Page 22 of I Just Want to be Yours

Margot:

You guys have a manager now?

He’s only been gone for a couple of weeks. Did they secure someone before he left?

Jackson:

Yeah, don’t ask me how I feel about it yet. I haven’t met the guy. But he’s saving our asses, so he can’t be all that bad.

Dave accidentally murdered the van.

Margot:

I have so many questions.

Jackson:

We all do. I’ll fill you in as soon as I meet him. He should be here any minute.

How are your classes?

A slight frown pulls at the corner of my lips when I look at the last message. It’s such a mundane question. It’s boring. Compared to his dynamic, ever-changing scenery, I’m stagnant. Okay, I’m notreallystagnant. I’m doing things. I knowthat, but I still hate that he has to ask me how classes are going. I hate that such a boring question is so necessary for us now because I can’t fill him in on how my life is going organically. I can’t get home from work and tell him about what I’m working on, and for some reason, the things I’m working on just don’t feel important enough to text him about throughout the day.

The sound of Karah’s heels gracing the hallway with her delicate clicks pulls me from my thoughts and I quickly text him back saying classes are going well before turning my phone over and getting back to work.

My classesaregoing well.

But I don’t want to fill Jackson in on my day-to-day life.

I want him to be in it.

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jackson

His name is Brian.Brian Marlow. I’m trying to take the fact that the manager for The Beatles had the same first name as a good sign. If only it were enough to make me stop sweating as I anxiously pick at the strings of my guitar.

I was the one who made this happen.

I told Dave to call him.

Well, so did Brady, but Dave only listened when I said it. And as much as I know we need a manager, if this guy ends up being a dick, it will feel like my fault.

Then again, he did secure an RV in a matter of hours, so he can’t be all that bad. He even had someone drive it from North Carolina and drop it off at the gas station.

If that’s not some sort of divine destiny, I don’t know what is.

We moved all our stuff out of the van, organized it in the RV, and now we’re parked outside Brian’s hotel, waiting for him to fly in from Florida.

“At least we have some time to kill before the show in Richmond,” Brady says as he walks around the perimeter of the RVbehind Dave. I think it’s safe to say he no longer trusts Dave’s judgment when it comes to the condition of our vehicle.

“Who would have thought the puppy would be the one to talk some sense into Dave,” Marty mutters playfully.

Dave claps a hand on my shoulder as I sit on the bottom step of the RV. “I have to admit, this might not be the worst idea.”

Avoiding his gaze, I keep playing. “Don’t mention it.” I don’t want to take credit for this—not yet. If this guy shows up wearing a button-down Hawaiian shirt and jorts, I’ll never live it down. They’ve all met him, though. They would have seen if he had no business being in the music industry, right? Dave didn’t say he wouldn’t hire him because he didn’t like him. He didn’t want to hire him because he didn’t want to hireanyone.

My knee bounces as I think of all the ways this could go wrong—all the ways this guy could disappoint me, and I haven’t even met him yet.

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