Page 82 of Feuds and Interludes
“Yep,” Boone said. “By the end we were all, like, ready to go do our thing. Gran wanted me on Broadway, and their parents wanted them doing symphonic shit, and we were like?—”
“Hell, no,” Bran said. “We’re going to be those assholes who throw away our fancy education for rock ’n’ roll!”
“I mean, symphony is boring.”
It was my turn to check in at the gate and we were directed over to the artists’ campground. There was a collection of fancy tour buses and rickety RVs. We were kind of in the middle. Loads of folks I recognized were milling around their areas, setting up overhangs and outdoor sitting areas. The weather was forecasted to be perfect. We were scheduled to headline the second stage on opening night, which was the perfect-size crowd to test out our little experiment. Boone and I had several conversations before we left about what we wanted out of this venture, and I felt like we had a vastly-appealing project.
It would all depend on what the twins wanted and what his label decided on.
Oh, yeah. Stellar’s label loved the new music, but they wanted to keep a lid on it until they saw what happened at Rocktoberfest. If it was a success, they thought they could use the performance as a jumping-off point for a huge release. Boone wasn’t too comfortable with their attempted money grab to snatch up rights to Butler Collins. He told them in no uncertain terms that Butler Collins was not on the table at this time, that whatever we decided to do with our music, we’d decide together.
God, it was hot knowing he had my back.
But there was a part of me that was panicking about the unknown.
Thank God for Rocktoberfest, because at least I had a couple of days to not freak out about the fact that my band was done and I had nothing else lined up.
“All right, my darlings,” Boone said. “We’re going to have eyes on us the whole time we’re here. Be coy about the project, tell them we’re working on some things, bat your eyelashes and walk away. Got it?”
“So we get to be big teases,” Bran said. “I can do that.”
“Our set is going to blow the lid off this place,” Annie said. “That California shit is fire. The other bands are going to be like ‘how the fuck do we follow that?’”
I loved hearing her cocky attitude. I just hoped by the time we finished here, I’d win her over. But I wouldn’t be selfish. If it made more sense for Stellar to ride out their album cycle before we jumped in, I’d be fine with that too. Somehow.
An attendant directed us into our parking spot and it was on. I turned off the motor and turned to my companions.
“Okay, before we go outside, I just want to thank you all for taking this ride with me. This only works because the three of you are stellar musicians?—”
“Nooo,” Annie groaned.
“Ha! Butler with the dad jokes.” Bran slapped my shoulder.
Boone grinned. “And we’re thrilled you brought us along,” he said. “This is going to kick ass.”
“On three,” Bran said, and we all put our hands in the middle.
Boone counted, “One…two…three…”
And the three of them shouted, “ASSLICKER!”
“What the…”
“Oh,” Bran said. “It’s from our first tour in Italy. One of the journalists called us ah-Stellar, and the way he said it, it sounded like Ass Licker, so it kinda stuck.”
“Forget I asked. You guys are something.”
Boone leaned over and kissed me before climbing into the back. “Get with the program, Butler!”
“Right.”
And with Boone’s gorgeous ass barely covered by another pair of those corduroy pants I loved so much—these ones a dusty rose—I couldn’t wait to get onstage with him tomorrow night and turn this place upside down.
The rock world wasn’t ready for Butler Collins.
Twenty-Eight
Boone
