“You should date another famous person,” Reg suggested. “She’d be used to all that already.”
“Tried it,” Jeremy said. “More than once. I never saw them. I was busy doing my shit; they were busy doing their shit.” He shook his head and drained his beer. “It was hopeless.” Flinging his forearm over his eyes, he sighed. “It’s fine. Whatever. Just gets lonely sometimes, is all. And I’m about to go on a big tour to promote the new album, which is the worst. This one’ll be for more than six months.”
“You don’t like touring?” Reg asked incredulously. “Don’t you get to go to a bunch of new places and see new things?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I do.”
It was hard to explain. At his level, tours didn’t consist of grungy busses and cheap motels. He stayed in great places and flew most of the time, especially for international tours, which was what he was about to launch. And even though there wasn’t a lot of downtime, he could take in the sights before a show or between shows. But whatever he did, he had to do alone.
“You’re lucky,” Reg said wistfully. “That sounds amazing.”
“You should come with me,” Jeremy joked. “I’ll tell everyone I stopped dating starlets, and you’re my new arm candy.”
“Man, I wish.” Reg got up. “Want another beer?”
“Sure.” He handed Reg his empty. “It sounds good now, but trust me, you’d hate it.” Everyone he’d tried to take with him hated it. Last time he toured, his girlfriend of eight months, who had claimed to love him, had broken up with him after two months and started dating an up-and-coming actor.
“No way. How could anybody hate traveling the world?” Reg handed him his beer and sat back down.
“Going from place to place. Having to sit around while I’m on stage. During the day, there’s time to do some sightseeing or whatever, and sometimes we have dead nights in between shows, but most nights I’m performing, and then, after, I’m beat, and all I want to do is veg on a couch, drink a beer, and—”
“Shoot the shit?” Reg offered. “Kind of like we’re doing now except in more exotic places?”
“Yeah, but I’m not usually this fun.”
Reg laughed.
“It’s true. I’m annoying in longer doses.” He tried to remember words his exes had used. “Needy. Whiny. Grouchy.”
“You’re cool, man. And you’re dating the wrong girls if they complain about getting to hang out with you and see the world.”
“Seriously? You think that sounds fun?”
“Like I said, sign me up.” Reg got up, walked over to the window, and wiggled it open. “Sorry, man, no A/C.” He grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it over his head, exposing a sculpted six-pack, cut arms, and a striking tattoo that started on his left shoulder and moved down to just above his wrist. With a body that ripped, a handsome face, and the ever-present smile, Reg could easily be in a magazine. “It usually doesn’t get hot like this until June.” He tossed his shirt on the couch before collapsing on it with another loud bounce. “Barely into May, and it’s already sweltering.”
“You ever consider going into modeling?”
Reg rolled his head to the side and gave Jeremy a look that clearly indicated the answer was no.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He pointed the bottom of his bottle toward Reg. “You have the body for it.”
“I have the body for hiking, climbing, spelunking, and spending my free time at the gym.”
After taking another appraising look, Jeremy had to agree. Reg wasn’t slender like the men who modeled high-end clothing, or wiry like him. He was broad and thickly muscled. Any kind of modeling he did would probably involve a minimum amount of clothing, like some of the swimsuit models Jeremy had dated.
“It isn’t a bad idea,” Jeremy mumbled, the thought taking root.
“Dude, I don’t want to be a model. Let it go.”
“No, not that.” Jeremy shook his head and straightened his back. “I’m talking about bringing you on tour. You want to travel, and you have no trouble making small talk with anybody, drunks included.” Jeremy had witnessed that firsthand at the bar. “I’m sick of going on the road alone and having to take whatever girl my manager sends over to premieres and shit.” He beamed. “It’s perfect.”
“Wait.” Reg sat up, his eyes wide. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, ehm, Reggie Moore, will you be my pretend boyfriend for the next seven months? The gig pays whatever it is you’re making now at that bar, and it comes with free travel, room, and board. In exchange, all you have to do is smile pretty if I have a public event, make nice with a bunch of people who think they’re really important, and, in our downtime, get drunk with me or teach me how to rock climb or cave dive or whatever other cool stuff you do. What do you say?”