Pop Singer: A Dark BWAM / AMBW Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

nervous at the same time. If you were me, how would you feel about going abroad?”
     
    “Girl,” Latasha said, waving her hand to the music. “I know that I sounded a little bit skeptical the other day. But I’m just telling you. I really want you to be successful. I’m looking out for you is all. And if I ever sound like I’m not on your side, it’s because I’m just trying to voice my concern. Look, if you’re gonna go to Korea, make your money over there, then fine. I think it’s great for you in the end. I don’t know anything about Asia. But if those are the kinds of guys that turn you on—”
     
    I nearly rolled my eyes out of my head! Latasha had opinions no less better than my dad. About Asian people. About the Eastern world.
     
    Whatever.
     
    I knew they had misconceptions wrapped around their brain cells, constricting their logic and philosophies.
     
    “I mean,” I said, “if it turns out that the people there are really horrible. I’m going to come back here with my tail between my legs. But there’s no way I’m going to pass up a chance to meet the guy of my dreams.”
     
    I flipped out my phone again, bringing up Jong-soo’s face. When we were at a red light, I flashed it over at Latasha again. Tall, muscular, and chiseled, Jong-soo was an exceptional specimen of Korean beauty. I couldn’t imagine any other guy on all of America’s continental crust who had possessed any sort of good looks like he did. I’m telling you: spec-i-men.
     
    And he sung well .
     
    Of course, that was really the important part. Right? Meeting a good singer, another artist. Word had it on the streets that he wrote all of his own music by himself.
     
    “But they all say that,” Latasha said, waving away my phone. She floored through the green light that came up, I think partly annoyed at my insistence about Jong-soo. “They all say that they write their own music. Look at any of the major singers in town. They’re all going to say that they do all of their shit by themselves. But, girl, I don’t know if they do, do they?”
     
    “Even some of the painters of old used commissioned artists that were lesser renowned to do the easy parts. Wouldn’t you believe it? Some of the best painters in all of France and Spain had their apprentices paint the backgrounds of their pieces because they felt like they had to concentrate on the foreground. Even some sculptors have their apprentices do the wire work and the less sexy stuff of art. That’s what we have to do sometimes. We have a definite amount of time on planet Earth, after all.”
     
    Latasha turned into the complex where the bank was housed. And where my daycare was located, right across the street. She simply shook her head. “I’m just on your side is all, I want you to know that. But at the same time, if it were me, I have to say, I don’t know if I would go. I’m not really sophisticated enough to understand the nuances of… the ahhts.”
     
    I rolled my eyes one last time. I felt a strain at the back of my head. Ugh. “You listen to music, don’t you? So if you appreciate music, then you should respect all the art forms. Sculpting included.”
     
    “Well, when you get rich and famous,” Latasha said, pulling into a parking space, “then you can come and call me. You don’t have to give me any money at all. You can just rub it in and tell me how wrong I was.”
     
    We got out of the car, my purse at hand, the letter in my ever-tightening fist. Latasha patted down her dress, looking much more professional than me. We walked over to our respective working spaces, Latasha ready to put on her manager’s hat, and I ready to deal with the nastiness from the general public.
     
    We said our goodbyes, knowing that we would meet each other for lunch eventually.
     
    “See you later,” Latasha said, walking off.
     
    I waved at her, walking in, head held high, not feeling any less than her.
     
    Because at the end of the day, I was pursuing