Falling Out of Hate with You (The Hate-Love Duet 1)

And then there’s Savage, who didn’t speak to me at the party, even once. But, rather, made it abundantly clear, through his glares and body language, he was a) not happy about me joining the tour, and b) way too busy chasing tail to stop and say a single word to me.

During my performance with the Goats and Aloha, I looked for Savage in the audience, but didn’t see him. And that pissed me off. Everyone else at the party had the decency to watch our performance, as a show of camaraderie. But Savage couldn’t be bothered?

When I got offstage and looked around for Savage, I realized he hadn’t seen the performance because he’d already left. My guess? He cut out the nano-second he settled on whichever lucky lady he was going to bang that night. Predictable.

It was in that moment I made a vow to myself: I wouldn’t speak a single word to Savage during the tour, unless and until he spoke to me first. Which means this five-hour flight I’m about to take with him could turn out to be an interesting, and extremely quiet, standoff between us.

The SUV parks on the tarmac. My door flies open. And a blonde woman greets me with a big smile. “Welcome, Laila!” she says. She introduces herself as Tracy, our tour manager, and says she’s thrilled I’m here. I thank her and express my excitement, as someone swiftly attends to my luggage in the trunk.

A moment later, I’m climbing the staircase of the private jet, alongside my assistant and bodyguard, while preparing myself mentally to maintain a poker face when I see Savage for the first time. Don’t stare at him, I tell myself. Don’t drool. Don’t blush. And for God’s sake, Laila, look away first.

I enter the plane, my heart crashing, and I’m immediately greeted by a flight attendant who smells like roses. A staffer whose name I don’t catch introduces himself. And then another.

As I speak to everyone, I look around but don’t see the members of Fugitive Summer. Which makes sense, now that I think about it. Surely, I was given the first arrival time, to minimize their waiting-around time. Because that’s how it works in this business. Everything is geared toward the headliner’s comfort and convenience. Aloha never treated me like an underling on our tour. She always treated me like an equal, from day one. But I have to remind myself Aloha is the outlier in this industry. Maybe, one day, I’ll be the headliner who’ll treat my opener the way Aloha treated me. But in the meantime, I’m happy to be here on Fugitive Summer’s tour, and to wait around for them, whenever necessary.

I get settled into a window seat, while my assistant heads to the back to chat with an assistant for Fugitive Summer. I check my phone and find out my band of musicians are already in Philadelphia, since they’re based out of New York. I text excitedly with them for a bit, saying I can’t wait to see them soon. After that, I text with my mom and sister, with lots of emojis, about how excited I am. And, finally, when there’s a commotion at the front of the plane, I look up to find the famous faces of Fugitive Summer boarding the aircraft. There’s Kendrick, Kai, Titus, Ruby, and . . . some bodyguards. Some staffers. And that’s it. No Savage?

Fuck a duck, man. I’ve been girding my proverbial loins all morning in anticipation. No, all week. All month! And he’s not here?

The famous foursome heads into the heart of the aircraft, each one saying hello to everyone they pass. When they get to me, they’re gracious, but polite and calm, with nobody mentioning Savage. And that makes me lose my freaking mind. Is nobody going to mention the fact that the most famous face in Fugitive Summer isn’t here? Because . . . he’s kind of important.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Ruby asks, motioning to the empty seat next to me.

“Please do.”

Ruby flops down next to me, her pink hair tied into two adorable buns on top of her head. She says, “I’m so excited to finally have another girl on tour with me!”

“I couldn’t be more excited,” I reply. And it’s the truth.

Ruby begins pulling items out of a backpack, getting herself settled with various devices and chargers. A pillow. Some fluffy socks. And as she does her thing, I admire her adorableness. She’s attempted to harden her pixie vibe with piercings and tattoos. But somehow, on Ruby, all of her adornments only accentuate her innate sweetness. The tougher she tries to look, the sweeter she appears.

After shoving her backpack underneath her seat, Ruby leans back and exhales loudly like she’s in a Jacuzzi at the spa. Her eyes closed and her head pressing against a pillow, she says, “And so it begins.”