I hummed peacefully along to my music as I curled my hair. My hair was naturally somewhere between wavy and straight, but I thought I should look fairly presentable when we go to meet the record label.

Ok but, what the hell do you wear to a record label?

I was torn between wearing more professional clothes or my grunge meets Debbie Harry style. People back at Westwood dressed in what I'd describe as a Ralph Lauren wet dream. It was extraordinarily preppy, but also a bit of a more dark academia mixed in there. Even Gemma and her group of girls prescribed to these styles, that was, until the parents were gone.

I mean, part of me gets it. They dressed and their parents dressed, or how they perceived the future leaders of the world should be. In public, they kept their image pristine. In private, their actions were extremely dirty. I'm just glad that none of my boys also periscope to that good ole boys bullshit. We have some of those in Nashville, and some else can have them. Old money jackasses also turn out to be racist and sexist a lot of the time.

I loved all the boy's and my girl's styles. I admired how pinterest- chic Ivy was, with her pastel colors and her silk scarves, she was a whole aesthetic in itself. India was confident in her femininity and sexuality, and there's nothing that made me love her more than that. When faced with slut shaming (which was often) she'd either flip them off and tell them they're just jealous she slept with their step brother or literally flash them. I fucking loved her.

And, the boys also had their own style. When at school or in societal functions, they all wore the same suits, but how they wore them was so different. On top of that, their individual styles reflected their personalities. Laurent was always pristine and his shirts crisp and ironed. He had this whole damaged and brooding thing going for him- and on top of that he was french. So the girls went crazy for him. The amount of times girls had claims about they could "change" him, and tried to get with him was actually laughable.

Caspian had this boyish and disheveled look about him that greatly contradicted Laurent's. But, despite his colorful vocabulary and attire, he maintained the ever so cocky swagger. Sadly, I knew it was just a mask. And that hurt me more than anything.

Matteo was the sporty spice of the band. He always was in grey sweatpants and other athleisure. He was undeniably hot, and India never stopped talking about it after they became a... thing.

Rowen, of course, killed me. He always had this just-rolled-out of bed look to him. He was a little grunge-y with his outfits, and he never failed to have some sort of vintage band reference plastered on at least one item of clothing. He always always appeared in a jacket or a hoodie (to lend me) and I was grateful for that.

With that thought in my mind, I decide on a more casual outfit. I pulled some straight leg jeans on and a stupidly expensive vintage Waylon Jennings t-shirt. I laced my trusty Doc Martens up and on and then pulled over it all over a leather jacket. I looked in the mirror before nodding in approval to myself. I was feeling all the backstage babe vibes I possibly could.

Just as I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup, a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," I called, not worrying about asking who it is.

The door creaked open to show a devastatingly handsome Rowen leaning against the doorway. I was just parting my hair in the center as he came in.

I saw in my reflection his gaze sliding over my silhouette, and he let out a low whistle as I felt myself blush.

"How are you mine?" his voice was but a whisper filled with awe. I felt my heart leap at his words.

"Who knows- maybe after this record deal you'll think you're too good for me," I joked as I walked towards him and out into the hallway.

"Nola, baby, you are also getting a record deal- remember that," he laughed. I bit my lip to stop my laughter as a smile grew across my face.

"Oh, right," I commented, looking at my shoes and then back at those green eyes. I studied his profile as we walked to the door, memorizing the edges and curves, not removing my gaze even after he looked at me oddly.

"What are you doing?" he finally asks as we near the front door.

"Memorizing your face- the face of a future rockstar," I answered in a know-it-all tone.

He just laughed, and took my hand as he led me to the cab that was waiting outside. Capsian and Laurent were sitting in the jump seats, while I took my spot in the middle, squished between the massive bodies of Rowen and Matteo.

"Can you believe this is happening?" Caspian spoke, moments after we began to drive downtown, towards the heart of the city.

"Oh come on Caspain- keep it in your pants or you'll ruin it all," Matteo said, laughing while throwing a joking punch into Caspian's arm.

"If you do not correct your manners, we will never get a job," Laurent commented, his french accent full and thick as ever.

"Come on y'all, you're big boys, you can handle this, can't you?" I said condescendingly.

We laughed for a moment before Caspain wiggled his eyebrows, "I cannot wait until we have groupies."

"Caspain!" I exclaimed exasperated.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he did, his eyes flickered to a tall building out the window.

"We're here," he breathed happily.