Page 13 of Love on Tour
Christine closed her eyes and tried not to conjure an image of Austin’sboy, which she assumed would be as perfect as the rest of him.
“I’ll be right there.” She hung up the phone and tried to visualize 21B. It was at least three streets away. She threw on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, grabbed her keys, and drove over. When she arrived, there he was, Austin Garrett, the heartthrob, who was now passed out in his tighty-whities on the lawn outside the apartment complex. Christine got out of the car and shook him until he came to.
“Oh, hey, Chrisshy.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her down beside him, laying a sloppy kiss on her face.
“Quit that.” Christine wiped her mouth and stood, pulling him with her. Along with his underwear, he was wearing a black T-shirt and a leather jacket. “Get in the car, now. Someone might see you.”
“Yes, Mom.” He stumbled into the passenger side of her car.
Christine bristled. Why did she always have to act like the mom? She was the responsible one, the designated driver, the person you could call at three in the morning.
“Want me to leave you on the lawn outside Crazy Woman’s house?”
“Nope.”
“You’ll behave?”
“Yep.”
She closed his door and got into the driver’s seat.
“What about your wallet? Car keys?”
“In my jacket.” He patted his pocket. “Not my first rodeo with crazy chicks.”
“Why would you choose crazy chicks?”
“You know what they say. Crazy in the head, crazy in the . . .”
“In the what?”
“Really? You don’t know? Bed, Chrissy girl. Crazy in bed.”
“Oh, dear Lord. No comment. And don’t call me Chrissy.”
He rolled his head to the side, blew her a kiss, and promptly started snoring.
She drove to her building, woke him up, and helped him into her apartment. He sauntered in, went straight to the bathroom, then weaved his way into her bedroom and passed out on her bed.
“Oh no you don’t. Uh-uh. You get the spare bedroom. Austin. Austin. Austin Garrett.” She reached out and tapped him. Then she shook him with one hand. Then she used both hands to shake the mattress.
Nothing. No response. He was gone.
“Damn it.” She gave up trying to wake him and went to the spare bedroom. How had it happened that Austin Garrett was asleep in her bed? Or that he was in her home at all? Her friends would love this story. If she told them. It was hardly romantic to save him from the clutches of a crazy woman. She was irritated that he thought it was okay to call her, a virtual stranger, to come save him. And that he’d taken her bed. She forced herself to calm down so she could fall asleep.
When her alarm went off at 7:00 a.m., she snuck into her room and grabbed some clothes. She paused to look at Austin, peacefully sleeping. He was so handsome, even after a night of debauchery.
She showered and left with a quick note:Coffee in the machine. Just turn it on. Help yourself to any food you can find. Ciao.
On the drive to work, she obsessed over her use of the word “ciao.” What was she? Italian? Why had she written “ciao”? She felt like an idiot.
When she got to work, she didn’t say anything to anyone. It wasn’t as if he’d called her while he was sober and asked her out to dinner. She kept her mouth shut and turned her phone off for her morning listening meetings so she could give her full attention to every song. She hoped she’d find a song for Austin that would be so big he couldn’t help but agree to record it, release it to radio, and make it a hit. It had to be different, yet authentic to him. He could get rousing party songs from anyone, but she wanted to dig deeper. He had so much potential to go bluesy, do more ballads, and even do classic country. But after eight songs that sounded like the party songs he’d already recorded, there was nothing left. Every time she hitPLAYon a new song, she hoped it would be a career-changing hit for an artist. They were few and far between, but when you found one, the high was better than any street drug. Those moments reminded her why she’d chosenthis job. This was not one of those moments. And she needed it to be, more than ever, after what Rick had said.
Frustrated, she removed her headphones and took a break. When she turned her phone back on, her texts blew up.
9:45 a.m.:Hey, Chrissy. It’s Austin. How do you work the coffee machine?
“Really?” she said aloud.
