L.


..

"Why won't she move in with me, man?" I asked Jackson. I was centre stage waiting to run the sound check for tonight's show.

He fiddled with some wiring and checked something off from the sheet on his clipboard. "I dunno, Lis," he answered absently. "Maybe she's sick of all your damn whining?" he offered helpfully.

I flipped him the bird, but I knew he was probably right. I'd been asking Jennie nonstop to move in with me – she was probably getting sick of it.

"Do you think I should stop asking?"

He shrugged and shifted a speaker a foot to the right, giving me no real answer.

"C'mon, Jack, I'm stuck here," I pleaded with him.

He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me. "I can't do stage manager and shrink at the same time, man, now I know we discussed my role as being 'flexible', but I'm pretty confident this is out of my knowledge base."

I huffed out a breath and kicked the mic stand with the toe of my shoe.

"Jesus, when did you turn into such a little girl?" he taunted me.

I didn't even bother denying it – Jackson knew how far gone I was when it came to Jennie.

"Yes, okay… stop fuckin' hounding her. If she wants to live with you, she'll tell you. In the meantime do your best impression of a non-love-struck, whiny little punk, and get back to the god damn sound check."

He picked up his clipboard and carried on about his business like nothing had ever happened.

I chuckled and ran my hand through my hair.

Jackson was right.

If she wants to move in, she'll let me know.

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