Chapter 6

Axton

“What?” I shout when I can no longer ignore the incessant knocking on my door.

It shoves open and Carson sticks his head in, his perfectly groomed red curls not moving a millimeter as he looks around my messy room.

“You need to clean,” he comments.

“You need a haircut,” I jab back. “Even Justin Timberlake was smart enough to get rid of that look ten years ago.”

He sneers at me.

“Are you going to class?” He doesn’t bother coming inside. Even though he’s my best friend, he knows my bedroom is my private space. No one is welcome in here. It’s the only place that is one hundred percent mine.

I huff a humorless laugh. “The semester is over in like a month. Why would I start going now?”

He shrugs. “I guess I won’t bother mentioning the chick who turned you down has been hanging out under that big oak tree studying around this time every day this week.”

“What?” My ears perk and I sit up straight in the bed like an overeager puppy.

“Bye, bye, bye,” he squeaks in the most horrific falsetto I’ve ever heard.

The door clicks closed, and a minute or so later, the rumble of his truck echoes through the walls as he backs down our driveway.

I refuse to run to her, search for her, or give her a second thought. She’s not my type. That was very clear from the last interaction we had.

I don’t think about her long hair or the way it flows in dark waves down her back. I don’t picture the way the light of the bonfire bounced around in her hauntingly gorgeous brown eyes or the soft lilt of her voice when she put me in my place. And I sure as fuck don’t bring to memory the sight of her soft cotton panties as her dress whipped around her waist.

I do, however, think about missing the chance to see her, so I grab the fastest shower in history and get dressed in clothes I’m not even certain are clean. I think about all the errands I need to run as I jump in my truck.

I fabricate a million things I need to tell Carson as I park on campus and climb out of the truck in my search for him. Who cares that he has a phone and is probably in class, some things need to be discussed in person.

“Where’s your guitar?” a masculine voice asks from behind me, and I turn even though I’m on a mission.

“Hey, man,” I say, reaching out to shake his proffered hand.

I recognize the guy from parties and a couple of the bars I play in, but I don’t have a clue what his name is.

“Where are you playing next?” He looks exactly like the type of guy who would listen to the music I like to play. We could be brothers in our ripped jeans, gray t-shirts, and boots. Even the braided leather on his wrist is almost identical to mine.

I can’t help but feel like a cookie cutter image of every other guy around this damn town. I push down the self-evaluation and smile at him. Not all my fans are female—a fact Carson reminds me of often. The women just seem to be more forgiving when I’m an asshole.

“I wish I could tell you, man, but I don’t have a clue. Carson just tells me where to go and I show up. I’m actually here looking for him. Have you seen him around?” I say it with so much confidence, I almost believe my false intentions.

“Haven’t seen him. I’ll keep an eye out for him, though. Let him know you’re looking if I see him.”

Anyone who knows me also knows Carson. We never go anywhere alone. I don’t think I could operate without him. My dependence, unfortunately, has become almost debilitating. Even when I want time to myself, when I need to just get away, I take comfort knowing he’s only a call away.

“Thanks, dude. See you later.”

I walk deeper onto campus, scanning in every direction. Eyes follow me, whispers float to me on the breeze, but my focus is not on fans—it’s on where Carson said he’d seen her the past few days.

On the far side of a small group of students, I spot her right under the big tree. She looks up, almost as if she senses my presence. I grin at her, but my smile falls when I see her shrink down, trying to hide behind one of the other girls she’s with. Even though she’s in the shade of the tree, she reaches up and pulls her sunglasses from the top of her head over her eyes.

“Maybe she’s shy,” I mumble to myself as I make my way to where she’s sitting.

“I’m not,” a tall blonde says as she blocks my path to the reason I’m on this campus in the first place.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m not shy,” she coos. She angles her head to the left, and my eyes immediately follow. “Neither are my friends.”

The two other girls standing just a few feet away smile at me, and I give them a polite nod, but they take it as an invitation. I stare at the three women in front of me. Dolled up to perfection, they could be triplets. The prospect would distract any red-blooded man, and I’m not immune.

“Ladies,” I begin, needing to make my excuses without being rude and put some distance between myself and the succubi trying to ensnare me.

“Can we get some pictures with you?”

I try to look around the woman who first approached me, but her friends are all but shoulder to shoulder, their overly high heels strategically making the three of them the only thing I can see.

Play nice with the chicks even when you’re not in the mood to be bothered. When you’re in public, you’re a celebrity. Don’t be the douchey, unapproachable guy. That guy doesn’t sell tickets to shows or singles on iTunes.

Carson, always in my head, would be proud I can’t be an asshole to my fans even though my mind is forty yards away.

“Sure,” I placate.

“Can you use your phone and send them to me?” one of the triplets asks with an over exaggerated pout of her bottom lip. “I left my phone at home.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” It’s not the first time a girl has tried to get my number that way, and I’m not buying into that mess.

“We can use mine,” blonde number three offers.

We spend what seems like forever taking pictures, doing short videos on Snap, and they even manage to convince me to tag them in an IG post.

“We should hang out sometime,” the first girl says.

“If you follow me online, my schedule is on there. You should come watch me play and bring some of your friends.”

Her eyes light up as if my attempt to get more people to my next show is an offer for some sort of ménage.

“See you ladies then,” I say, stepping around them.

My eyes move back to the tree, and I frown when I don’t see her sitting there any longer. Gazing around, a flash of long brown hair behind a blonde girl catches my attention. She’s trying her best to hide from me, and I laugh, because the hit to my ego isn’t something I want to examine right now.

I circle around the group who stops talking the moment I walk up and stand over her as she diligently writes something in a notebook.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” I say in a playful tone.

“Hey, Axton.”

“Loved your cover of Nick Jonas.”

“Can I wash your hair?”

I raise an eyebrow as she lifts her head to meet my eyes. She’s as unimpressed by all the attention as I am. Some days, I wish I could just blend in and disappear in a crowd. I’m not Sam Hunt or Eric Church, but all the attention, more times than not, is overwhelming. I’m honestly surprised by how often I get recognized even though I’m only what most would consider small town famous. I wish I could turn off the fans the second I climbed off the stage. Well…sometimes. Right now, that ability would be perfect.

“Avoiding you?” she asks.

“Ignoring me?” I offer. Why did I make that sound like a question?

“I’ve done neither. You don’t even know my name,” she reminds me. “Besides, seems like you have enough people to stroke your ego.”

I frown. Egotistical? She wouldn’t be the first one to call me that, but for some reason, the word stings coming from her lips.

Four of the six girls in her study group come to a stand.

“Can I take a picture?” one asks as another just begins snapping away.

I smile, hating Carson and his advice. Mollifying them, I let them take my picture. One of the girls has me sign the front cover of her notebook like I’m some super famous country god, and it makes me feel great, like all the hard work I’ve been putting in is beginning to pay off.

It feels so good, I offer my signature to the others. We laugh and joke and I give them the same spiel about bringing friends to my next performance for so long, when I look up to see just how jealous WCP is of all the attention I’m getting, I find her gone.