Page 36 of Love on Tour
TWO WEEKS LATER, CHRISTINE WASsurprised at how bored she’d become. On the one hand, she’d received no new notes and nothing was circulating about her on socials. Not one photo. But she had a new barometer for what was exciting. Road trips, crazy phone calls from Austin, and seeing Matt all added up to fun. And hope. Every time she saw Matt, she hoped he’d give her some indication he was interested. Something she could latch on to, turn around, and make something out of. She knew she’d never be the aggressor unless she was drunk—and she had no intention of that happening again. But if he gave her any hint of interest, she would follow his lead.
The month dragged on with no communication from Austin, aside from the few times he sent her songs for feedback. She answered honestly and gave her opinion, and she took the opportunity to send him a song from Hit Songs Publishing. She didn’t want to push him, but the weight of Rick’s words remained on her shoulders.
She watched Austin’s posts and could see he was having a great run. She initially resisted the temptation to follow Matt, not sure she needed the extra anxiety that social media can bring. But she missed him so she started following him on Instagram. He didn’t over-post and share every moment of his life. He mostly posted before-show photos of empty venues and invited fans to come to the concerts. There were also some photos of him and Austin doing guy things. They went fishing one day and rode scooters another. What she didn’t see, much to her relief, was a bunch of women. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath and waiting to see Matt with some buxom twenty-two-year-olduntil she had scanned about thirty photos without seeing any. She exhaled.
THE DAY AUSTIN WAS DUE BACKin town, a Monday, Christine checked her phone every fifteen minutes. She knew she could text him but didn’t want to seem needy. She was disappointed he didn’t call her the minute he arrived. Then she chided herself for being an idiot. She wasn’t his girl or his bestie. She was just his song plugger.
She lay in bed that night, looking through Matt’s Insta account. He’d posted a photo of a road sign announcing that Nashville was five miles away and captioned it “Home sweet home.” There was no picture of a woman waiting for him.
Christine scrolled through his other photos and found one she had missed. It was of him and the crew guys playing basketball at one of the venues. Matt was wearing gym shorts. His calf muscles were well-developed. She wanted to run her hand along them. He was sweating and his hair stuck to his face . . . he was sexy as hell. She took a screenshot and saved it. Then she worried someone would see it and deleted it. She could always look at his account if she wanted to see it again. She knew she would.
When her phone went off at midnight on Wednesday, she grabbed it so fast it fell on the floor. She heard a man yelling and picked up the phone.
“What?”
“Chrishy! I need help.”
She sat up in bed. “Austin? What’s wrong?” Her voice carried a tinge of panic.
“I’m stuck. I need you to come get me.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. But there are dancing naked people all around me.”
“What? Are you in Nashville?”
“I was at the Tin Roof, but I left. Everyone was too drunk for me.”
Christine wondered how drunk they could have been if they were too drunk for him. “Where did you go after the Tin Roof?”
“Don’t know. But there are naked people all around me. They look happy. And the guys have really big dicks.”
“Austin, what else do you see? You’re not making any sense.”
“Naked people. Dancing naked people. Please come get me.” The call disconnected.
“Austin? Austin? Are you there? Damnit!” She pulled up Julianna’s number and called her.
“Christine? What’s wrong?” Her voice was husky with sleep.
“Austin called. He was drinking at the Tin Roof, and now he’s somewhere with naked dancing people. Is there a nudist colony in Nashville?”
“Not that I know of. Maybe he’s at a strip club,” Julianna said.
“That would make more sense than a nudist colony. But he said men were there, too,” Christine said.
“Men?”
“Yes. Men with big penises. Naked dancing people all around him.”
“Oh, God. He’s on the circle.”
“What?”
“The traffic circle on Demonbreun Street. You know—the statue of the anatomically correct dancing naked people.”
“And it’s walking distance from the Tin Roof. Geez. I can’t believe I didn’t figure that out myself.”
