his IPA.
“Well, for the record, I wasn’t miserable, but because of that, I now am,” I admitted, ignoring the fact that his first impression had left a sting. I mean, sure, maybe I was overreacting a little bit, or maybe it was just an insta-hate kind of thing.
It happens.
“So you’re blaming your shitty attitude on me?”
I eyed him, actually amused by how self-centered he really was. “Yeah, I am.”
Gosh, I’m glad I don’t have to see him ever again.
“What do you even do for a living? I bet you’re like a corrections officer or something. That would make sense, since you’re so—”
“I’m a music teacher for elementary-aged kids,” I cut him off, glaring.
He shrugged. “Same thing.”
“No, it’s not,” I argued, angling my body to face him. “A corrections officer watches inmates at a prison.”
