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“Who is Justine Floyd? Meet the Plum frontwoman who stole a rock star’s heart”
“Exclusive: Inside Quinn James’ secret tour romance”
The headlines keep coming, each one more dramatic than the last. Some are positive, others are invasive, and a few are just plain ridiculous. One tabloid is already speculating about wedding plans based on “body language analysis” from our Times Square kiss.
I slide out of my bunk and pad toward the lounge in my boxers and yesterday’s T-shirt. The bus is still moving—we’re somewhere between New York and wherever—and through thewindows, I can see we’re on a highway surrounded by gray January landscape.
Dana’s hunched over her laptop with a cup of coffee, Hendrix is scrolling his phone with an amused expression, and Keane’s reading what looks like a physical newspaper and Ajay is on video chat with his kids.
“Morning, Romeo,” Dana says without looking up from her screen. “Sleep well?”
“How bad is it?” I ask, pouring myself coffee from the pot that someone thankfully already made.
“Depends on your definition of bad,” Hendrix says, turning his phone toward me. The screen shows an Entertainment Tonight article with the headline “Rock’s Newest Power Couple.” Below it is a photo of Justine and me kissing in Times Square, and I have to admit, it’s a pretty good shot. “Entertainment Tonight wants an exclusive.Rolling Stonewants to do a feature on ‘rock’s newest power couple.’ And TMZ is calling you ‘the anti-bachelor’ for choosing love over the single life.”
I sink into the booth across from them, cradling my coffee like a lifeline. “Well, Elle does love it when the band gets attention.”
“Look at this,” Keane says, folding his newspaper with the precision of someone who still believes print media matters. He slides a section toward me. It’s a review of our MSG show, and the headline reads“Sinful Distraction Proves They’re More Than Just Another Rock Band.” “They’re calling it our best performance to date. Said the chemistry between you and Justine elevated both bands to new heights.”
I scan the review, and it’s glowing. The critic talks about our “evolution as artists” and how the collaboration with Plum has “unlocked new depths” in our music. There’s a whole paragraph about the “palpable connection” between Justine and me during our duets.
“This is actually really good,” I say, surprised.
“Most of them are,” Dana adds, spinning her laptop around. “Elle emailed and said, People Magazine wants to do a feature on both bands. Billboard wants to interview you about the creative process. Even The Tonight Show reached out.”
“Where is Justine?” I ask, suddenly needing to see her, to make sure she’s handling all this okay.
“Downstairs making breakfast,” Hendrix says. “Elle called an emergency meeting with both bands when we get to the hotel.”
“Emergency meeting? Fun said no one ever.” My stomach clenches. This could be a good thing, and Elle is strategizing or it’s a bad thing and she wants to do damage control. In hindsight, I should’ve waited until my sister recovered from childbirth. Not a week after having the boys, she’s meeting us at the hotel. Hopefully, after this, she’ll go home and rest.
“Relax,” Dana says. “It’s not an emergency like someone died. It’s an emergency like your sister needs to completely restructure her media strategy because her client just became half of the most talked-about couple in rock music.”
“I fucked up,” I say, running my hand through my hair. “My actions were incredibly selfish. She just had twins and she’s flying around putting fires out because . . .”
“Stop,” Ajay says after he hangs up with Jamie. “You’re allowed to live your life. It’s not your fault your manager doesn’t trust her assistant to take care of things and must have her hand in the cookie jar all the freaking time.”
I stare at Ajay and process his mini rant. I don’t even know how to respond except to say, “I’m telling Elle.”
Everyone busts up laughing. Hendrix snorts, making us laugh harder. Ajay waves us away, looking annoyed.
“Sorry, man.”
“I’m just trying to help,” Ajay says.
I get up and give him a hug. “Thanks. I do agree, but my sister doesn’t delegate well. I think I’ll text Ben and tell him to put his foot down and keep her ass at home.”
Dana cackles. “Good fucking luck, dude.”
On that note, I stop by my bunk, put some sweatpants on and head downstairs. The girls are huddled in the small kitchenette, making breakfast. The smell of bacon makes my stomach pang from hunger. I glance at the clock on the microwave and see that it’s after one in the afternoon.
“Isn’t it lunch?” I ask. At the sound of my voice, Justine looks over her shoulder. The smile she gives me, mischievous and sexy, causes my knees to buckle and leaves me no choice but to reach for the table.
“It’s only lunch for people who got up before noon,” Justine says.
“And we all got up late,” Wynonna says. “Do you like pancakes?”
“I love them,” I tell her, barely taking my eyes off Justine. “Everyone upstairs does. Hendrix in particular likes his with chocolate chips.”