Not From Around Here- A Hunter Hayes fanfic

Chapter 19- I Hate You, Don't Leave Me

***Hello! Let's jump right in, yeah? :)****

      Melody's POV- three days later

      Hunter hasn't made any effort to contact me since we went to dinner a few nights ago, and I don't know if I should take that as a good or bad thing. Skylar called me yesterday, wanting to know how life in Nashville was treating me.

"So, how've you survived? Still hate it there?" she'd asked.

"It's been okay, I don't know. I don't exactly love it, but you could say I've grown used to it," I answerd.

        She snorted, clearly unimpressed. "I don't know what I would do there, I'd die within hours of being there," she said, her tone dramatic. "It's not so bad, once you get past the music, clothing, and horrid Southern accent," I reply. You see, Skylar is exactly like me. She loves designer clothing, furniture, designer anything, and she's more than willing to pay the price for it. If you suggest one thing she doesn't like, she'll make sure you know her views on it. I guess that's why we get along so well. We're both very high maintence people, and we're proud of it.

       We had continued to talk for a bit, until the subject of boys had come up. "Found any guys you like, yet?" she'd asked, her voice perking up at the subject of a boy. One thing about Skylar, is that although we were alike as far as money and maintence, we were complete opposites when it comes to boys. She'll date any guy who does so much as smiles at her out of being polite. Then, once she figures out he isn't some millionaire or prince charming, she dumps them without a second thought. I, on the other hand, am not so uptight about how much money a man has. Yeah, it'd be nice if they were wealthy like me, but I'm not going to automatically assume they're a hobo just because they don't have millions of dollars to spend at their leisure. And I take relationships slow. Gosh, so incredibly slow. It's annoying for myself, sometimes.

         "I don't exactly like him," I answer, after thinking for a moment. "What's his name?" she asked curiously. "Hunter," I say, hoping she wouldn't ask for his last name. If she knew it was Hunter Hayes, one of the biggest names in country music, I don't know what she'd think. She hates country music as much as I do, but like I said, she loves men who make money. Her eyes would turn to dollar signs if she knew just how famous he was. "Hunter who?" she presses. "Hayes. He's a singer," I tell her.

     "Oh!" she'd exclaimed, after a moment. "I know who he is. He's that little kid that sounds like a drunk chipmunk who sings that 'Wanted' song, right?" she asks, laughing. I huff, getting bored of talking with her. "He doesn't sound like a drunk chipmunk, if you get past the Southern accent he's an okay singer," I say, defending him. "You're saying you actually enjoy that country crap they play down in Nashville?" she asks, shocked. "I don't 'enjoy' it, but that one song in particualr is actually a good song. I have to go, I'll talk to you later," I say, sitting down at the chair in front of my desk. "Alright, see you," she says, then hangs up. I set my phone down on the desk, running a hand through my hair.

Hunter's POV

      The tour bus rolled down the highway, the sound of the engine purring as we drove. We're heading to South Carolina to do a show tonight, and the guys are all asleep in their bunk beds. We always try to sleep during the day, so that when it's time to play a show, we're not trying to stay awake. I, on the other hand, am sitting in the music room in the back of the bus. My Martin guitar rested in my lap, a pencil in my hand.

      "Hm..." I say to myself, strumming a few random chords.

"She can't say love, and run the risk of being wrong,