Chapter 18 "You quiet down so you can hear me sing this song for you, and I promise to kiss and tell." Sloane's words are drowned out by cheers in the video I'm watching of her concert last night, and all I can think is: How the hell did something as simple as me liking a woman turn into this fucking circus? Okay, not simple. Nothing about Sloane Walker is simple. I met her. I liked her. I wanted to ask her out. And that might have worked, if everything else didn't get in the way. Now I'm sitting in the damn practice room, waiting to go into today's press conference and watching as Sloane is nearly injured at one of her own concerts by one of the fan footballs we sell at the games. It infuriates me, makes me want to stand in front of her next stage and make damn sure no one so much as breathes wrong in her direction. Pissed off, heartsick, and more worried than I want to admit, I click another video. This one is titled Sloane Holds Sly's Jersey