red hot | grayson dolan

twenty three

AVERY

"Avery! Over here!"

"Big smile, over here!"

"Avery, how is the album going? Are you releasing any new songs?"

"Avery, why did you dye your hair brown? Are you trying to detach yourself from the Hollywood scene?"

"Avery!"

"Avery!"

Bright lights flash from all angles as a mob of paparazzi push cameras in my face.

The crowd around me is overwhelming, and my bodyguards are attempting to safely get me into my taxi.

The savage men continue to loudly scream out questions, forcing them down my throat.

"Avery, where's Grayson?"

"How has it been to tour with Red Hot?"

"Is Ethan dating your graphic design artist, Lily? Or are the rumors about him sleeping with escorts true?"

"Is Grayson cheating on you? Are you two on a break?"

"No." I groan while placing my hand over my face, not wanting to be photographed at this moment.

"Wait, look!" A man shouts in the distance.

The cameras begin to shift behind me when Austin emerges from the studio doors.

His newly dyed blonde hair doesn't disguise him much. The cameramen still recognize him from a mile away.

"Austin Starr! Oh my god!"

"Over here!"

"Austin, where's the rest of your band?"

"Are you and Avery collaborating soon? Is that why you're at the studio together?"

"Can't say." He shouts over them.

Truth is, Austin has been giving me pointers while I record my album. He helps me perfect my falsetto and encourages me to hit higher notes.

Having him in the studio is a breath of fresh air, he's very helpful and knows his shit when it comes to writing songs. We have talked about a collaboration for me on Red Hot's second album, which is in the works. There's a possibility it might happen, but who knows what the future holds.

The men continue to yell out their typical dumb questions. "Are you two having an affair?"

"Austin, would you ever go solo?"

"Why did you dye your hair blonde?"

"Austin you appear to be wearing long pants and shirts on hot days. Are you feeling ill?"

"No comment." I hear him angrily growl from behind me.

I practically get pushed into the taxi while Austin climbs in next to me. He runs his hands over his face and lets out a long and depressing sigh. He has dark circles under his eyes for the fifth day in a row.

"To the hotel, please." My bodyguard yells, and the driver steps on the gas pedal.

"God, the paparazzi in Miami is ridiculous." I scoff while shaking my head.

"I thought with our new hair styles, we would be safe from them." Austin pulls a cigarette carton out of his pocket and lights one up.

"It was wishful thinking, but we've already played a few shows with our hair dyed. We're on their radar now and can't hide from them anymore." I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.