Chapter 5
Five
HAZEL
My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I can barely close my hand into a fist after spending hours at the adorable little bookstore and cafe meeting readers. I had no expectations leading into my first signing, but this was beyond my wildest dreams. So many readers brought me gifts.
Me.
It’s so surreal to experience the joy my words brought them.
Most of the gifts are already back on the way to New York with Sierra, but I have a gorgeous paper rose, made from my book, that’s going on tour with me.
I might make it my little mascot, documenting my journey with photos of it in random places.
The silence of the hotel room feels so loud after a day full of so many voices and so much laughter.
I flop back onto the bed, sinking into the down comforter and let myself come down from the high.
A glance at the clock tells me that my mom still isn’t done with her shift, so I decide to call Greg instead. I have to share how amazing today was.
The phone rings and rings until I’m about to hang up, but he answers, a little breathless.
“Hello?” he greets around deep breaths.
“Hey, it’s me. Is this a bad time?”
“No, I was just coming back from the gym.”
“Oh, okay.”
“How was the signing?” he asks.
“So much better than I thought it would be. Seriously blew my mind to meet that many people who read and loved my book.”
He sighs. “Of course people loved the book. It’s fan fiction of a very beloved set of characters.”
All residual joy in my body slowly evaporates at the tone of his voice.
“It isn’t fan fiction. These are characters I created, in a world of my own making.”
“Deeply inspired by fan fiction you wrote. And wasn’t this signing taking place at an indie bookstore where they only sell romance?”
I don’t have to be with him to know the face he’s making at the word ‘romance.’ He’s always disparaged the genre. He finds it all to be daft and superficial. His words, not mine.
“Yes.”
He softens his tone at the bite in my voice and sighs. “Sorry, if I sound dismissive. I’m tired from my workout, and you’re tired from the long day you had. Let’s just drop it for tonight and talk later?”
I don’t say anything.
“This is why we can’t be in a relationship, Hazel.
You’re too immature to realize that bragging about your successful career is always going to put me off.
Especially when you know damn well that I’ve been getting rejection after rejection from my querying.
It’s hard to watch your career flourish just because you decided to write easily marketable fluff. ”
I hardly call gay romance easily marketable but whatever. There’s no way for me to even participate in this argument when he’s like this.
He sighs again. “And now you’re going to give me the silent treatment just because you refuse to see things from my angle.”
“I’m not giving you the silent treatment. I just know that anything I say will be turned against me.”
“Grow up, Hazel. Call me when you do.”
The line goes dead as he hangs up on me. I feel like I’m eleven all over again, watching my dad walk out of our front door while he looks at me and says that him leaving was my fault. That pain never goes away.
Speaking of my dad, I pull up the tour schedule and look at the two shows and signings we have in Chicago.
There’s also an extra two nights bookending the weekend there.
My dad lives there with his wife and their two kids, both of which I’ve never met.
I don’t even know if they know I exist. But I’d like to know them.
Part of me wonders if I should put myself out there now that it’s been years since he left. Surely he’d want to know just a little about me. I know I want to know about him. Mom and Grams are against it, but they trust my judgement. I have a few weeks before we get to him, though.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten yet today.
I was too nervous for breakfast, and now it’s caught up to me.
Before deciding on dining in the lobby restaurant, I change from my skirt and blouse to a pair of jean shorts and an oversize sweater that hangs off one of my shoulders.
I still have a full face of makeup, and my hair has hung onto the curls from earlier, so I leave it down.
When I get downstairs I realize the lobby restaurant has already closed for the night, but the bar is still open with limited menu options. I take a seat at the end of the bar, giving me a great view of the expanse of the lobby, so I can people watch while I eat.
After the bartender takes my order and slides a glass of wine across the bar to me, I relax back into my seat.
There’s a couple in the corner sitting side by side and turned toward one another.
Their body language screams new couple still in the honeymoon phase.
There’s a guy in a suit at the opposite end of the bar who seems to be studying his phone intently.
The peace of the late evening crowd lulls me into complacency.
Hope begins to grow inside my chest that this adventure I’m about to embark on will be positive.
