Just A Little Bit ✔️

7. Kinley

Kinley Price, In Real Life

By the time Riley made contact with me, the plans were already set in motion. He didn't change a thing, one way or the other.

The single our managers are planning together is supposed to be epic. Zane says they have a huge vision for the project, which is ironic because we (meaning me and Faraway Blues) are doing most of the heavy lifting. I know this is huge, so I can't back out regardless of how weird it is that I'll be spending so much time with a guy I hit and quit.

A couple of days after the DM fiasco over Instagram, I'm getting off a flight at Heathrow. I've never been to London before, which means I'm acting like a cliché tourist from the moment I get to the baggage claim. Even through the fog, I can make out the vague outline of the city this gloomy morning.

As promised, a cab waits curbside to take me to the hotel. From there, I'll be meeting the band at the studio just after lunch. It's strange to think the same people I idolized for so long are real. Not only that— they're going to be working with me. In my mind, I'm still that girl bar-hopping in Brooklyn. It's unreal that people know my music and like it.

The flight from LAX to London was a long one. Thankfully, I managed to sleep through most of it, and spent the remaining minutes typing and deleting lyrics in the notes app on my phone. To say Riley has me in a funk is putting it lightly.

I'm not having a block from songwriting. Quite the opposite, really. I can't stop writing songs about him. They're not even the sappy, longing kind— I keep switching between frustration and lust on a never-ending loop, unable to decide where I'm at. I've been nervous about seeing him in person, especially since I left him on 'seen' with no intention of ever responding.

Yeah, I'm winning maturity points for sure.

I end up ordering room service since the label is providing everything for me. A garden salad and a bottle of wine seem like a bit much for early afternoon, but I'm going all out for this. Inevitably, I scrap all remnants of my songs in favor of doing nothing. By nothing, I mean perusing British reality TV.

The Great British Bake-Off would ordinarily bore me to death, but the quirky accents make a bunch of panicked contestants running around the kitchen fun to watch. I waste a couple of hours on channel-hopping and obsessing over what I'm going to wear. Eventually, I settle on a t-shirt and sneakers, since I'm gonna be in the studio and would prefer to be comfortable.

I'm not used to drivers taking me everywhere. Frankly, it's weird not being able to go by myself. I have a license, but I never used it in New York and Zane prefers that I take cabs to major events. It's strange that I've gotten to this point where people wait on me instead of things being the other way around.

The car is waiting outside of my hotel at the designated time. I'm the least punctual person I know, so I'm stumbling out in a frantic state and throwing myself into the backseat in a rush. I'm quite the spectacle, and if any paparazzi caught sight of me, the pictures will be all over the internet.

"Thank you for picking me up," I say, slightly out of breath.

"It's no problem, miss," the driver replies.

"You don't have to call me 'miss'," I tell him. "My name's Kinley. It's nice to meet you."

His eyes are on the road, but I can see the surprise in them through the rearview mirror.

"It's nice to meet you, Kinley," he says. "I'm Gerard, I'll be your driver while you're in London."

My jaw goes slack. "Really? I get my own driver?"