Neon Dreams: Loving Dallas Part 10

All right then. "Yeah. I mean, I don't want to be an a.s.shole to them. And some have met me before and I don't remember if-"

"Oh, Dallas. Brace yourself, Superstar. All of your s.l.u.tty skeletons are about to come out of the closet. The more attention you get, the more aggressive they'll get. Everyone will know you somehow and they either want something or they want to give you something. Their demo. A song they wrote for you. A b.l.o.w. .j.o.b. You just have to decide which favors you want to accept."

"Um, okay. So if I don't want their favors? How do you suggest I handle that?"

"We'll meet with your new publicist after the tour to discuss this further. But for now, I'd say just be your polite, gentlemanly self." She pauses to give me a salacious grin. "You've managed to keep out of my bed for this long. I'm sure you can handle a few groupies."

She nudges me as if she's just kidding, but the wicked glint in her dark eyes suggests she isn't.

"Right. Okay. Thanks." For making this as uncomfortable as possible. Oh how I wish Mandy Lantram would stop s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with me and just be my manager.

Wade gives me a knowing look as I follow him into the bar. I don't know his history with Mandy, but he certainly has one. Maybe I'll ask him about it during our next Q&A session if there is one.

Kelly's is a decent-sized pub-style bar and it's packed. I check my phone once we're inside.

Robyn hasn't texted me back. It bothers me more than it should. Because I'm obviously a chick now.

I scroll through our previous messages while waiting in line to order a drink. I was just messing around earlier, texting her stupid lyrics about ditching me. But as I read back through them, I can almost hear the beat in my head.

"What can I get ya, handsome?" A woman with curly copper-colored hair is waiting for my order. I start to get a beer and a burger, but I remember what Robyn said about Papa and heart disease so I order a light beer and a buffalo chicken wrap instead.

"For someone who doesn't have a girl, you sure are worried about that phone," Wade says from beside me. I hadn't noticed he was there.

"You really this interested in getting to know me? Or is there something specific you want to ask?"

Please do not ask me about Robyn Breeland.

He narrows his eyes, but before he can ask anything else, a body crashes into mine, nearly spilling my beer.

Thin arms wrap around me and a mouth fastens to the side of my face. What the f.u.c.k?

I steady myself, pulling back far enough to see Chandra attaching herself to me like an octopus.

"Dallas! Oh my G.o.d! You made it!" she squeals in my ear. "We have to get another picture together. My friend Allie is gonna take it. Smile!"

I force a quick grin just in time for the flash.

"Thanks! Come sit with us." Her fingers clasp my free hand and she tugs.

"Actually I'm going to hang out with these guys," I say, pulling free and nodding toward where Wade is.

"Nah. We're good. Go ahead, Walker. We'll save you a seat." Wade winks like he's doing me a favor. There's amus.e.m.e.nt playing on his face.

"Will you sign some stuff for us? Pretty please?" Chandra pouts surgically enhanced plump lips at me. A few other parts of her appear to be surgically enhanced as well.

"Sure," I say, relenting, and let her lead me to the table where her friends are.

It's probably for the best that Robyn didn't answer my texts. It's not like I can ask her out on Friday night, take her to a movie, and all that for as long as we both shall live. I tell myself to be thankful for the memory of something real while I'm facing a future full of something fake.

As much as I hate to admit it, there is something flattering about the fact that Chandra wants my autograph and didn't seem the least bit interested in Wade.

I'm just a.s.shole enough to care.

16 Robyn.

WHEN KATIE TEXTS ME THAT SHE'S UPLOADED THE MEET-AND-GREET photos from the show in Kansas City, I can't resist opening them on my flight back home.

My flight back to Dallas.

You know what's a dumb idea? Living in a city with the same name as your ex-boyfriend.

The first set of photos is Wade and a long string of posed pictures with his adoring female fans. I forward the best ones to Harvey on the social media team with a note to post them to the Midnight Bay website, as well as the Facebook and Twitter accounts.

The next group shows Dallas and there are nearly as many fan photos. A candid shot Drew took of his line shows that it's nearly as long as Jase's. I'm happy for Dallas and I'm relieved to see he's not the tour underdog. But a few of the women in some of the photos have my insides twisting into knots.

Some of them are drop-dead gorgeous and have their bodies plastered onto Dallas like cling wrap. One in particular wears an expression that makes me cringe.

He's not yours, Robyn.

Right. He's not.

As much as it pains me to do so, I include the smoking hot brunette picture in the ones of Dallas that I send to Harvey. It's a really good picture and it shows how very desirable he is. I can do this. I can be an adult about working with my ex.

But I might print myself a copy of that photo and throw darts at it in my office just for fun.

"Eleven percent. How crazy is that?"

"What? What's eleven percent?" I lift my head off my desk when Katie barges in. Thank goodness it was her and not one of the Martins that caught me napping.

"Were you asleep?"

"No." My answer is negated by the giant yawn that follows.

"You all right?" Katie's round blue eyes are filled with concern.

"I'm fine. Just tired. Between Denver and L.A. and my layover getting delayed, I got in really late last night. I'm just a little drained."

"I wondered why I didn't hear you come in. I might have some ginseng tea in the break room. Oh, and I have ginkgo drops in my purse."

