Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Flynn
The sun blares in through the small gap of
the drawn curtains and lands directly on my face. I shield my eyes
and try to fall back asleep, until I feel tiny hands trace the ink
on my forearm. When her little finger follows the path of ink up to
my shoulder, I surprise Laney by grabbing her and lifting her over
my head. She squeals at the initial shock, but it quickly turns to
a giggle. The sound warms me, even though my head is already
beginning to throb.
“Uncle Sinn, you scared me!”
I growl, in my best monster voice, “Well,
you shouldn’t wake a sleeping lion.”
“You’re not a lion, Uncle Sinn. Lions are
scary!”
“And you don’t think I’m scary?” I lower my
four-year-old niece from above my head and bring her forehead to my
lips for a kiss.
“You can’t be scary, you have funny pictures
all over your arms and back.” From the mouths of babes. Tell that
to a tatted-up biker dude.
“Will you seep in my room with me
tonight?”
“Maybe. If Mom says it’s okay.”
“Will you sing me that song when we go to
bed again?”
“Sure.” I don’t have to ask which song. She
made me sing it four hundred times the last time I visited.
“How come only one tattoo is colored, Uncle
Sinn?” She pokes the red tattoo on my forearm—it’s the only ink
that isn’t black or a shade of grey.
I jump up from the bed unexpectedly with her
in my arms. She squeals again. “You’re chock-full of questions this
morning, aren’t you?”
She nods fast, bursting with excitement, as
if shooting off an arsenal of questions early in the morning was a
good thing.
“Come on, let’s go find your mother.” I lift
her over my head and onto my shoulders. Her tiny hands wrap around
my chin.
“You’re up early.” My sister, Becca, is at
the kitchen table. I walk to the coffee pot and pour before
greeting her. Laney hasn’t said a word; she’s waiting for me to
play the “where’s Laney?” game.
“I thought I heard Laney. Have you seen
her?” I pivot left, then right, scanning the room.
My sister’s eyes rise to the passenger on my
shoulders and she smiles. I picture Laney’s crooked-toothed smile
gleaming back at her from above my head. “Nope. Haven’t seen her.
Maybe she’s hiding under the bed.”
“That’s too bad. I was going to take her out
for waffles and ice cream for breakfast. With whipped cream. Lots
of whipped cream.” I grin, knowing my niece’s weakness.
“Uncle Sinn! I’m right here!” Laney
screeches and tugs my chin up to look at her.
“Oh. There you are.”
My sister chuckles at the routine. “You
know, I’m tempted to tell the speech therapist not to work on her
Fs…because her name for you is just too perfect.”
I heave Laney from my shoulders and steady
her on her feet. “Why don’t you go get ready for breakfast?”
“I wanna wear my
Frozen
pajamas to
breakfast!” She jumps up and down.
I say okay, just as my sister tells her no.
I love my sister dearly, but we’ve always been opposites.
“She can’t go to breakfast in her pajamas,”
Becca scolds.
I shrug. “Why not? She’s four, not
forty.”
“Because people don’t go out in their
pajamas.”
“
Your
people don’t go out in their
pajamas.
Mine
are perfectly fine with it.”
“
Your
people are nuts.”
“My people are fun.”
“Because they wear pajamas to
breakfast?”
“No. Because they don’t care about what
other people think of them wearing pajamas to breakfast. Lighten
up, Bec. You sound like Mom.”
Her eyes widen to saucers. She huffs, but I
already know she’s gonna cave. “Fine. You can wear your
Frozen
pajamas. But no slippers. Put on shoes and
socks.”
“So how long are you in town for?”
“If everything goes as planned, seven weeks.
Then I’m on the road for six months.”
“Six months? That’s a really long time,
Flynn. Is the whole thing by bus?”
“Most of it. But Easy Ryder has some dates
in Europe. I’m not sure if we’re playing those or the current
opening act, Resin, is. That’s one of the things my agent is still
working out before we finalize the deal to join the tour.” The
original Wylde Ryde tour was supposed to last six months. But the
band’s sales have dipped a bit, so they added almost six more
months to try to regain momentum before the release of their next
album. And the current opening act couldn’t join the extended
dates.
