8. 8
Hayes
Now
A fter the photos and video hit the media last week, Charlotte summoned the band. I know why she called the meeting, but she’s letting me stew before reprimanding me.
To say the record label isn’t happy about my sudden media firestorm is an understatement. Aiden, one of the record label executives who we routinely work with, and one of my good friends, ripped me a new one as soon as the story broke.
Under normal circumstances, he’s a man of few words, so his fiery speech was surprising. But I can’t say it was undeserved.
“Here’s the publicity itinerary for the album release as it stands now,” Aiden explains as Charlotte passes out stacks of paper for each of us.
I take a cursory glance, flicking through the pages, before dropping them onto the table.
Char syncs everything to our e-calendars, so it seems like a waste of trees to still pass out hard copies.
“The label will continue to add interviews and media appearances as they’re booked, so check your email. ”
Then, Aiden glances at Charlotte, signaling his part of the meeting is concluded.
Like I said, he’s a man of few words.
“Y’all are going to be debuting the first single from Alcohol and Orgasms at the Nashville Holiday Music Festival next month.
” Charlotte trails off, glaring at me. “Side note: Could y’all have picked an album title that didn’t include the word orgasm?
Do you have any idea how many times I have had to say that word in business meetings? It’s embarrassing!”
I bite back a laugh as a bright pink hue crosses Charlotte’s freckled cheeks after having said the word orgasm twice in as many sentences. I’d pay good money to see her in those aforementioned business meetings, blushing away while trying like the dickens to remain professional.
“Blame your boy Hayes,” Rowdy says with a smug grin. “He provided the inspiration and wrote most of the songs.”
“Could be worse, Char. Hayes could have written those orgasm songs about your sister,” says Josh.
"Eww!" Char shakes her head like an Etch-a-Sketch, trying to dislodge that idea from her brain. "No, Josh. Just…no!"
“And you wonder why you earned the nickname Dumber,” I mutter with a smirk.
"Shut up, Bambi," he retorts.
Yeah, that nickname caught on. Unfortunately.
Halting any more talk of orgasms, Charlotte plods on. “Anyway, back to the festival. Outlaw will be the headliner on Saturday night.”
“Obviously,” Rowdy offers.
Charlotte scowls at his interruption.
“What? You can go off on a tangent, but I can’t?”
“It’s like herding cats to get y’all to focus, I swear.” She rolls her eyes.
I pull back the cuff of my shirt to glance at my watch. I’m supposed to meet a date for drinks in half an hour, and the bar we’re going to is about twenty minutes away. I need to finish up this meeting fast, or else I’m going to be late.
Charlotte catches me checking the time. “Got somewhere more important to be, Hayes?” she asks, her tone imperious.
Before I can respond, Josh does for me. “Whose legs are you getting between tonight? Hope it goes better than your last date!” He chirps as the guys all laugh. “Let me guess, Instagram model-slash-influencer?”
Technically, my date is with a cheerleader for Nashville’s professional football team, but she also models on social media as a side gig. Ignoring Josh, since he’s a perceptive little shit and his guess hits close to home, I grumble, “Can we just wrap this up already?”
Rowdy sends me a wide grin.
Fuck, I’ve set him up, and I know exactly what he’s going to say . That’s what happens when you’ve been best friends since the sixth grade. For better or worse, your minds meld.
“Don’t forget to wrap it before you tap it tonight, buddy.” Then Rowdy drums his fingers on the table to celebrate his dumbass joke.
He doesn’t even play the drums. Would’ve been funnier if James had done it.
But then, of course, James throws in his two cents too. “Based on how antsy he is to get out of here; I’m betting his date is with that cheerleader he met at the NFL game a few days ago. She was fucking hot. Did y’all see her? ”
“Whoa, so she’ll be flexible and perky.” Josh hits me on the shoulder. “Right on, man. Keep me in mind if she has any hot friends.”
James looks affronted. “Hold up, don’t leave me out. Surely, she’s got lots of hot cheerleader friends, right? Enough to go around.”
Charlotte looks like she’s about to blow a gasket as Aiden covers his smile with his hand. I shut my mouth, as do the others, so we can get back to business.
As we file out of the meeting a few minutes later, Charlotte stops me. “Hayes, a word, please.”
And here comes the lecture I’ve been expecting.
Aiden arches a brow. “Need me to stay, Charlotte?”
“Might as well, since you’re part of the problem.
” Thumping him on the chest, Char admonishes, “Stop inviting Hayes to NFL games! Really, Aiden? We’re trying to get him to behave, and you throw him into a sea of scantily clad women who gyrate across football fields for a living. What did you think would happen?”
Looking sheepish, Aiden simply grunts. “Touché.”
Watching me expectantly, Char inquires, “What happened, Hayes?”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I explain the situation succinctly. “Met a woman on an app and went to her place. I accidentally called her the wrong name while she was sucking my dick.”
