Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Patrick and the younger girl
Trisha--the girlfriend
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--Trisha--
"Work it, honey. To the left--perfect. Think sexy. Think steamy. Think about Brad Pitt..."
I pose as told, wanting to barf. This photographer is such a sleezeball. And I hate these stillettos. My ankles are going to break.
"And that's it!" He snaps one last pic, going over to the computer with the designer.
I take the heels off, wanting to ram them into someone's neck. I sit down on the floor by my bag, checking my phone for messages. Nothing. I frown.
"I know Patrick's on tour and all, but he can at least send me a text now and then." I snap at my phone. "Dammit, i'm not even that busy and i've got another shoot in an hour."
I dial his number, trying not to be too irritated.
"yeah?"
"Hi, you." I rub my sore feet.
"Oh shit, Trish. I totally forgot to call you back. I'm sorry." Great. Now he forgets me.
"No biggie." Yeah it is. "I get that your busy. Whatcha doing right now?"
"Just chilling out with the guys. What're you doing right now?"
"Trying not to think about my wounded feet. I hate stillettos. They are murder."
Patrick laughs. I smile. "I would agree, but i haven't worn them. I'll take your word for it."
I laugh. "Sooooooo....."
"Soooooo....what?"
"How've the shows been? Lotsa walkouts, right?"
"Ha Ha. Not funny." i can almost hear him rolling his eyes at me. "Its been the usual. Probably better. But one of the kids from another band got into it with some stage hand. That was like the only huge thing that's happened."
"Is he okay?" I don't care, just that i gotta know.
"She. And yeah."
The photo director motions at me.
"Hey, Trick, I gotta run, okay?"
"Alright. I'll try to call you when i can."
"Loves ya."
"Same here."
i frown at the phone when he hangs up. He didn't really sound like he meant it. Usually he says "loves ya back". Something is going on. He's sleeping around.
"you're paranoid." I shake my head.
"Trisha, babe, come look at you shots!"
I sigh, snapping my phone shut. I have to be paranoid later.
"Work it, honey. To the left--perfect. Think sexy. Think steamy. Think about Brad Pitt..."
I pose as told, wanting to barf. This photographer is such a sleezeball. And I hate these stillettos. My ankles are going to break.
"And that's it!" He snaps one last pic, going over to the computer with the designer.
I take the heels off, wanting to ram them into someone's neck. I sit down on the floor by my bag, checking my phone for messages. Nothing. I frown.
"I know Patrick's on tour and all, but he can at least send me a text now and then." I snap at my phone. "Dammit, i'm not even that busy and i've got another shoot in an hour."
I dial his number, trying not to be too irritated.
"yeah?"
"Hi, you." I rub my sore feet.
"Oh shit, Trish. I totally forgot to call you back. I'm sorry." Great. Now he forgets me.
"No biggie." Yeah it is. "I get that your busy. Whatcha doing right now?"
"Just chilling out with the guys. What're you doing right now?"
"Trying not to think about my wounded feet. I hate stillettos. They are murder."
Patrick laughs. I smile. "I would agree, but i haven't worn them. I'll take your word for it."
I laugh. "Sooooooo....."
"Soooooo....what?"
"How've the shows been? Lotsa walkouts, right?"
"Ha Ha. Not funny." i can almost hear him rolling his eyes at me. "Its been the usual. Probably better. But one of the kids from another band got into it with some stage hand. That was like the only huge thing that's happened."
"Is he okay?" I don't care, just that i gotta know.
"She. And yeah."
The photo director motions at me.
"Hey, Trick, I gotta run, okay?"
"Alright. I'll try to call you when i can."
"Loves ya."
"Same here."
i frown at the phone when he hangs up. He didn't really sound like he meant it. Usually he says "loves ya back". Something is going on. He's sleeping around.
"you're paranoid." I shake my head.
"Trisha, babe, come look at you shots!"
I sigh, snapping my phone shut. I have to be paranoid later.
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