Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Last year, Phantom Symphony exploded onto the music scene after they released a track called “Starlight Serenade” and it went viral as a sound on every social media platform under the sun. It wasn’t long before they were performing on SNL and, shortly thereafter, at the Grammys. Now they’re one of the top ten most streamed bands on the planet. Their upcoming tour was sold out less than a minute after ticket sales went live.
They’re not just some band . . .
“So you’re worried one of the biggest music acts in the entire world is going to throw their career away because you’re not there to micromanage it for a single weekend?”
He cracks a semblance of a smile for the first time tonight.
“When you put it that way . . . ,” he says.
“Right?” I place my hand on his stiff shoulder for a second before releasing it. I’m a hugger, a touchy-feely type, and sometimes I forget not everyone is like that. “Anyway, we’re here. We should be having fun.”
It’d be easy to sit and stew, to bristle at the outdated pop music and spotty cell phone service, or to resent the fact that Vivi and Benson made thirty of their closest friends fly to an ungodly expensive all-inclusive resort in the Dominican Republic just to take a party bus to a bunch of bars off property.
It’d also be easy to get hung up on all the other traveling this wedding has required thus far: a joint bridal shower in Chicago, a joint engagement party in Breckenridge, and next month, a weeklong wedding in the Poconos. When it’s all said and done, I’ll have dropped over ten grand on this whole thing, and she’ll never have to do the same for me because I’m never getting married.
But what good would come from being upset about it?
Plus I’ve never been one to keep score.
“How come you’re not having fun, then?” he asks.
“Who said I wasn’t?” I give him some side-eye and a raised shoulder. He says nothing, though I can tell he’s rethinking his assumption. “No one forced you to come here, you know.”
“I didn’t go to anything else. I’m just making an appearance because it’s the right thing to do. We’ve been touring, so I’ve missed everything.”
“I’m sure you could’ve gotten away with just going to the wedding.”
My handsome associate shakes his head.
“These two, with all their planning, didn’t send out their save-the-dates early enough. I’ll be in Scotland that week, kicking off our European tour. It’s not too late for you, though,” he says, though I suspect he’s teasing. “There’s still time to tell them you won’t be joining them in the Poconos for seven days and nights of luxury wilderness celebrations.”
“My thousand-dollar bridesmaid dress begs to differ.” I take a sip of my drink. “Plus Vivi would never forgive me.”
“Really?” He cocks his head. “I find that hard to believe, given the number of times she’s forgiven Benji.”
I snort. I’ve never heard anyone call Benson Benji, and it makes me think of that scruffy little dog from the movies. Now that I think about it, Benson kind of resembles a scruffy little dog, with his sandy hair and his dark shiny eyes and his golden retriever level of excitement when it comes to anything sports related.
It’s kind of perfect.
“Look, we’re here for two more days,” I say. Behind us, the rest of our group dances and laughs and throws their inhibitions in the air via contorted, drunken moves. “If we can’t beat them, maybe we should join them.”
“You first.”
“Okay, not to be annoying, but I have to ask: What’s Connor Dowd like in real life?” I couldn’t have wiped the childlike grin off my face if I’d tried. I still can’t get over that the man sitting beside me knows Phantom Symphony personally, and someday I might regret not asking this question when I had the chance.
“If I told you, you wouldn’t be smiling like that anymore.” He takes a sip. “Hell of a musician, though.”
My grin fades just as he predicted.
I don’t ask him to elaborate.
Connor is famous for pulling a fan onstage every night and kissing them in the middle of the instrumental bridge of their song “Cosmic Echoes.” The fantasy of someday being that fan getting pulled up onstage has comforted me on many a sleepless night, however unrealistic it may be. I’m also pretty sure he has a girlfriend or fiancée or something, so even if he did pull me onstage in real life, my conscience would get the best of me, and I wouldn’t be able to go through with the kiss—even if it was purely for entertainment.
“Are you always this negative?” I ask.
“You call it negative. I call it authenticity.”
“Semantics.” I brush my hair from my face. “Regardless, here you are, this good-looking man in his prime, sitting at a tropical bar, drinking expensive alcohol, talking about how you manage one of the most popular bands in the entire world, and all you can do is act like you’d rather be anywhere but here. I mean, I’d get it if you were secretly in love with the bride or something but . . . wait.” I lean in, tucking my chin. “Are you secretly in love with Vivi?”