Once lawyer looking la—, I mean, Alex's mom and a man come into his dressing room I decide it's best to leave and head down the hall where I run into Chris. He tells me there's nothing more to do today and that I'm free to go.

Instead of calling a car to come pick me up, I decide to walk back to the hotel. The weather today is beautiful and the hotel is within walking distance. On my walk back I decide to call my dad to let him know everything is going well and I'm not planning on quitting any time soon. I even get to talk to the four goons for a bit.

"Hey, Joss!" They all seem to greet me in unison, letting me know I'm on speaker phone.

"Hi, guys!"

They all start to bombard me with questions at once and I can't make out anything they're saying.

"One at a time!" I try to calm them down.

"So, how does it feel to be a sellout?" Zack's voice teasingly echoes through the phone.

"I am not a sellout."

"Total sellout," Joe quips back.

"I'm going to hang up now," I threaten.

"Ok, ok, settle down. How's everything going? Do I need to beat anyone's ass?" Joe asks, playing the protective older brother card.

"Not currently. Everything's going pretty well so far," I admit.

"What's it like being in the air conditioning all day?" Andy, the bands drummer, asks, already knowing its better than working outside all day in the extreme summer heat with them.

"It's delightful," I admit with a cocky smile, even though they can't see me.

"How's the big, fancy tour bus? Bet you miss grinding it out in the van already," Travis, their bassist, teases.

"It's like a five star hotel, and it definitely smells better. I haven't slept in it yet but I get my own bunk with a TV and everything. I don't know if I can ever go back to the van life."

"Well that was a stab right to the chest," Zack jokes. "There is nothing wrong with Bertha!" he yells, defending the van, using it's made up nickname.

"Right." We all laugh and the conversation begins to settle down.

"So... have you heard from her yet?" Joe asks, trying to tread lightly.

"Not yet," I reply, the once airy conversation taking a turn. "Have you?"

"No, but I know it's coming." He groans, not looking forward to the event just as much as me.

I sigh into the line, not knowing what else to say. I know he's right, but I don't want to think about it right now.

There's some mumbling in the background of the phone call and the boys are being told its time for them to go rehearse their set for the summer tour that starts in a week.

"Hey, Joss, we have to go. I'll talk to you later, ok? Love you," Joe says, and the other boys say their goodbyes as well.

"Bye, princess!" Zack is sure to squeeze in before the line goes dead.

By the time I hang up with them I'm back at the hotel, heading to my room. When the door shuts behind me, I take off my shoes and flop down onto the bed face first. After shutting my eyes for a minute, I pick my head up from the soft mattress and wonder what to do now.

I scan my eyes across the room until they land on the bathroom and I'm reminded of my ruined shoes and jeans from this morning. I can't help but let out a groan and momentarily shove my face back into the mattress.

Gaining enough energy, I decided to push myself off the bed to assess the damage. Flipping on the light switch, the harsh florescent light in the bathroom shows me that my shoes and pants are still soiled with the brown liquid. Letting out a huff, I grab the damp clothing from the sink and slip on my shoes, grabbing my backpack and key to go downstairs in search of a laundry room.

When I get downstairs I walk up to the front desk to ask about the laundry room and a sweet older lady in a hotel uniform informs me there is one down the hall and to the left. I follow her directions, and sure enough, there is a laundry room filled with five washers and dryers. I load my pants and shoes into an empty washer and add some bleach and detergent, praying the stains come out.

Taking a seat on a nearby bench, I pull out my planner and plug my headphones in to let my music drowned out the noise of the washing machine. Pulling the pen out of the spiral of my planner, I open it up to this week and begin to absentmindedly doodle in the margins.

I could just go back up to my room and watch TV, but I don't trust anyone. On one stop of my brother's tour I decided to do everyone's laundry at the hotel and came back an hour later to find everything stolen. Ever since that day I refuse to let my laundry go unattended. I know I only have a pair of pants and some shoes, but I don't mind waiting. I really don't know what I'd do up in my room anyway. Probably the same thing, just sit around bored.

