Falling for Dylan Day

European Tour

Yass ten reads on last chapter bitches!! Feelin inspired, so here you go kids.

Jem nd his flower crown ---->

Also: I changed Florence's last name bc I made it up when I was twelve and I just realized it sucks ;)

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Chapter 8: European Tour

Ten days after the first date fiasco, Dylan's management team announced he would be touring around Europe. I learned from his manager a day later that the purpose of the tour was actually to help promote his Spanish music, which wasn't even close to being as popular as his English music.

Turns out Dylan's actually a Spaniard, and English is his second language. He moved here when he was eleven without his family and was discovered singing on the street, learning English on the way. He's extremely good at ignoring his roots, however, and if he hadn't spoken Spanish to that waiter at the fancy restaurant that one night, I wouldn't have even figured out he was hispanic at all.

It makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. Being white in America is a hell of a lot better than being labeled as a person coming from a Spanish speaking country, (even when it's in Europe), when it comes to being successful. I hate that about our society, but there are a lot of old, white, crusty, racist white baby-boomers in the states that continue to be racist fucktards.

At the initial announcement of the tour, I was elated. I thought I would be free of Dylan for a whole five months, but nope. I was going with him, and just like that, my life spiraled into a living hell.

Interviews, photoshoots, public appearances, and going to Dylan's shitty concerts were part of my 'girlfriend' portfolio. Also known as, absolute torture.

I would have to endure five fucking months of him and his shitty music. I would be surprised if I didn't come home dead.

But first, before Dylan, his minions, (including Abe and that bitch Lynn), and me had to leave for our first destination, we had to wrap up all of our business here in the States within one week. That's right.

One. Minuscule. Fucking. Week.

During that time, I have to say goodbye to Jem, Cleo, and Aislinn, pack up all my art supplies to take on the tour, acquire enough money to last me five months, and persuade my mom to behave.

I also, torturously, have to go on another date with Dylan, and have a 'photoshoot' with him, this meaning that we would pretend to like each other so Abe can get pictures of us to sell to magazines. Pretty much, this week was going to suck donkey dick.

But, I'll have to make it. If not for myself, then for...well, myself.

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Two days after the announcement of the tour, (and after my mom's freakout over me not being home to take care of the house and buy her beer and cigarettes), I had my second date with Dylan. This time I got to choose where to eat.

As I got into the passenger seat of Dylan's Mercedes before out date, he frowned at me, confused and annoyed. "You told me to dress nice," he grumbled as he glanced at my outfit. My black leggings, jean/sweatshirt-jacket-thing, white tank, and orange-and white striped rain boots paled in comparison to his slacks and dress shirt. I just snickered to myself, pleased at his obvious discomfort.

"If I told you we were going to a shabby diner in the middle of nowhere, would you have agreed to come?" I chastised. He groaned and muttered, "Fuck you, Sicily."

I huffed in annoyance at this as he backed out of my driveway and onto the street, simultaneously plugging in the address I'd given him into his GPS.