Meet Me Backstage

16. Nightswimming

JACKS

Touring is exhausting.

It's not the nightly shows that really wear me out, but the constant time spent on the road traveling from city to city. Watching signposts go by as you hop from time zone to time zone gets old fast. If you've gotta do it, a luxury tour bus is certainly the way to go, but there's only so much you can do to entertain yourself before all you want to do is be anywhere without goddamn wheels.

Luckily for me, tonight we have hotel rooms. After the show, Kaylani had the hotel managers open the pool after hours just for us. As much as I'm desperate for a nap on solid land, I rarely get the chance to swim in a hotel pool. Usually they're packed with people and I get bombarded by fans. But tonight, we got a special keycard and it's just us.

Kay, Dré, and our bassist are sitting in one corner of the pool chatting as I walk up and knock on the glass doors. Kay gets up and walks over to let me inside.

"Hey, Jacks!" she says, giving me a hug before returning to her spot.

I pull off my t-shirt and throw my stuff on a nearby lounge chair before joining them in the shallow end.

"Those are some intense shorts!" Sticks says, emerging from the changing rooms. "Do you ever do anything subtle, Ford?"

I laugh as I look down at my hot-pink swim trunks.

"You know subtle's not really my thing."

He lets out a high-pitched giggle.

"Wyatt!" Kaylani calls to him. It's usually not a good sign when she uses your real name. "Did you sneak to the changing rooms to smoke a joint? What did I say about not smoking in here?"

"You said don't smoke in here."

She lets out a frustrated huff and rolls her eyes.

"No rock star shenanigans tonight! You hear me? If we have to pay a single extra fee, I will personally whoop all your asses."

Sticks is saved by a tap at the glass and he walks past the pool to let in a few more people from the tour. One of them is Roman, wearing slate-gray shorts and a white shirt. He walks up to me at the edge of the pool and kneels down, pulling a rolled-up gossip rag out of his back pocket.

"Found this in the lobby," he says with a bit of a chuckle. "Thought you may want to know."

The headline reads 'Jackson Ford's New Lady?' in big red letters. Beneath it is a photo of me walking hand-in-hand with a female friend of mine. I remember this day, but we weren't actually holding hands, it's just cleverly angled to make us look like we were.

"Ugghh," I sigh. "Dré, you're gonna want to see this."

He swims over to us, then stops for a moment to read the paper in Roman's hands. Dré leans his elbows on the ledge and grabs the paper to read more. Roman walks off to find another white chair.

"'Ford and a mystery brunette were spotted shopping in Beverly Hills earlier this week...'" he reads. "What the hell? You weren't even in California this week."

"I know."

"Who is she?"

"She's a friend. I met her at yoga and we were walking to our cars."

He bites his lip.

"Okay, shouldn't need any handling but I'll give the team a heads up. You should give the girl a call too, if she doesn't already know."

"I don't even have her number."

I hear a few more people walking in behind us, the crowd making the volume level of the room slowly rise.