Founded on Goodbye by Kat Singleton
As it turns out, there’s a fuck ton of people wandering around the stadium parking lot in the afternoon, a detail I wasn’t privy to because typically I’m still sleeping off a hangover at this time. Or begrudgingly doing some kind of press work.
Shockingly, I don’t have anything planned for the day—except for this date with Nora. We traveled through the night before arriving at our next tour stop. Today is an off day for the tour. The crew has begun to set up the stage for tomorrow, but for those of us performing, we have the day off.
A few crew members try to catch my attention as I weave through all the buses parked in the lot. I give them small waves, too focused on trying to find the bus for the dancers. Adjusting the beanie on my head, I stop a tiny girl pacing in front of a random golf cart. She’s got a clipboard clutched to her chest like her life depends on it, while she whisper-shouts to someone on the other line of her phone.
“Excuse me?” I begin, taking a step closer to her. My words catch her attention, and she looks up at me, her eyes getting as wide as saucers when she realizes who’s bothering her. “Do you know where I could find the dancer bus?” I give her an apologetic smile.
She’s silent for a few beats, lifting her arm and pointing somewhere in the distance. I follow the line of her arm, trying to distinguish where exactly she’s pointing to. I can feel my eyebrows pull together on my forehead underneath my sunglasses. I have no fucking clue where she’s pointing to other than the mass of buses sitting in the parking lot.
“Could you, uh, maybe give me more details? A number?”
“Forty-two,” she answers robotically, her jaw hanging open while she openly gawks at me. I can hear someone yelling through the earpiece of her phone.
“Thank you,” I tell her quickly, nodding to the phone in her hand. “Might want to get back to that.” I give her a small wave as my legs take me in the direction she pointed to.
I’m dodging members of my crew left and right as I weave in and out of the buses. I never realized how many buses even travel with us on tour but am quickly realizing it’s a lot of them. I’m scanning all the numbers until I finally spot the one I’m looking for.
Keeping my head down, I pick up my pace as I walk to the bus. Luckily, there’s no one else around to spot me. I’m sure the people who’ve already noticed me hanging out around the lot were confused. I must admit, I don’t spend much time wandering around venues on my off days. Typically, I’m nursing a hangover right into the evening, just in time to rinse, repeat, and get drunk all over again.
I stop in front of the narrow door of the bus, my knuckles rapping against the cold steel a few times. As I wait for someone to answer, I swear I see one of the curtains toward the back of the bus open and close quickly.
The door squeaks open to a smiling Ziggy. “Well, look who it is.” He props his shoulder in the doorway, giving me a shit-eating grin.
“Hi, Zig.” My eyes wander to the empty space over his shoulder. I don’t find any sign of Nora, just stairs and an empty passenger chair. “I’m here for Nora.”
Ziggy chuckles, smoothing down the crease of his lime green jersey. “Oh, we know.” He straightens up off the wall, a whole head taller than me thanks to the lift of the bus. “Now, Nora’s daddy isn’t here so I feel like it’s my job to give you a few words. Our girl Nora here is something special, and while your team of dancers all respect the hell out of you, your rapport with women isn’t great. If you hurt our girl, well, you’ll have one pissed off dance crew.”
“Ziggy!” Nora shouts as she rushes up behind him, peeking over him, her face as red as the lipstick she wears each night we perform.
“What? We were all thinking it, I was just the one with the balls to say it.” He completely fills the space of the doorway, blocking her way out.
She stuffs something into the small purse on her shoulder. Once she catches onto the fact that he isn’t moving, she looks up at him expectantly.
Ziggy dramatically sighs, pulling his body to one side enough that her small frame can fit through the gap. “You two have fun.”
Nora stops right in front of me, a hesitant smile on her face. I return her smile, suddenly excited about the day ahead, relieved she isn’t standing me up. Briefly looking over the top of her head, I find Ziggy carefully watching us. His eyes meet mine and I can tell by the look on his face that he meant that warning of his.
Little does he know I have no intention of hurting Nora. I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing here in the first place. I’m not someone who casually goes on a day-date with a woman, even if this is exactly what Monica wants me to be doing.
I wanted a day with Nora, just the two of us. For once, I didn’t want to deal with the pressure of being Nash: the famous popstar. I wanted to leave the pressure of all that behind and focus on getting to know a great girl instead. Hell, I just wanted to pretend I could be a normal guy for a day.
“Ready?” I ask, looking down to find her big eyes staring up at me.
“Yep,” she replies, pulling the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder.
The door to the bus behind us makes a loud creak as Ziggy disappears behind it. It leaves us completely alone in the small alleyway between buses.
“Let’s go,” I tell her, reaching down to wrap her hand in mine. I do it without even thinking about it. Holding her hand seems like second nature at this point. We weave in and out of the buses until we reach the parked SUV, where Sebastian and Matt are both waiting for us.
“Where are we going?” Nora asks softly, giving them a small wave.
“Somewhere Nash shouldn’t be going,” Matt mumbles under his breath, eyes on Sebastian.
Sebastian lets out a small laugh. “Like we could tell Nash what to do,” he says sarcastically. He turns around and opens the back door of the SUV, reaching his hand out to take Nora’s.
She gives him the sweetest smile, pulling her hand out of mine and placing it in his. He winks at me over her shoulder as he goes to help her into the car.
Matt huffs from where he’s perched against the driver’s side door, and Sebastian halts to listen. “Yeah, it’s not like he pays us—very nicely I might add—to make sure he’s safe,” he says.
I take this time to step in front of Sebastian, silently letting him know I’ll get Nora’s door as we’ve found ourselves in some kind of pissing match over this for no real reason. He steps back, allowing me in.
