Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Just wait. This ingenious and very original disguise of sunglasses and a cap won’t shield me for long.”
Brix grabs a cart and goes straight to the fridge section to pull out liquid egg whites.
“Could you be more of a stereotype?”
He huffs. “Me a stereotype? Because I have a high-protein diet? You are aware muscles don’t magically appear on their own?”
“These did.” I lift the hem of my shirt and show off my toned abs.
Brix scoffs. “Please.” He lifts his, and holy forking fucknuggets. He has abs on top of his abs.
Super abs.
They could be their own superhero and wear their own cape.
I take the egg whites out of his hands and read the back of the carton. “How do these things work?”
Brix laughs, loud and warm, and then reaches for more.
We walk the aisles, Brix loads the cart with more healthy crap, and it’s surprising how both fascinating and boring I find this experience.
“So, this is what it’s like to be a normal person?”
“I guess as normal as a pop star is ever gonna get.”
“I like it.” I pause at the candy aisle. “But I have a question.”
“Shoot … no, wait, I probably shouldn’t tell you to shoot anything.”
“Funny. So happy we’re already joking about my poor choices. But no, I’m wondering when normal people go shopping, who’s there to tell you to stay away from the candy?” My feet move in the direction of delicious treats.
I might have a small sugar addiction. Especially when it comes to writing an album. Back in the early Eleven days, I piled on the weight fast.
I was always a chubby kid, but then puberty hit, I grew two feet taller, and I never struggled with my weight again until being given all the food I wanted when I asked for it.
Management had to hire a personal trainer and tell everyone on staff to give me a sugar allowance. Only so many calories per day.
After a while, it became habit, but standing in front of an entire wall of candy …
I go for some Twizzlers, but Brix grabs my hand before I can reach them.
“Normal people need self-control.” He tries to pull me away. “But I’m guessing in your case, it’s all on me.”
I slip out of his grip. “Good luck with that.”
Brix tries to block me from getting to more candy, but I’m determined to win. Sugar must turn me into some sort of ninja because more candy gets thrown into the cart than Brix can put back, and I’m too busy laughing at him to notice anyone join us in the aisle.
He manages to get his arm around my waist, and he pulls me back against him.
His big body surrounds me, and I might like it a little too much.
That’s when the piercing scream happens.
I pray for a medical emergency like someone dropping dead in the middle of the store, but no, we turn to find a girl, maybe fifteenish, her hand over her screeching mouth and a box of Milk Duds scattered all over the ground at her feet.
“Uh, it might be time to take this stuff to the cashier,” I say and step away from him.
“It’s one girl. Go say hi, and then she’ll be on her way.”
“That’s not how it works.”
More people converge because someone screaming is not normal.
It honestly looks like a scene from a zombie movie. Only, instead of blood falling from their mouths, it’s drool, and it’s contagious. My name is echoed in harsh whispers around the store. As recognition kicks in, everyone’s faces drop, and the shock starts.
It’s a goddamn epidemic.
“Way to go, Rambo. You’re supposed to protect me, and you’ve walked me into a zombie horde.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Brix ditches the cart and takes my upper arm, guiding me through the crowd of fans trying to get my attention.
I smile at all of them and shake the hands that reach for me, although with how fast Brix is dragging me, it’s more like quick touches and high fives. I try not to cringe at all the germs but make sure to keep my face public ready. All these people taking photos on their cell phones will no doubt post them to social media, and God forbid I look like a psycho, tired, high, or anything but perfect. Otherwise, I’ll get a phone call from Joystar’s PR department.
All the while, Brix doesn’t let go of my arm and guides me through the ever-growing audience of people wanting to get a glimpse of me.
It goes from a handful of people to seemingly everyone in the store. They all want to see the famous person.
Some even block the exit, knowing I have to pass them, but Brix bowls right through them.
We leave without buying anything, and once we’re outside, we’re quick to make a break for the car.