"Thanks. I promise I'm good. Just need some good old-fas.h.i.+oned caffeine and more rest."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. You were saying something about eleven percent when you came in and caught me drooling on my desk?"

Katie laughs. "Oh yeah. I just ran into Louis from the finance department. He said they've been tracking the numbers closely since the tour kicked off so that Mr. Martin could evaluate the effectiveness of sponsoring it. And apparently, since the ads started running the week before the Denver show, sales are already up eleven percent."

"Wow." Eleven percent is a much larger increase than what our standard advertising typically generates. And it's only been a few weeks since the promos went out that showed us as a tour sponsor, so it's even more impressive.

"Apparently Jase Wade fans are big bourbon drinkers." Katie plops down in the seat across from my desk. "Who knew?"

"That's fantastic. I'm going to email Louis really quick and see if I can get a copy of the exact numbers. Are we running any other ad campaigns right now?"

"Just the 'Make the Right Call' spots about calling for a ride if you're too drunk to drive. And the print and digital promos we've been doing every month."

I send a quick email to Louis with my request. But if this is correct, if being a sponsor on the Kickin' Up Crazy tour is upping sales this much this quickly, it's one of the highest returns on advertising investment we've ever seen.

Which means a few things. One being that this is a route we definitely want to continue taking, sponsoring tours. And the other I try not to think about. Because if I value this company and my job at all, the last thing I should be doing is engaging in an inappropriate relations.h.i.+p with someone on the tour.

If it got out that Dallas and I had a history, there would be all kinds of questions about why Midnight Bay was sponsoring the tour he just happened to be on. The nature of relations.h.i.+ps between artists and sponsors should be of a strictly professional and business nature. The public discovering that we'd slept together in Denver would reflect poorly on Midnight Bay. It might not get me fired necessarily, but it would probably cause me to at least be questioned by my boss and possibly his sixty-two-year-old uncle about topics I never want to discuss with either of them. Ever.

I say a silent thank-you to the universe that Dallas isn't currently famous enough to have paparazzi following him around. Then I feel bad for feeling glad that he isn't famous yet.

"You are so in your head right now," Katie says, startling me as I chew my manicure to h.e.l.l while waiting on Louis's response. "What's the deal? I thought an eleven percent b.u.mp in sales would be great news."

"It is." I nod. "I'm just a little worried about . . . you know."

"Your little fling with Mr. Hotpants?"

I roll my eyes. "Very funny. Not exactly. I'm more worried about our history coming to light. I'm the one who pushed us to sponsor this tour and then I outright begged Mr. Martin to put me on the promo campaign. If it comes out that I have a prior history with Dallas, it might get complicated."

Katie looks at me like I've said something ridiculous. "How so?"

"There were two acts previously scheduled to be on the tour that were asked to leave for undisclosed reasons. Dallas took the open spot. It might look like I was involved in that, or like I used company dollars as leverage to get him on the tour."

"But you weren't and you didn't. You worry too much, girl. You want to get a drink after work?"

Katie stands to leave, and while I could probably use some girl time, I really am exhausted. "I think I'm just going to go home and crash. Tomorrow, though, I'm in."

"Sounds good."

Katie leaves and the email I've been waiting for comes through. I'm lost in sales numbers when my phone chimes with a text notification.

I tear my eyes from my computer long enough to locate my phone to my left.

She won't answer my texts. Won't take my calls. It's probably all my fault.

What I don't know is what I did to get myself on her do not answer list.

Hit me up, girl. Or just hit me.

I can take it, whatever you have to say. Anything you wanna throw my way.

Whether it's a call you back soon or right hook. Give me what you got.

More lyrics courtesy of Dallas.

At least he's writing, I guess.

I set my phone down and rub my temples for a few minutes.

I'm not avoiding him. That would be childish. I'm just avoiding . . . it. This thing between us that I can't explain or contain.

My travel-lagged brain is too tired to compute a response.

I'll text him after work.

I will.

Or maybe after I get home and take a nap.

I just have to figure out what in the world I'm going to say.

Thanks for the hot s.e.x but I don't think we should make it a habit seems kind of harsh.

I'm ignoring you because I don't want to lose my job for sleeping with you doesn't really work, either.

Should I just book one room for us to share from now on? is what actually comes to mind.

No. It was a fling. A temporary rekindling of a flame that has long since burned out and nothing more. Because that's all it can be.

A drink with Katie is suddenly sounding a whole lot more appealing. And necessary.

17 Dallas.

"I WAS STARTING TO THINK YOU'D DROPPED OFF THE EARTH."

"Yeah, well, some days that would be an improvement."

"You all right, Garrison? The man gettin' you down?"

Gavin huffs out a breath and then I hear him tell someone in the background to hang on a f.u.c.king minute. Okay then. Clearly he isn't hanging out with my sister at the moment. Or he has a death wish.

"I'm fine. Working at the Tavern. Still trying to get s.h.i.+t handled with my probation officer. I can't really talk right now. But hit me up later. We'll grab a drink when you're in town."

"It'll be almost two months before the tour hits Texas. Quick question."

"Shoot."

"Robyn works for the tour sponsor. I saw her. I'll be seeing a lot of her actually."