I imagine nights like this, where I can settle in and relax at night, writing as new people and places feed me a constant stream of inspiration.
But that hope is doused with a bucket of ice cold water as Blue Sunday and their entourage walk through the door.
All three band members have women hanging off them as they walk through the lobby and head straight for the elevators.
A tall, statuesque woman trails after them with a man I recognize as the band’s manager.
They stop in the lobby to speak. His eyes meet mine as he glances over her shoulder.
It takes him a second, but recognition flashes, and he squeezes her shoulder, turning her around and pointing in my direction.
She smiles at me, wide and friendly, which I return hesitantly.
They exchange a few more words, and then he’s stalking off toward the elevators, and she’s making a bee line for me.
She pulls out the barstool beside mine and takes a seat. “I’m Jade, Blue Sunday’s publicist and social media manager.”
I shake her outstretched hand. “Hazel Archer. Nice to meet you.”
“Same. How was your signing today?”
“It was great.” I settle back into my seat. “Mind blowing, if I’m being honest. I didn’t expect so many people to show up.”
“That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to go to one with you, if you’ll have me, of course.”
The way she says it is so genuine I have to believe she’s actually interested and not just being polite. When the bartender comes over, she looks at my glass of red and orders the same for herself.
“I’m assuming you remember Stone from the morning show?
Tomorrow you’ll officially meet the other band members and manager.
We’ll all be riding the bus together. You’ll also get an all-access pass for each stop that will get you in anywhere in each venue, not that it’s expected of you to attend every concert. But you are most certainly welcome to.”
“Great.” I give her a quick smile.
“Do you have any questions?”
“Not really. Aside from what it’s like living on a tour bus with three rock stars.” I laugh nervously. “This is definitely outside my wheelhouse.”
“The guys are actually pretty great most of the time. They’re more like brothers at this point than anything else. Very tight knit and won’t hesitate to close ranks when one of them is hurt or facing scrutiny.”
“Are they upset about this?” I gesture toward myself. “It can’t feel great to find out a random stranger is going to be hijacking your tour.”
“If they weren’t okay with it, it wouldn’t be happening.”
I nod slowly. That’s good to hear.
She watches me for a minute. “Can I give you one piece of advice though?”
“Yes, please.”
“Don’t give them too much of a leash. They’re great guys, but they are guys.
Horny, powerful, hot rock stars who don’t often hear the word no.
Demand respect from them right from the beginning, and you won’t have to fight for it down the road.
Despite being their publicist I don’t center my world around them.
And I definitely don’t take their shit.”
“That might be a challenge for me as a chronic people pleaser.”
She smirks. “Stick with me, and I’ll show you how to keep them in line.”
“I noticed the women they walked in with. Are there going to be a lot of random people on the bus with us?”
“No. No groupies, no drugs, no booze on the bus. Stone’s sobriety is taking center stage this time around. Darren, the band’s manager, and I are keeping a list of strict rules for this tour. Those are the top three. Plus, we want you to be comfortable.
“I know it’s weird to walk into any pre-existing dynamic like we have to begin with. But make it a famous rock band on a tour, and it has to be even more anxiety inducing. I’m here for you as a buffer whenever you need it. Have you filled out the NDA and your preference sheet?”
“I signed the NDA, but I wasn’t sure about the preference sheet? What’s that for?”
“It just has a list of things you want for the bus. Snacks, drinks, toiletries.”
Oh. I wasn’t expecting them to provide anything like that.
Jade pulls a tablet out of her bag and opens a document. She slides it over to me. “Fill this one out and write everything you can think of, no matter how obscure. We’ll find it for you.”
The categories are surprisingly extensive. From soda preferences to what type of feminine hygiene products I use. Even condom and lubricant preferences have a section. I leave that one blank. I can’t imagine I’ll be having any type of sex on this tour.
Jade scans it quickly, her lips tilting into a slight smile. “Low maintenance. If you think of something to add, just let me or Darren know.”
“I can do that.”
“Perfect. What’s on your agenda tomorrow? Aside from lunch with the band.”
