9. Chapter 9
Chapter nine
The sound of my alarm wakes me up. Is it really ten a.m. already?
The team has to be ready to roll by one o’clock.
I turn off my phone alarm and roll over, ready to hold the pretty girl from last night for just a few more minutes.
To my surprise, the bed is empty. Sitting up, I rub the sleep from my eyes, and search for signs she’s really gone.
Clue number one: her clothes are missing from the floor. I make my way to the bathroom to pee, then head out to see if her bag is gone. The small purse from last night is no longer on the table, and the clothes I lent her are folded up neatly on the sofa. Vivienne is definitely long gone.
“Fuck!” I mutter to myself, irritated I slept right through her crawling out of bed.
I would have at least ordered her breakfast and a safe ride.
Usually I can’t get rid of the girls I bring to bed.
I don’t even know why I’m so upset. It was just one night.
I do this all the time. I clench my jaw.
Gone is my desire to find the prettiest girl in every city and claim her in my bed.
All I want to do is track down Vivienne and bring her with me to the next city so, after my show, I can repeat last night.
Vivienne made me feel like myself for the first time in a long time. Nothing felt performative with her. She wasn’t some star-struck, obsessed fan. She was down to earth and real. One thing’s for sure: I need to track her down, because I need to see her again. I need more.
But how? I run my hands over my face in frustration and plop down on the sofa, clutching the folded-up clothes.
I bring them to my nose, inhaling deeply, chasing her scent.
Longing to stay in last night’s moment just a while longer.
I’m a fucking wreck, smelling dirty clothes and hyperfixating on a girl who rocked my world.
My phone vibrates. Alerts keep lighting up.
I probably caused a bunch of PR issues for my agent, and I’m willing to bet at least half of the notifications are from Patrick yelling at me for not warning him.
As much as I don’t want to deal with my phone right now, there’s a real possibility it might be my only ticket to tracking Vivienne down.
When I swipe my phone open to social media, it’s just as I suspected—but I’m looking for something specific. The message from her tag. If I can track her down, then I can find her out in the wild.
Ignoring the thousands of likes and comments, I tap on the messages icon and scroll past the DMs in my requests.
She’s gotta be in here somewhere. It takes a little while, but I finally locate the message with the tag from last night.
Opening the story, I grab a quick screenshot, then repost the story from my account.
What’s the worst that will happen? She messages me? I can only hope.
What if I message her? I press on her profile and am directed to her homepage.
Wow! She has a lot of followers—over 55,000.
I can’t believe she’s really a comic book artist. The art she’s sharing is impressive.
I scroll and swipe, digging deeper and deeper into her life, until reactions and alerts for my repost start slamming in and blowing up my phone.
It reminds me I was thinking about messaging her. What would I even say?
My thoughts trail off as I imagine a million different scenarios and reactions.
There’s so many ways this could go wrong.
..but also right. I start to hum, a beat taking form.
Pretty soon, I’m tapping on the coffee table.
Not long after, I can hear the song in my brain.
I don’t know how to explain it. This is just how my creative process works.
I swipe over to leave myself a voice recording of the beats I’m imagining, then click to my notes app and start working on lyrics.
The chorus takes form around the line: don’t be a one-night stand.
This is going to be a hit, but before I write a song on the road today, I need to message her. I can’t shake the need to see her again.
I tap out the message and erase it more times than I care to admit.
After a few failed attempts, I erase everything one last time and type out: don’t be a one-night stand.
Then press send before I can chicken out.
Right as I hit send, the bubble indicating she’s online changes.
I stare at the screen, waiting for her to open the message and reply, but nothing happens.
There’s a knock on the trailer door, then a familiar voice. “Hey Cas, we need to do a quick team check-in and then get moving for the day.”
“I’ll be right there,” I reply, forcing myself to get dressed. I check the time and realize I’ve been on my little side quest for over an hour. I toss my phone on the bed and forget all about the possible consequences for my actions.