“You’ll find out where we’re going,” I tell her, answering the question she’d asked before my bodyguards decided to go all mom—or worse, Monica—on me.
Nora reaches around herself, giving me a nod as she clicks her seatbelt into place.
I shut the door softly, ignoring Sebastian as he makes overexaggerated kissing noises next to me. This idiot. He knows I’m in new territory with Nora. I don’t typically fuss over taking girls on a date, but today I’ve spent hours trying to figure out the perfect first date for the two of us. Even if Matt thinks it’s unsafe for me to do it at all.
“Matt’s right, I pay the both of you very generously,” I remind Sebastian. “So stop annoying me.”
This only amuses Sebastian more. “Retract the claws, Nash.” He meows, putting his hand in the air to mimic a cat paw swiping at the air.
I ignore him, muttering “asshole” under my breath as I round the SUV to the driver’s side.
Matt waits, holding the rear door open for me. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, clearly still not on board with my plans for the day.
I slide onto the dark leather seat, finding Nora watching me inquisitively. My gaze skates over to her, finally taking in her outfit. And fuck, if it doesn’t get my blood pumping south. She’s got on a black-and-white checkered skirt, and it’s riding up while she sits there, showing off a dangerous amount of her thighs. I’ve seen her in less during concerts. Now, she’s wearing a simple black, long sleeve shirt. It hugs the top half of her body and stretches right under her ribcage, leaving a small gap of exposed skin between her shirt and skirt.
Matt’s door slams a little louder than necessary once he settles in the driver’s seat. I’m still too busy staring at Nora to pay attention to whatever conversation the guys are having up front.
She crosses her legs next to me, alerting me to the pair of black chucks on her feet. Damn she looks fucking hot in a pair of chucks. The grungy, angsty, pre-fame middle schooler that is still buried deep inside me fucking digs it. My eyes snap to the stark white pair of chucks on my own feet. We look like a damn ad from the nineties. I’m into it.
“Right, Nash?” Sebastian pipes up from the front seat.
I look up from my feet to find Sebastian looking at me through the rearview mirror. Judging by the look on his face, he knows damn well I wasn’t listening to a word he was saying.
“Hmm?” I ask, reaching across the space between our two bucket seats to grab Nora’s hand. She doesn’t protest as my fingers cover hers, our intertwined hands resting against her thigh.
“I was saying,” Sebastian starts, “that you would be happy to wear the wig out to avoid being recognized—you know, to make Matt feel better and all.”
“Wig?” Nora questions from my right.
“Oh yeahhhh,” Sebastian drawls in exaggeration. “The team—well, Matt really—prefers for Nash here to wear a wig whenever he decides to go out in public without much security. A big, fat, curly, red wig.”
“Fuck. That,” I decide aloud, leaning back in my seat. There is no way in hell I’m wearing that god-awful wig. I’ve done it before and it’s itchy as fuck. I’d rather be recognized than wear that thing that looks like it’s part of a damn clown costume.
“Where are we going that you even need a wig?” Nora questions.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Well, now that my team has successfully ruined the surprise, we’re going to a music festival.”
“Sorry, Nash,” Sebastian says proudly, somehow not catching on that he needs to shut his damn mouth already. “I just really suck at surprises.”
Nora laughs as an inaudible sound of annoyance rumbles in my throat. “It’s okay, I’m not big on surprises anyway,” she offers.
I make a note to ask her about that later. Who doesn’t like surprises?
“What kind of festival?” Her body turns toward me in the seat. With the shift of her body, our hands now rest on her bare skin. For a brief moment, that subtle contact is the only thing on my mind.
“It’s kind of a mix of different genres,” I eventually say. “Folk, alternative, bluegrass, it has it all. It’s made up of smaller talent, but that’s the reason I’ve always wanted to go. A lot of the time, the ones who have the most talent aren’t the ones winning awards at shows. They’re just out there doing what they love without the pressure of everything that comes with topping the charts. It’s a big deal. I’m amped to go.”
I proceed to list off some of the talent that’ll be playing the festival. Then, I take in the confused look on her face. “You don’t recognize any of those names, do you?”
She grimaces what looks like an apology and squeezes my hand at the same time. “Absolutely no clue who any of those people are, but I’m excited to find out.”
“We’ll be good as long as you tell me you don’t listen to country radio.”
Nora bites her lip, a hint of a smile on her face. “And what’s wrong with country?”
I groan, leaning my head against the headrest behind me. “To each their own I guess, Rose. The twang and singing about a tractor, it just isn’t my style.”
“A little judgmental, are we?” Nora says. Her eyes find Sebastian’s through the mirror. He’s got a shit eating grin on his face again, a look of surprise now with it.
He slaps the dashboard in agreement. “I’ve been telling him the same exact thing for years!”
Proceeding to gang up on me with Sebastian, Nora looks back to me. “Not all country songs are about tractors, you know. Some of the best love songs are by country artists.”
“Some of the most tragic love songs,” Matt adds.
He flicks the blinker, trying to merge past a car going twenty under the speed limit in the fast lane.
“All genres have good, tragic love songs. They’re called breakup songs,” I counter. “Genre doesn’t matter when writing from a broken heart.”
I think of the album I wrote when my heart was shattered in pieces. There’s nothing like your first broken heart. It hurts like a bitch. But writing about the girl that broke my heart did bring me a platinum album, so at least I’ve got that going for me.
Nora hums as she thinks my words over, otherwise silent until she smirks and finally says, “So, tell me more about this wig you’ll be wearing.”