But based on the disgusted look on Char’s face, I wasn’t succinct enough.
“Anyway, she kicked me out, naked as the day I was born. Finally, after I apologized profusely, she threw my clothes and keys at me, and I hightailed it out of there.”
It was supposed to be an easy, no strings attached hookup, like all the others before her. I joined the dating app for celebrities, and it’s easy as shit to fuck the women on there .
They know what they’re signing up for: a fun time, but only for one time. I don’t hide my intentions or sweet-talk the ladies with false promises. Nope, I tell it like it is. Good sex is all I’m offering. Nine times out of ten, they take me up on my offer.
My date with Shayna— not Shannon —started off like any of my other dates.
Some flirty banter through the app, met for drinks at a bar, and then headed to her place for sex.
I don’t mean to sound like a total dick, but we only met two hours prior.
We didn’t exactly swap life stories or share past traumas over our margaritas.
So, I fumbled a few letters in her name.
It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal.
But to her, it was, and as a result, photos and videos of my bare ass are all over the media now.
When I’m looking to hook up, I try to be smart about it. I never communicate with any of the women outside of the app because I don’t want them to have my phone number. Also, I never take them back to my place because I don’t want them to know where I live.
But now, I need to add one more rule to my list. Memorize their fucking names.
“You need to watch it with the women,” Char sighs. “A date here and there is okay, but you’ve been sloppy lately. Very sloppy.”
“Char’s right, man,” Aiden says, just as his cell phone starts to ring.
“The label’s PR team isn’t thrilled with how you’re coming across in the press.
You’ve gotta reel it in.” He glances at the screen, then gives me a pointed look.
“I need to grab this, but seriously, listen to Charlotte unless you want the label breathing down your neck for the foreseeable future.”
Aiden shuts the conference room door behind him as a melancholy cloud settles over me. I guess it’s time to clean up my act.
“Maybe you should go out to the ranch,” suggests Charlotte .
I can read between the lines. Char wants me out of the city and away from temptation.
I’ve been spiraling ever since I gave up trying to find Annabelle.
I spent months searching for her, hiring multiple private investigators, chasing down every lead I could.
After our night together, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Finding Annabelle became my obsession. I didn’t date.
Hell, I barely left the condo. I threw myself into the music, writing song after song after song.
But after the third PI turned up empty, I threw in the towel.
Then I swung hard in the opposite direction. Started dating like a maniac, trying to drown out the memory of Annabelle with booze and meaningless hookups.
We had one night. One goddamn night and it still haunts me. I keep telling myself I need to move on, to stop torturing myself… but I don’t know how.
“Look, I don’t know exactly what went down after you and Jane split and you met Annabelle,” Char says, leveling me with a look, “but judging by the new songs and the way you’ve been acting out these last few months, it clearly messed you up.”
She pushes her glasses up and locks eyes with me. “I need a straight answer, Hayes. Can you keep your private life locked down until the album drops? Or do I need to hire a PR specialist to clean up your messes and manage your image?”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond.
“Your behavior doesn’t just affect you, Hayes. It affects the band. I’m about to begin negotiating our next contract, and every time you do something stupid, it gives the label more leverage. So, tell me… can you handle it, or do I need to start running damage control now?”
Charlotte doesn’t look angry. She looks tired. Resigned. Like she expects me to screw up and make her job harder .
And honestly? She’s not wrong.
If one of us is making headlines, it’s usually me. As the lead singer, I’m the most recognizable face of Outlaw, so when I screw up, it hits the front page. Rowdy, James, and Josh can get away with a lot more because the public doesn’t clock them the same way they do me.
Not that Rowdy gets into much trouble these days. Bailey keeps him on a pretty short leash. But Dumb and Dumber? Yeah, they still rack up their fair share of displays of public stupidity.
Witnessing Charlotte’s disappointment hits home. I need to get my shit together for the greater good of the band. I can’t let my behavior threaten the success of the next album or our new recording contract.
“Yeah, Char, I can handle it.” Leaning back against the conference room table, I rest my ass against the edge. “I apologize for acting stupid these past few months.”
“You’ve been acting like a dog in heat, Hayes. You’re better than that.” She groans in frustration. “I’m not asking you to be celibate. Just try not to have your dating exploits featured in the tabloids every week, okay?”
Lowering my gaze, I rub my hand over my stubbled jaw, feeling chastised. “Will do. Sorry again, Char.”
Sitting in my truck in the record label’s parking garage, I type out a quick text bailing on the cheerleader tonight. I need to keep my dick in my pants and get my head on straight.
I need to exorcise Annabelle from my mind, but I need to do it in a healthier way than drinking and fucking anything that moves.
Because I’ve tried those, and they aren't working.