Twenty minutes go by and I'm already doodling into the pages of next week in my planner. The washing machine has ten minutes left and my boredom is growing. Just as I'm about to turn my attention back to my planner, I see a figure walk past the doorway from the corner of my eye. I think nothing of it until I see the person walk backwards and stop in front of the doorway. I turn my full attention to the person staring at me in the hallway to see that its actually Alex.

"What are you doing down here?" He casually crosses his arms over his chest and leans his body against the door frame.

"Oh, you know, just trying to summon some daemons," I say sarcastically, pulling out my headphones and pointing to the spinning washing machine with my pen. What does he expect me to be doing in a laundry room?

"Ha-ha, very funny," he says unamused, despite the hint of a smirk forming on his face.

"Nah, I'm just trying to get out that awful coffee stain from this morning," I inform him, sitting up straighter on the bench and pulling my legs up to sit crisscrossed.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot that happened." He uncrosses his arms and pushes his body off of the door frame to saunter over to the bench, taking a seat next to me.

"Why are you staying down here, though?" he asks.

"Well, when you get all of your clothes stolen once, you tend to try to not let it happen again."

"Really?" he asks, shocked. His brows pull up, showing his concern.

"Yeah. At one hotel on tour I went to go wash everyone's clothes, taking up three washers, and left for an hour to come back to find everything gone."

"Wow, that really sucks," he says, lips forming a frown.

"Tell me about it," the bitterness is evident in my tone as I recall that day.

Just then the washer rings out, signaling that it's done. I stand up from the bench, setting my stuff down where I was sitting, and go to open the washer. I hesitate, seriously hoping the stains are out. Finally, I open the washer door and peek inside to see all white pants and shoes.

"Thank God," I say, pulling out the clothes and throwing them into the dryer. I know it's not that big of a deal, but those are some of my favorite pants that fit perfectly. I don't know if I'd be able to find a similar pair.

I turn around to see Alex leaning over to look at my planner with amusement in his eyes.

"Nice drawings," he says as I pick up my planner and pen, sitting back down.

"Thanks," I say shyly, twirling the pen around in my fingers.

"Hey, what does your tattoo say by the way?" he asks, pointing at my hand twirling the pen.

"Oh." I seize my moments, gripping the pen into a fist. No one has ever really noticed it before.

"I saw it earlier in the meeting when you were doing the same thing, but I didn't get a chance to ask. What is it?" he asks again, this time reaching for my hand.

He takes the pen from my grasp, setting it down on the bench, before grabbing my small hand in his two large ones. He gently separates my index and middle finger to see the permanent ink that's etched into my middle finger.

"It says limitations but has a line through it," I practically whisper.

"Why?" he asks, eyes shifting up to meet mine while his brows pull together.

"All my life, my dad always taught me and my brother that there's no such thing as limitations. Long story short, when my brother and his band finished their first tour we really believed that there were no limitations and we could do anything we worked hard for. So in celebration, Joe, my dad, Zack and I decided to get these matching tattoos to always remind us we can do anything. It's also kind of a gesture as to say fuck limitations, hence getting them on our middle fingers," I tell him, a smile making its way to my face at the memory.

"That's actually really cool," Alex says, still holding my hands in his, admiring my tattoo.

He grazes his thumb over the inked words before I gently pull my hand back. I place it in my lap with my other hand, grazing the ink with my thumb as well.

"Thanks," I say, looking into his blue eyes, giving him a small smile to which he returns.

"So," he sits up straighter, leaning his head back against the wall, gaze fixed on me. "Any more tattoos?" he asks, raising a brow, one side of his lip curling up.

"Hmm..." I playfully pretend to be in thought and I see a spark of curiosity flash through his eyes. "No," I abruptly admit, seeing his eyes lose their glimmer.

"How about you, huh? Have any tattoos I should know about?" I ask, shifting on the bench to turn my body more towards his.

"God, no," he scoffs out, making my face fall, thinking he's one of those people that hates and is strongly against tattoos.