“I found a Pilates class down the street that I’ll probably take in the morning and then I have to sign books at several stores in the afternoon.”
She perks up a bit when I mention Pilates, and I wonder if it’s because she takes classes as well.
“Have you ever taken a pole dancing class?” she asks.
I wasn’t expecting that question. “No.”
“You’ll have to take one with me. I’ve found studios at all our stops. I’ll look intoPilates studios for you, too.”
“Thank you.”
I’m really starting to like her. She’s so friendly and open. Knowing there will be another woman on the trip is comforting as well. Having grown up with my mom and Grams in the same home and no men to speak of, it really does ease my mind to have other women around.
We spend the rest of the evening chatting and getting to know one another. She explains how she became the band’s publicist and her relationship to Xander. I’m also treated to so much Blue Sunday lore I could write an article about them for Rolling Stone.
Between our conversation and the two glasses of wine, I’m feeling completely comfortable by the time we head up to our rooms. I didn’t realize it, but they put us all on the same level and turned off access to anyone without a key to a room in the hall.
Music drifts down the corridor from the suite at the end as I tap my key against the reader.
The sound of laughter and music increases as two people stumble through the door. A barely dressed woman stumbles into the hall. She giggles as two tattooed hands snake around her waist and squeeze her ass. Two crystal blue eyes lock on mine, cutting through the distance between us like a laser.
Stone Tyler.
I look away quickly and dart into my room. Why did my stomach flip like that when we locked eyes? I’m not into voyeurism. I’ve spoken to the man for a total of twenty minutes. It makes no sense to be so… worked up. Then again, a lot of things about me don’t always make the most sense.
After tossing and turning all night, I eventually settled on my reaction to seeing Stone as being nerves. He is one of the most infamous rock stars in music right now. And I’m going on tour with him and his band. I’d have to be delusional not to be nervous.
Nothing about this is normal.
My sports bra snaps into place, and I pull a long sleeve compression shirt over it, hooking my thumbs into the holes to hold the sleeves in place. I slide my phone and key into the pocket of my leggings and grab one of the complimentary waters from the mini fridge before darting out into the hall.
The Pilates studio is two blocks from the hotel, so I’m planning on walking. Just as I’m about to hit the elevator call button, a tattooed hand appears from behind and presses it first. I stare at the chrome doors in front of me and take a steadying breath.
“Good morning, Hazel.”
It’s unfair how the rasp in his voice is so perfectly sexy.
“Morning, Stone.” I keep my eyes forward.
“Where are you off to so early?” he asks.
“Pilates class.” I finally glance over at him, finding his eyes locked on my profile.
“Is that so?”
There’s a glint in his eyes. Is he making fun of me? I obviously don’t have the type of body that most people equate to someone who does Pilates religiously, but beneath the soft layer of fat I hold, I’m strong and flexible.
“Yes.” The word comes out snappier than I intended, but fuck him if he’s judging me.
I judge myself hard enough; I don’t need some slutty rock star dogpiling on me.
The elevator doors open, and he sweeps his arm forward indicating for me to go first. I do, and he follows on my heels, along with another man. He’s twice the size of Stone in bulk but nearly the same height. They’re both wearing running shorts and plain t-shirts with running shoes.
“This is Adam, my security.” Stone says as he pulls a baseball cap down low over his face. “Adam, this is Hazel.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.” I grasp his offered hand and shake it. “I take it you two are going for a run?”
“We are. Where are you headed?”
“The studio is a couple blocks to the east,” I say as the elevator doors open, and I step into the lobby. “Have a good run.”
“Be safe,” Stone says to my back.
My brow furrows. What an odd thing to say. The sun is already out, and there are a decent amount of people milling around for early on a Saturday morning. If it were late at night, safety is something I’d worry about, but not this time of day.
I dismiss the thoughts of Stone as I wait at an intersection.
But when I stop thinking about him, my mind immediately drifts to Greg and his cutting words yesterday.
Normally I’d talk about it with Sierra, but she’s firmly in the camp of Greg sucks, so I don’t bother.
I’ll call Mom after my workout. She’ll make me feel better about everything.