My mouth twitches into a half-hearted smile as I search for a way to smooth the material out enough to sign it without making a mess.
“Here.” He turns around and points to his back. “Use me.”
“Uh.” His dark shirt’s stained with sweat. Not exactly the most appealing surface. Suck it up and get it over with. He’s a fan. Don’t be rude. “Thanks.” I press the shirt against his back, trying to ignore the moist sensation soaking into the edge of my hand and arm as I quickly scrawl my signature.
“Thank you.” He faces me and takes the shirt from my hands. “I can’t believe I got you alone and all to myself.”
Yeah, me either. Sure, people are everywhere but no one’s with me or even paying attention to what I’m doing.
“Do you mind taking a selfie with me?” He waves his phone at me.
“Oh. Sure..”
I turn and try not to cringe when he drops his arm across my shoulders. Thank the lord for the fence keeping us somewhat apart.
“Smile.” He sticks his arm out and struggles to get both of us in the frame and take the picture.
My smile’s so big and fake, it looks like some propped my mouth open with a toothpick.
He digs his fingers into my shoulder. “Let’s try that again. Nice smile, Shelby.”
This is ridiculous.
Finally, he seems satisfied and tucks his phone into his bunny backpack. “That was nice. Can I cook you dinner?”
“Shelby!” Trent shouts before I have a chance to process the question. I turn and find him jogging up to me. “What are you doing?” He glances at the guy. “Greg found a fan for you. Come on.”
I hand the marker back to the man. “So nice meeting you. Enjoy the show!” I hold up the little fan. “Thank you so much for this.”
“Wait! Trent, would you sign this for me too?” the man asks.
Trent hesitates for a second. He doesn’t get asked to sign stuff often. “Sure, man. Then I really need to get her backstage.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I yank it free.
Rooster: How’d rehearsal go?
“Shelby?” the man’s voice interrupts and I shove my phone back into my pocket.
Trent takes my hand, cutting the man off. “We need to go. Nice to meet ya. Enjoy the show.” He tugs me away without another word.
I wave over my shoulder and breathe out a sigh of relief. Once we’re backstage, Trent pushes me in front of him as we navigate our way to my dressing room. “What the heck’s wrong with you?” he seethes. “Don’t go runnin’ off talking to weirdos like that.”
“He’s a fan.” I elbow him. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Sometimes it’s okay to be rude, Shelby.” He grabs the fan out of my hand. “He give this to you? Shoot, dude probably wiped his balls all over it. Or dosed it with something.” He swipes his shirt over every inch of the little plastic fan.
“Eww, don’t be gross.” I snatch it back.
He pushes the door to the green room open. Greg found a jet engine of an industrial fan that’s louder than it is cooling. All it’s doing is blowing dust around the room. I reach up and flick it off.
My body shakes with a violent sneeze.
“You all right?” Trent asks, resting a hand on my back. “You’re not gettin’ sick are you?”
“Hush your mouth,” I scold. That’s my worst damn nightmare. No time for colds on this tour. “It’s the fan. You know I’m allergic to dust and a million other things.” I twirl my finger in the air. “The fan stirred up a lot of crap.”
“Shit. Sorry.” He steers me toward the makeup chair. “Go sit. I’ll look for some tissues. Cindy should be here soon.”
“Thanks.” I reach out and grab his hand. “I mean it. Thanks for coming to look for me too.”
“You’re the star.”
It sounds hollow. Or maybe I’m feelin’ guilty. I stare at the closed door for a few seconds after Trent leaves.
My phone buzzes and my heart gallops off to the races.
Rooster.
“Hey,” I answer.
“How’s it going?”
“All right.”
“What’s wrong? You sound sad.”
The immediate concern in his voice melts me. “It’s hot as blazes here.”
“What happened to the sassy Texan girl who said us Northerners didn’t know the meaning of hot?” he teases.
I groan-laugh into the phone. “I stand corrected.”
“What else is going on?”
I don’t want to tell him I went off by myself and encountered