Page 38 of I Just Want to be Yours

She laughs on the other end of the phone, and my chest tightens at the sound. “Don’t thank me. Own it. You’ll be great tonight.”

God, what I would give to see the way her nose crinkles when she laughs. I miss her so much it hurts. “Twenty-two days.”

“The torturous countdown,” she says with a sigh. “Hey, I saw the band’s post yesterday. It looks like you got a new member?”

There’s a hint of caution in her voice, and I close my eyes.Of course. I might not be particularly attracted to Mya, but I’m not blind. She’s pretty, and she’s on tour with us.

“That’s Mya,” I say, hoping I can ease whatever thoughts are making her voice come out slow and hesitant. “She’s our manager’s niece, and she is in no way anything for you to worry about.”

“Who said I was worried?”

I rest my fist against the wall and kick at one of the red bricks near my feet. “She’s cool. A little prying, but I think you’d like her.”

Her voice is soft when she says, “I bet I would.”

Even though she sounds pleasant, something feels off—like she’s treading the fine line between being unhappy with the circumstances and unhappy with me.

The metal door opens a few feet away, and Brady sticks his head out. “Hey! We’ve been looking for you.”

“What’s up?” I ask, covering the mic so I don’t yell in Margot’s ear.

Brady grins. “Mya sold out of shirts.”

“How the hell . . .” I blink, understanding what this means. “Shewhat?”

Brady just nods enthusiastically. “Sold out. Not a single one left. She’s already working on where she can have more printed before the next show.”

“Shit,” I mutter with a bewildered shake of my head.

“Jackson, that’s amazing!” Margot says in my ear, and in the shock of the moment, I had almost forgotten I was on the phone with her.

“Once you’re done, we’ll take a shot.” Brady nods to me on the phone, and I give him a silent thumbs up.

“Do you know how many shirts she started with?” Margot asks, and she’s back to sounding lighter again.

“I have no idea.” I run a hand through my hair. “Therehad to have been”—I think back to when Mya had us help her load up the RV—“at least eight boxes.”

“And shesold out?”Margot asks, her shock mirroring my own.

I let out a bewildered laugh. “Seems like it.”

“Jackson, are you famous?” I can hear the smile in her voice.

The question catches me off guard. “I—no. I don’t think so.”

The concept of fame is weird to me. People knowing who you are when you don’t know them. People feeling connected to you when you’ve never even seen their face. There’s something to be said for the way music can forge such a connection, but it’s still fucking weird to think about. Letting out a sigh, I look up at the darkening sky. “I kind of hope not.”

“What do you mean?”

I glance around, but I’m completely alone. There’s some guy throwing trash into a dumpster about fifty feet away, but there’s no way they’d be able to hear me. It’s not even like I want to say anything bad. I just don’t want to come across as an ungrateful asshole. “The potential fame is probably the one part of this I don’t love.” I lean my head against the brick wall. “I want the band to be successful, and I want people to love our music, but I kind of wish I could keep my head down and just play.”

She’s quiet on the other end. We haven’t talked about this. I try to be positive about everything when it comes to the band because I asked for this. When Dave was being a dick in the studio and making us stay there all day, sure, I was frustrated. But being stuck in a studio with three other guys who look like they want to murder each other is still better than writing an essay about the way technology has shaped society in the past one hundred years or some shit.

“But I can’t,” I add to fill the space. “Because if I act the wrong way or do the wrong thing, it could mean losing a fan.” I shake my head. “It’s too much pressure. I’m bound to disappoint someone.”

“You won’t,” she says, her voice soft.

I scoff. “Margot, I disappoint everyone. My parents, Matt, you.”

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