He considered it a win that he’d only spotted two paparazzi sneaking photos of him and Leo as he’d parked his car along the drag and they’d made their way along Ocean Front Walk towards the beach. The sunglasses helped, no doubt, and though the band was increase in popularity exponentially as the days went by, they still were’t celebrity enough to be bombarded by people recognizing them on the street.
Not yet, anyway. According to Seamus, that was the hope. Leo, too, though he was less concerned about fans and more about the longevity of the label—he just wanted to keep making music, as many albums as he could. Really take advantage of the hand they’d all been dealt—good fortune was often short lived, after all.
But Deacon was… well, he was a bit hot and cold with the stardom thing. It was growing on him, certainly, but he had his moments where he missed small town England. Moments where he just wanted to sit around in a skivvy pub back home and shoot the shit without all the attention, the constant natter. Like Leo, the music was what he truly cared about—
—in any case, though, he wasn’t going to lie, it definitely wasn’t all bad. You could even say he was thrilled with his new life on the western coast of the states—but a good percentage of that was because of the beach.
They just didn’t make them like this back home—not like this, not with this heat, this weather. Bloody hell, it was barely April, even, and the other day was nearly 20 degrees. Not a cloud in the sky for a few weeks now. And so he had no complaints.
They’d made a quick stop at Starbucks for a frappucinno, before Leo had split off—was going to meet some Tinder girl, apparently, which was fine by Deacon, because he planned on soaking in as much of the sun as possible before his manager was nagging him again.
He was just flopping down off the path and into the sand, acoustic guitar strapped to his back, when his phone rang. Glancing at the display and seeing it was Seamus, he sighed and answered. “Blimey, mate, it’s not been an hour. Don’t tell me—you forgot how to use the can opener?”
Just then, someone ran right into his back—his iced coffee flew from his fingers and into the sand, and he nearly dropped his phone.
Spinning around, he looked at the culprit in concern, scrambling. “Oi—” Seamus’ tinny voice from the phone was asking him what had happened. “Just a sec, Seamus,” he said into the phone, before turning his attention back to the person he’d collided with. “Bloody hell—you alright?”
The beach and the sand weren’t exactly Irina’s favorite thing in the world, but she did enjoy the fresh air and being able to wear a nice bikini while laying in the sun, soaking up the vitamin D. She usually preferred to visit the beach when there was less people around, but living in California meant people liking the salt water every day, all day.
Multitasking had never been one of Irina’s strong skills. As she looked for her ringing cellphone and insisted on walking at the same time she rummaged through her bag, she could not see the person that suddenly appeared in front of her, making her own body collide with the other. In her surprise encounter, Irina couldn’t help but fall back landing on her hand, feeling something crack underneath her as she fell and felt the hard pavement.
Irina couldn’t feel her hand, so she couldn’t feel the pain just yet, but she was sure she would once she stood up. “Oh, fuck,” she muttered, the pain starting to creep it’s way on her. “What do you think?” Irina asked, taking deep breaths as she assessed herself on whether she should stand up and face the pain, or just stay on the floor and risk people laugh at her for the scene.