“Agent.” She smiles. “Listen to you, big
shot. You’re not going to get too famous for us, are you?”
“Never. I’ll always come back for my girl.”
I lean over in my seat and kiss Laney on her very full check. She
has a dollop of whipped cream on her nose and ice cream dripping
down her chin. But she’s smiling from ear to ear. I’m guessing my
sister’s idea of a fun breakfast is adding a banana to whole grain
oatmeal.
The attentive waitress swings by our table
again. “Can I get you anything else?” Her smile is directed at me.
I’m not full of myself—well, maybe I am a bit—but I can tell she’s
interested in something more than breakfast. She’s cute, although a
little on the young side.
“We’re good. But thanks,” Becca responds
just as I open my mouth to speak. I know my sister—her over-the-top
smile oozes a bit too much sweetness to be real. She barely waits
until the waitress is out of earshot. “Jesus, Flynn. Is
that
the norm for you these days? That waitress was practically
drooling.”
“Can’t blame her. I
am
one of
America’s most eligible bachelors, you know.” I sigh loudly, clasp
my hands behind my head, and tip my chair back.
Six months ago I was on a reality TV
program, where I was the bachelor. I fell hard for Kate, one of the
contestants, but my feelings weren’t returned. Last I spoke to her,
she had just found out she was having a baby girl with her new
husband, Cooper.
A few weeks after the show ended, a magazine
came out with their annual list of America’s most eligible
bachelors, and my name was somehow on it. I thought it was pretty
comical that anyone would describe me as an eligible bachelor,
seeing as I was unemployed at the time. But that doesn’t stop me
from gloating about it to my sister and my buddies.
My sister rolls her eyes. “You were an
honorable mention on the last page of the article. The writer
probably just felt bad for you because you did that stupid show and
didn’t get the girl in the end.”
“You just can’t see the hotness of your own
brother,” I tease. “Laney, who is the handsomest man in the
world?”
She immediately points to me, her sticky
lips smiling brightly, barely containing her mouth full of
food.
“See.”
“Is that what you do, you shovel their
mouths full of sweets to get them to fall in love with you?”
I arch an eyebrow.
“Gross, Flynn. Just gross.”
The lead singer of Easy Ryder is a bit of a
douche. He made me wait at a bar for hours the other night before
canceling, then today he’s more than an hour late. I get it, shit
happens. But walk in the room and at least pretend you give a crap
by expressing an insincere apology. Instead, the minute he sits
down at the conference table with me, Nolan and nine suits from
Pulse Records, Dylan Ryder starts bitching.
“I asked for Throat Coat tea. That’s not
what this is,” Dylan berates the assistant who just delivered his
drink without ever looking up at her.
“It is Throat Coat tea, I made it myself,”
she says in a timid voice.
“Then your water tastes like shit. Use
Voss.”
“I don’t think we have Voss.”
“Well, then go to a store,” he barks and
lifts the cup over his head for her to take it away.
The assistant’s face flushes. “Okay.”
“So.” He turns his attention to me and dives
right in. “I wanna be clear about one thing before we bring your
band on board.”
“All right.”
“This is
my
show. The name on the
tour is Easy Ryder, not Flynn fucking Beckham or In Like Flynn, or
whatever it is you call yourselves. I like your sound or you
wouldn’t be here. But my tour is
my
tour. We aren’t
coheadlining, you aren’t playing encores and cutting into my show,
and you certainly aren’t selling your crap in
my
arenas.” He
stops and glares at me. “You good with that?”
Total douchebag. “Got it.”
“I’m gonna hold you to it. Pussy is going to
love your pretty face. Will make you feel like you’re more
important than you are. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Like you? “No problem.”
Again, he glares at me. My short, stoic
answers leave him questioning if I’m mocking him or responding with
the respect a petty soldier shows a commanding officer. Eventually,
he nods and turns to his manager. “Sign ’em. You leave in less than
two months.”
And just like that, In Like Flynn is going
on tour.