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My phone buzzes, and I glance down, heart racing.
Steve: Fine. And no clue. Not everyone snores. Let’s say sure? Everything okay?
Crap. What does “fine” mean? Is it fine as in fine, or fine as in there’s nothing worth discussing because I’m not the biggest fan of Val Andrews, so the fact that he quit the tour isn’t on my radar?
For the record, Steve’s dislike for Val isn’t personal. He doesn’t like anyone who distracts my attention from him, and Val is incredibly distracting. My assistant was even jealous of Nash until my new friend helped me survive the world’s worst video game festival last year—not to mention the whole Jarvis-trying-to-steal-my-songs scandal.
Jarvis.
My text stream with him is the mirror image of the one with Val. A whole bunch of gray messages litter the left side and almost no blue ones occupy the right. It’s not that I don’t want to respond to his gushy proclamations about our fake future together… actually, no. It is that.
Jarvis: Let’s grab breakfast. We can hashtag this out.
No. My new favorite word dances through my head.
No, no, no.
I don’t want to grab breakfast or hashtag anything with him. I have nothing to say. After years of sort-of sometimes dating, he knows I panic under pressure. He knows how hard it is for me to fight a lifetime of being conditioned to follow orders. He also knew going ahead with the proposal after I explicitly told him not to would trigger both of those reactions and give him the “yes” he (and everyone else) wanted. He used me against myself, which only infuriates me more.
And now I may have lost Val.
I’m tempted to head over to the crew bus for a totally random hello to whichever crewmembers happen to be on that vehicle, but the reaction to that gesture would be even more dramatic than yesterday’s breakfast appearance. Some days it sucks being a diva.
My phone buzzes again, and air rushes from my lungs at Val’s name. He responded! But wait… what if it’s bad?
Potential Val Text: I hate you and decided to relocate to Oklahoma City permanently. Don’t call me. Also, your music sucks.
Well, probably not the last thing. He’s too nice to say something like that. Plus, it’s his music too, so that would be awkward.
With a shaky hand, I open the message.
Actual Val Text: I’m not mad. Hurt, but not mad. We can talk. When’s good?
Potential Me Text: RIGHT THE HECK NOW!!!
Actual Me Text: Whenever. I’m alone in my dressing room if you want to pop in now.
My teeth sink into my lip as I watch my screen for a response.
Bubbles!
No bubbles.
More bubbles!
No bubbles.
Bubbles again and… ah! Is he trying to torture me as payback? Maybe. I guess in the grand scheme of things, agreeing to marry someone hours after telling another person you’re secretly dating them is worse than being indecisive about what to say in a text message.
Val: Okay. Be there in 5.
Thank the heavens!
Me: Great. Bring your laptop so people think it’s a work thing.
Val: Of course.
Me: I’m so sorry, baby. It was an accident, I swear. You’re the only one I want. You’re all I’ve thought about since. Please forgive me. Please don’t give up on us. Please please please try to understand. I need you now more than ever. I’m not just upset, I’m scared. I didn’t want this. I DON’T want this. I’d do anything to be in your arms right now. I care about you so much, maybe even love?—