"Oh, no, no, no!" he says, holding up his hands in defense, shifting his body to face me as well. "It's not like that, it's just that so many people would have my head, literally, if I got one. I can already picture my mom, Chris, and my publicist with pitchforks at my neck if I got one." He chuckles lightly, easing my mind a bit.

"Do you want one?" I can't help but ask.

"Maybe, one day. I just have no clue what I would get," he says, shrugging his shoulder as I nod in understanding.

"What about you? Any more in the foreseeable future?" he asks.

"Nah, I think I'm good for now." I chuckle.

Honestly, I was never the biggest fan of tattoos growing up, so I don't think I'll get anymore. Joe and his friends always press me to get more, seeing as most of them have multiple tattoos on their bodies, as well as piercings. That's just not my style though.

A comfortable silence, aside from the tumbling of my clothes in the dryer, falls around us. Both of us look at the machine, almost being hypnotized by watching the clothes swirl around the circumference.

"Have you eaten dinner yet?" he asks, breaking the silence after a few minutes.

I check the watch on my phone to see it's a little past five o'clock. I don't usually eat this early, but I have to admit I am a little hungry.

"No, have you?"

"Nope," he says, wiping his palms on his jeans. "Would you... would you maybe want to do dinner together?" he asks, glancing over at me.

I'm quick to glance over at the dryer, instantly worried about leaving my clothes behind.

"Don't worry, we can wait until your clothes are done." He chuckles, flashing me a reassuring smile.

"Thanks." I feel my cheeks grow warm as I give him a small, thankful smile.

Within the fifteen minutes of having to wait for the dryer, Alex steals my planner and creates some drawings of his own. When the dryer beeps, I get up and neatly fold my pants and grab my shoes as Alex insists on carrying the rest of my stuff back up to my room for me.

When we reach my room we both make our way inside and he sets my stuff on the hotel desk while I neatly place the jeans and shoes in my suitcase.

"Where do you want to go for dinner?" I ask once I'm done straightening up my things.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "Do you just want to try out the restaurant that's on the top floor?" he asks, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Sure," I agree. The poster for the restaurant in the elevator made it out to be nice, and I'm not that picky.

"Ok," he says, and we both head out the door, up to the top floor. Once the elevator doors open, we step out to a small waiting area where a hostess stand is placed.

"Hello, how many?" the older hostess asks us.

"Two," Alex replies.

"Right this way." She grabs us two menus and leads us to the dining area.

She seats us at a table in the middle of the dining room, placing the menus in front of us before leaving. The restaurant is a steak house of some sorts and it isn't too crowded, thankfully.

We both thank her and begin to scan our menus.

"H-hi," a shaky voice rings out.

I look up to see a young, blond girl dressed in a white dress shirt, black pants, and an apron standing at our table. She doesn't take her eyes off Alex, leading me to believe she's a fan.

"M-my names Hannah and I'll be your waitress for this evening," she says, voice still shaky. "Can I start you off with something to drink?" she asks, fishing her notepad out of the pocket of her apron.

"Water please," Alex replies and she somewhat squeals.

Once she's able to peel her eyes away from him, I tell her that I'll also take a water.

When she leaves Alex's phone rings out. He quickly pulls the device from his pocket and apologizes before answering.

"Hello?... I'm at dinner... On the top floor... Ok?" he says, pulling his brows together and removing the phone from his ear.

"Everything ok?" I ask.

"Yeah, it was just Chris wondering where I am," he says, slightly shaking his head, brows still pulled together.

I hum in understanding and we both go back to looking over the menu.

The ding of the elevator can faintly be heard throughout the restaurant and I pay no attention to it until I hear Alex speak up.

"You have got to be kidding me," I hear him mumble, a horrified expression on his face. I follow his gaze over to the elevator door to see his mother and Chris talking to the hostess, pointing at our table.

"I am so, so sorry," he says with all sincerity in his voice as his mother and Chris make their way to our table with the hostess.