in which Brian, try as he might, can't stop himself from emotionally tying himself to women he meets on tour--he knows it's wrong but can't seem to stop himself
in which Katie, an unintentional groupie, becomes hopelessly entangled in the life of a...
A pathetically-large wave of relief and apprehension washed over Katie as she looked up to see Brian at her side. He looked somewhat exhausted but seemed to be doing his best to disguise his fatigue with a warm smile. She immediately noticed his change of outfit––gone was the dark indigo tunic that had captured her attention so swiftly. Instead, a slightly-rumpled white button-up hugged his slender frame, the top three buttons carelessly undone. Her eyes lingered on the exposed expanse of sun-kissed skin––it seemed to be taunting her with its very existence, which she didn't think was very fair at all. Two beaded necklaces adorned his neck, a detail that struck Katie as oddly appealing. Realizing she probably should say something instead of just gaping at him, she found her voice. "Hi! You're back." Jesus, could I sound more stupid??
Chuckling, he motioned to the vacant seat beside her. "Is this seat taken?"
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Katie shook her head, doing her best to contain her enthusiasm. The vodka was beginning to seep into her brain and its hazy effect only increased the amount of dopamine being released upon hearing his voice. "What've you been up to?" she asked innocently as he situated himself on the leather seat. It was the logical way to move the conversation forward, but she was mainly curious if he'd tell the truth.
An almost imperceptible exhale parted his lips. He fixed her with his subdued hazel eyes. "I was on the phone with my girlfriend. She insists that I call every other day, which theoretically is fine." He paused, shifting his gaze to the bar counter, slipping his hand underneath the collar of his shirt. Katie was beginning to suspect it was a tic of his. "It's just a bit difficult to find a telephone after gigs. And don't even get me started on how expensive a transatlantic call is," he added with a wry chuckle.
"Mmm," Katie hummed, unsure of how to respond. She was too focused on his hand, slender fingers slightly bent and poised elegantly on the counter. The goddamn things were distracting. "I can only imagine. That must be hard," she tried to sympathize.
With a dismissive wave of his hand, he straightened up in his seat. "But that's enough of my griping. You have a boyfriend?" The question was phrased so casually, and Katie wondered if he was actually interested in her answer.
"No," she laughed. "Even if I wanted one, work doesn't give me much spare time to make an effort to look."
At this, he cocked an eyebrow. "You don't want one?
Katie blushed. "Well, I don't know. Not right now, I don't think." His eyes seemed to burn into her as she responded––she had to drop her gaze to the empty glass in her hand to avoid the fire of want that he was beginning to ignite in her body. "My career is too important to me."
"That's quite smart, actually. What do you do for work, then?" he inquired.
"I work for the city newspaper as an assistant to the editor. Not nearly as glamorous as it sounds, unfortunately." This drew a timid smile and laugh from him. "But I like it! It's what I'm good at."
