Chapter 3
Three
HAZEL
Light pours through the space between the blinds in Greg’s bedroom as I hear my phone vibrate on the table beside me.
I lift my head and crack an eye open to read the text from Sierra asking me to meet her for an early lunch today.
After shooting off a quick response to let her know I saw the message, I sit up, the covers pooling around my waist.
Greg rolls over, his salt and pepper hair mussed as he opens his whiskey-colored eyes and gives me a brief smile.
“What time is it?” he asks with a scratchy voice.
“A little after eight.”
He grabs the sleeve of my shirt and tugs at my wrist. I drop down beside him, letting him pull me to his side and laying my head on his chest. My body melts into the comfort of his touch.
“How did the interview go yesterday?” he asks.
I was irritated when I walked into his apartment last night to find him still half-drunk from the faculty mixer he went to after ignoring me all day.
But then his heated gaze locked on me, and I let myself get carried away right into his bed again.
We’re not together, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my mentor. My friend.
Who I fuck.
It’s complicated. My grams loathes him. Mom used to like him when he was just a professor, but I think she’s slowly started to distrust him.
But I know he’s a good guy. He just has a bit of Peter Pan syndrome. He wouldn’t spend so much time helping me, invest so much in my success, if he didn’t care about me. Which is why I keep circling right back.
I do wish he would have asked me about the interview before jumping my bones, though.
“You didn’t watch it?”
“You know I don’t watch television.” His tone is dismissive. “Your perspective is more important regardless.”
I scoot back and prop myself on my elbow. “It was fine, I guess. Kind of what I expected but then also so different. Mark O’Malley was a complete dick, though.”
“How so?” His brow furrows.
“He was just so dismissive of the book. Like it was beneath him to be included in the segment or something.”
Greg’s forehead smooths. “He is a highly decorated journalist, Hazel. I’m sure talking about a romance book isn’t at the top of the list of things he finds most important to discuss.”
“I guess. He didn’t have to be a misogynistic asshole about it, though.”
Greg hits me with his unamused look, the one he always gives me when I resort to swearing. I ignore it because fuck Mark O’Malley.
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. You have to grow thicker skin when it comes to criticism, not everyone is going to love your work.”
“I don’t expect them to. I just would expect a modicum of respect when I’m being interviewed on national television.” I scoot away, irritated by him. “I’m not the only one who thought he was a jerk, by the way.”
“I’m sure Sierra was feeding into your feelings.” He rolls his eyes.
“Stone Tyler actually stormed across the studio and interrupted the interview.”
Greg quirks a brow. “Stone Tyler?”
“Lead singer and guitarist for Blue Sunday.”
He gives me a blank stare.
“Their music is literally all over the radio and television. One single was even the theme song for a movie recently.”
“Okay. Glad he was there to save you.” He tosses the covers back and stands.
The sight of his completely naked body serves as enough of a distraction that I stop arguing.
He might be nearly twenty years older than me, but his body is a work of art.
Lines of muscle and corded tendons are wrapped in smooth, slightly freckled skin.
The first time I had him as a professor, I’d find myself drifting off during his lectures, wondering what he looked like beneath his button up shirts and crisply pressed pants.
The reality was better than anything I imagined.
Sometimes I wonder why he wants me.
I’m not ugly, I know that. My face is attractive enough, with good bone structure and big, unique eyes.
I’m probably considered fat for New York City standards, but I’m just a bit bigger than average, occasionally shopping in the plus size section but still mostly straight sizes.
If I were to describe myself in the pages of a book, I’d write that I was plump and soft.
But I’m also strong, with years of Pilates honing the muscles beneath my skin.
My insecurities run deep, but my appearance isn’t a contributing factor to them.
I stand up on the other side of the bed and pull my underwear on while he grabs clothes from his dresser.
“What are you doing today?” I ask.
“I have some papers to grade and then I was thinking about picking my book back up and working through a few of the chapters.”
He’s been working on querying his book for several years with no luck.
If I were to be completely honest with myself, I’d admit that he resents my sudden and intense success.
Especially with it being derived from a fan fic I wrote as an undergrad that gained a cult following.
And I get it. There’s no author alive who doesn’t want to see their work on store shelves, to walk into a cafe or park and see someone flipping through the pages. It’s why we do what we do.
So I don’t hold it against him. Even when he lashes out and hurts me.
“What are your plans?” He stands in the door of the bathroom, clothes held in front of his dick as he watches me pull my leggings on. He knows I won’t take my shirt off to put my bra back on until he’s out of the room. No one sees my arms; I don’t even like seeing them.
“Lunch with Sierra. She wants to talk about the book tour.”
