Just A Little Bit ✔️

11. Kinley

Kinley Price, In Real Life

 Faraway Blues sold out a stadium.

They just got back from Vegas, where the tickets were so expensive my eyes practically bulged out of my head when I saw them. And now we're here in LA, where tons of people are going to be waiting to hear them sing.

Well, I'll also be there, but I don't think I'm the act everyone is waiting for. To be honest, I would be excited to see Faraway Blues too. From where we're onstage, working on soundcheck, we can hear the eager screams from the crowd lined up outside.

"Are you used to this?" I ask Perry. She's testing the piano out, making sure everything sounds okay. I'm standing next to her uselessly, waiting for someone to tell me what to do. I'm utterly clueless here.

"What do you mean?" she replies.

"Big venues," I clarify. "Are you used to it?"

"I suppose. It's not so bad once you've done it a few times."

I've played with them before, but I still feel like hurling.

Gage grins at me, his hat turned around on his head. He's sprawled out lazily backstage, looking ready for whatever comes. I can't tell if he's playing a show or about to take a nap. I suppose that level of easygoingness is what he wanted out of his ensemble.

Stephie and Freddie are tuning their guitars. I didn't realize they traveled with so many. They aren't limited to one each, as I believed. Every person here seems to have at least two acoustics and an electric to pair with it. I only own one, and I'm playing it tonight.

I'm going on in an hour. I have 60 minutes to practice and get in the headspace for rocking out. It's easier said than done.

When I left my house earlier this morning, I had nothing on my mind. Not really. Sure, there was the thought of grocery shopping and what I would wear, but the anxiety of performing hadn't hit me. I can picture every seat filled as I scope out the view from the stage. It's terrifying.

I'm wearing a mini-dress tonight and one of my favorite leather jackets. With my hair straight and the perfect hat to compliment it all, I know I look fine. It doesn't matter how I look. When you're a woman in the spotlight, people always have something to say about your clothes or your appearance. You could be the most beautiful woman in the world, and yet, the media will always be hellbent on tearing you to pieces.

I find Riley when he's coming out of the dressing room. With his shirt only buttoned halfway, I get a full view of his muscular chest and the ink of his tattoos that curl across his bronze skin. He puts his hands in the pockets of his trousers and winks at me.

"Do you like what you see?" he asks.

Yes. "No."

"Really?" he taunts. "Because I think you do."

He reaches for the zipper of my jacket and pulls me forward until our chests are touching. The mint on his breath is close enough to taste, and I have half a mind to take his gum from him. My breath hitches in my throat, and it's getting hard to keep my hands to myself.

"I have something to do," I say, stepping back.

"And what might that be?"

"I have to practice my songs. I don't want to make a fool of myself."

I'm trying to be blase about the whole thing, but between the rushed words and the way I'm growing shrill, I don't think I'm fooling him.

"You won't," he insists, brows furrowing. "Are you okay, love?"