*****077:

Aubrey

He was driving. He was driving crazy. His eyes were darting here and there, and he was mumbling to himself. I had my new tablet, and was searching through suitable pics. I'd asked Rafe previously what sorts of things he wanted me to put on my blog, and he'd been calmly reticent.

"I don't want you to become a music journalist. Nor a music photographer, filming every little move we make. Nobody cares about that side of our life. They like to see the inside of the tour bus, and see the guys jamming, and ----."

"I looked up blogs by other women about the quints, and they vary from a monthly entry and picture of them, to details of their day, to letters to a best friend who is in the service."

He considered. "What about the people? If you post crap about my mom and her friends, they might come back and be pissed off."

"I made the legal disclaimers in the beginning. I think I will not show any pics of them--- there aren't any good ones."

"I think that's wise."

"But there is a pretty good one of you."

"Let me see it." His face was stunned and mad and hot--- the way he was standing--- yeah he looked really hot.

"How are you going to post this? My mom could see it when she's sober and be really embarrassed."

"Maybe this shouldn't be my first entry?"

"Yeah. Family drama. Would your family post family drama?"

"Are you kidding? Rule number one: We don't ever post family drama. Ever. We don't even discuss it in public."

"But this is what Roger and Oliver Elliot want you to do?"

"Parker said it could be a good idea. But he didn't see why they felt Axis needed to promote to that extent."

Rafe shrugged. "We don't, I don't think."

"Well, maybe it should just be about me and the quints, that's of interest."

"I hate having your life chronicled either. I think we have enough media."

I shrugged easily and set the tablet down. "I can just look for inconsequential things, maybe they call that trivia--- of human interest."

He was thinking about it. "We could--- post selfies from the bathroom, and goofy stuff--- like you cutting my hair."

"That's goofy, for sure." I added sarcastically, but I had cut his hair a couple of times before. Not every time. He had asked me to cut it when we got home.

"Have you looked up all the pics of me? There's like more than you can count. Like the stars in the heavens and the sands of the shore. Far too many pics."

"Yeah--- I've looked you up on Google image. There are some crazy million pics of you, but most of them are by photographers. You know what I did see? Like pics of this time, you got sugar bombed by a fan outside a theater. You didn't tell me about that."

He shrugged and glanced at me sideways. "Was I supposed to? It's not one of my more famous moments. Keeping my mouth shut and the tears from sliding down my cheeks was difficult."

"You almost cried?"

"I'm a sensitive guy."

"You did not almost cry."

"I did when I got home."

"You did not!"

"I did."

"You cried because someone threw a sugar bomb at you?"

"I hate powdered sugar, and it got all over my Wallachian Lama hair sweater. The blue was never as blue again."

I stared at him, eyes wide. Then he slid them over to look into mine--- and I saw the laugh crinkles and I socked him in the arm. He giggled. He loved teasing. Loved teasing me.

I pulled up the tablet and took several pics of him looking so smug and silly, and then leaned way far over and took a couple of the two of us, while he drove and I laughed. I could write about that conversation.

*****