His lips flatten into a line. “Have fun. I’ll call you later.” He closes the door behind him, and I don’t pull my shirt over my head until I hear the shower door open and the water turn on.
Sierra looks up as I pull out the chair across from her and sit down. “You’re never going to believe the incredible opportunity coming for you.” She beams at me.
“What?” My eyes flare with a mixture of curiosity at her excitement and a healthy dose of anxiety. The fact that two flutes of champagne sit bubbling between us makes me think, whatever it is, it’s a big fucking deal.
“You’re going on tour with Blue Sunday.”
“I’m sorry.” I blink rapidly. Nothing she could have said would have confused me more. “What?”
“Stone jumping over the couch and coming to your defense went viral yesterday. It was all over social media. His manager and label reached out to the publisher yesterday and threw out the idea of combining tours.”
“That’s shocking.”
“I know. Let it marinate because I have a fuck ton of information for you and the tour starts in two weeks.”
“What?” I squeak. I knew a book tour was part of the deal when I signed with my publisher, but it wasn’t supposed to start for at least another month.
“Here’s the list of stops and the bookstores you’ll be signing at. Most are indies, but there are a few bigger stores that we couldn’t get away with skipping.”
She slides an iPad across the table to me. Boston, Toronto, Cleveland, Detroit, Indianapolis, Chicago, Minneapolis, Kansas City, Denver, Salt Lake, Vancouver, Seattle, Portland. The list goes on and on. Thirty stops in total.
“I know it’s a bit overwhelming.” Her hand covers my forearm and squeezes. “But something like this has never been done. You’ll be staying on the tour bus with the band.”
“Why?” That sounds like a nightmare, fuck knows what they do on their tour bus. “I can’t do this. Tell them no.”
“It’s already been announced. You don’t really have a choice here.”
“What. The. Fuck.”
“Check your socials. Everything is going nuts.”
My eye twitches as I open one app on my phone and see the hundreds of thousands of likes on the announcement post from my publisher and their record label. The band is tagged, along with my account.
I drop my phone and sit back in a daze while Sierra orders for us. She turns her attention back to me when the server leaves.
“I know it feels overwhelming. Focus on the fact that you’re going to get to meet so many readers. You’re laying the foundation for a long, successful career. Plus, all the time to focus on nothing but writing. And being surrounded by sexy musicians won’t hurt.”
“Do they know about this?”
“Yes. They were informed last night.”
“And they’re on board?”
“Apparently.” She shrugs. “They aren’t my concern. You are. Everyone will fill out NDAs for the duration of the tour. I’ll have our in-house counsel look it over, but you may want to also get outside counsel, just in case.”
“I can’t live on a bus with random strange men.”
“From what I understand their PR agent travels with them and is a woman. It won’t be a total sausage fest. I’ll also be joining you at most of your signings, I’ll just be flying from city to city and coming back here in between.”
I don’t know how to feel about this. Dark tendrils of dread coil through my veins, loosening the death grip I keep on my inner voice. The one that assures me I’m terrible. That I ruin everything and anything good in my life. That the time and energy people put into me is nothing but a waste.
Sierra’s hands wrap around mine, and she squeezes, yanking me back from the cliff's edge of my mind. “Stop worrying. I’m going to make sure you’re safe and well cared for. I promise.”
As I always do, I pulled my anxiety and dark thoughts inward. Sierra’s going to have a lot on her plate over the next couple weeks helping organize something like this. Fuck, so will I for that matter. How do you even pack for something this massive?
“Can you email me the NDA when you get it? I will have my attorney look it over before I sign.”
“Absolutely.”
“What should I pack for this?” This might not be the most important question, but it feels the most easily answered. “How will I do laundry?”
“Most nights before and after the concerts you’ll be at hotels, so they can handle laundry.”
“What about my signings? I should probably have different outfits for each, right?”
“Yes. I’ll call a few of my contacts and see if we can get a stylist to help pull options that mix and match for the first part of the tour. Then as the season changes from summer to fall, I’ll bring a second set of options. Or something. We’ll figure it out.”
Our conversation settles as the server brings our food.
The flavors of the salmon burst over my tongue, giving me a slight reprieve from the onslaught of worries.
I’ve never been away from my mom or Grams this long.
I’ll have to fly them both out for a few of the signings.
Maybe we could even turn a few days into a little vacation.
This doesn’t have to be a bad thing.
Despite it being frightening, it is an incredible opportunity. I’ve only traveled around the east coast, there’s so much I’ve never seen. Who knows? Traveling could unlock my muse, and I might be able to write the book I’m so behind on.
Sierra begins rattling off information for the following week, including a few interviews. I listen as she goes through everything, the sound of her voice filling my mind is enough to hold off the negativity that will inevitably come creeping back in.