“Flower, I need you to try and make a few friends.” He says coming out of the bathroom still towel drying his hair. He has changed but you wouldn’t know it. Jeans and t-shirts are all he ever wears, on stage and off.
“I don’t like talking to people.” I pout.
“I know that. Want me to find a few girls that work on the tour that you may like?” He kneels down in front of me.
“No, they will only be nice to me because they think it will get you to sleep with them.” I’m being a baby but I don’t want to make any friends right now.
“Flower Rose Marshall stop acting like a brat! Now get up we have to go.” He holds his hand out for me, I take it but I’m not happy about it. I grab my iPod and earbuds as we walk out. This will not be a fun night!
The hotel and the arena are connected by a skyline walkway. There are people everywhere taking pictures, a few reporters try asking Chris some questions but we have both been told not to answer them. It only takes about ten minutes to get to the party. There are already at least two hundred people here, I groan on the inside but because there are people taking pictures of us I try to smile for Chris.
After working our way through most of the fans, I grab a bottled water and spot a small couch on the back wall. It’s one of the few spots in the room that is free. Everyone wants to be in the middle of the room where the band is. Yeah, everyone but me. I pull on Chris’s arm and lean up to tell him where I am going, he rolls his eyes and says fine but to yell if I need him. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and head over to hideout.
Once I get settled on the couch in the corner on the back wall I put in my earbuds and start to listen to the type of music I like. Freak Street is mostly high energy pop rock, not me at all. I love country music, not the bluegrass stuff but the newer country music. Luke Bryan, Eric Church, Love and Theft, Florida Georgia Line, Hunter Hayes, and Jason Michael Carroll are some of my favorites. I hit shuffle on a playlist that is titled ‘block out’ it’s my go to play list at times like this. I lay back on the couch and stretch my legs out so no one can sit with me, I just stare at the ceiling, and let the music take me away.
A little while later I look down at the end of the couch and the lead singer, Justin Crow, is standing there watching me! Justin is a mystery to me, he is only nineteen years old but everyone bows down to him. His brother, John, the bass player, is the only one who doesn’t kiss his ass. I pull out one of my earbuds but I don’t turn off my music.
“Can I help you?” I ask as nicely as I can.
“Why are you over here, when everyone else is over there?” He points to the crowd that doesn’t look as big as before. Guess the party is dying down.
“I could ask you the same question.” I snap back then take a deep breath and try to remember that my brother is playing in his band, and I don’t need him firing Chris over me.
“I’m over here trying to find out why you’re over here.” He smirks at me.
“Justin I’m just trying to listen to my music, okay?” I lay my head back down on the arm rest hoping he will leave. To my surprise he sits down on the floor, beside the couch, right in front of me!
“What are you listening to?” He asks. Why does he care? I want to say ‘not your group’ but I know better.
“Right now Eric Church ‘Homeboy’” I love this song, worded two ways but with one meaningful message.
“Can I listen with you?” This catches me off guard. He wants to listen to music with me? This party is for his band, shouldn’t he be part of it?
“Don’t you have to be part of the party?” I ask hitting pause and rolling on to my side so I can look at him.
“No, I’ve done all I can tonight. Almost everyone is drunk now, so I’m just waiting for the buses to pick us up.”
“You don’t drink?” I don’t know why I’m talking to him.
“I’m nineteen, not old enough yet.” He smiles. Okay he has a nice smile.
“I doubt they would stop you from drinking, you are the star after all.” I let out a soft laugh.
“My mom would kill anyone who let me drink, she can be very scary.” He laughs and shakes his head “But it’s not my thing anyways. I mean look at Dave, he is plastered. What good does that do? To get so drunk that you won’t remember anything? And the girls are just as bad, the drunker they get the more they try to strip for you, or try to sleep with you. I don’t have sex with fans or groupies.” This look comes over his face like he is remembering something painful, then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Is Chris drunk?” I ask him, he better not be! Chris has never been a big drinker but if he
