It Was Nothing

2. Ford

CHAPTER 2

ford

NOW

M ethod acting has its limits and they all end at Claire Winters attacking my uvula.

I gazed into her wide green eyes, down at her lips, and back up to her eyes.

“Listen,” I murmured. “I know the end could be nigh and all that, but all I can think about is you . You're the only light in this endless darkness, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let anything tear us apart.”

Who talks like this?

She leaned in, her gaze desperate with wanting. Then she pushed up on her tiptoes, closing the distance.

My hands cupped her face and I squeezed my eyes shut. You’ve got this man. It’s just a kiss. But I knew better…

This was a death wish.

Just get ‘er done so you can go the frick home!

I tilted my head, taking it like a man. But my lips hovered too long, desperate to avoid this at all costs. Her fingers fisted my shirt, tugging me closer, willing me to do it.

My lips brushed across hers and she moaned, sinking into my chest.

Then her lips parted and…

It was like someone took the lid off the septic tank at McDonald’s after the dinner rush. She jammed her tongue between my teeth—something I’d asked her not to do. Then she waggled it around like she was looking for the last lick of her favorite soup at the bottom of a bowl.

For the fifty-seventh time, my eyes started watering. But I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t pull back even if every instinct in me was screaming to run for my life. I had to soldier through this kiss once and for freaking all.

My hands slid up behind her neck, just like they were supposed to. It was time to tilt my head the other way. But that was going to mean a slight parting of the lips, which only meant more noxious air would slip up my nostrils.

Her tongue scraped across the roof of my mouth. I’d kissed plenty of women, and I’d never felt violated like this. Eight seconds. I only had to make it eight seconds like a gosh dang bull rider. I could do this! But then her tongue skirted over my tonsils, and my gag reflex kicked in. And even though I told myself not to…

I stepped back, breaking the kiss.

“Cut!” The director, Alexander Cruz, yelled at the same time that my co-star swore. “Take five. Ford .” Alexander shook his head, lips pursed in a bloodless line. “Meet me in my trailer. We need to talk through whatever is holding you back. We should’ve been done filming two days ago.” He threw his hands out. “We would’ve been if you could get this kiss right.” Then he stepped out of his chair and stalked away.

“What is wrong with you?” Claire hissed as she folded her arms across her chest. “We all know you’ve kissed like a thousand women. At the very least.”

“That was before.” The words slipped out too fast to stop them. It was an instinctual reflex from all the times I’d had to defend my past behavior with my family.

“Before what ?” She scoffed, waiting for a satisfactory response.

Before the overdose. Before my life flashed before my eyes and Peyton’s beautiful, heartbroken face was the last thing I saw as it all went dark. Before making a pact with God that if He’d save my life, I promised never to be a rabble-rousing philanderer ever again.

But I wasn’t going to tell Dragon Breath that. “Just,” I waved my hand, hoping to break up the stench. “Before. Never mind.” It really was a shame someone so pretty and famous could smell that horrific.

“I have obligations back in L.A., you know.” She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t rocket science. It’s just lips meshing together and moving around. Or did you suddenly forget how kissing works? Do we need to get you a kissing coach?”

Pshaw. Ford Dupree, lead singer of Whiskey and Women and two-time Grammy award winner, didn’t need a kissing coach. The idea was ludicrous.

When I didn’t answer, she must’ve seen it as weakness because she said, “I know you're used to just strumming a guitar and swooning at your adoring fans, but in the real world of cinema, we have certain standards. You should probably head back to Rednecksville, where you came from, and stick to your twangy songs about pickup trucks and low-country living.” This insult, which I’d heard plenty over the years, used to burn. But I’d learned not to take it personally. Country music wasn’t for everyone.

As much as I knew her breath was the real issue, I went the other route. “I think I’d do better if we didn’t use tongue.” I used we loosely. I only used my tongue to bat hers away. Even if it was in vain.

She let out a heated noise. “I kiss with tongue. It’s what I do. Are you trying to tell me you didn’t French all those women you’ve been with?”

The last thing I wanted was to spar over how I kissed—a private and personal matter—with this woman. It would be, as my mom always said, casting my pearls before swine. If Claire’s daddy wasn’t the producer, I’d tell her exactly why I was struggling. But I’d worked too hard to put even one penny of this paycheck in jeopardy.

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. Crap. I was going to have to burn this shirt later. “I’m just having an off day,” I said, biting back the truth. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Maybe she had a rotten tooth that needed pulling. Or maybe a colony of earwigs had crawled into her intestines and died. Besides, I didn’t want to get a reputation in Hollywood for being a pansy. This was my first stint as an actor. If I couldn’t get my crap together, it would be my last.

Then again, maybe it was for the best. They weren’t paying me enough for this high-key torture. I was perfectly happy singing. Acting had never been on my radar until the studio came knocking on my door. My agent wanted me to diversify. Thought it would only improve record sales.

It had sounded fun, and it was—an absolute blast. Except for the kissing. The part that I’d thought would be the easiest had been the hardest. But I was locked into a contract. So now I was going to be forced to put my mouth on Claire’s for the fifty-eighth traumatizing time.

Claire made a frustrated noise and stormed off.

I stared off at the field of broom straw in front of me. If my dad saw it he’d head straight for the owner of the land we were filming on. He’d tell him he needed to put lime down before it took over his entire farm.

Thinking of my dad made me think of my family’s ranch. Which made me think of my own ranch. Tears pooled in my eyes at how badly I missed it. I hadn’t been home in over two months. I missed my bed. My family. My chocolate lab, Lula. My favorite horse Grace Note. Gracie for short.

But mostly…Peyton.

Beautiful, hilarious, sassy Peyton. Whose breath smelled like Juicy Fruit and papaya smoothies. Whose hair reminded me of the beach in Hawaii—plumeria and coconut. And that was just the way she smelled. I missed a lot more than that. Her high-pitched tinkling laugh, her crystal blue eyes, and her sexy hips in those leggings she wore to every yoga class. Missed the way she looked in those leggings when she was in downward dog…and low cobra…and cat-cow.

Fine. I missed her in every position possible—even upright and unmoving. I even missed her constantly putting me in my place. Just being in the same room with her was infinitely better than locking lips with The Methane Maiden.

I grabbed my phone from my bag and quickly sent Peyton a text.

My cape is stuck in the door.

Then I pocketed my phone, glanced over at my agent, Ronald Donovan—Ronny Don for short—and curled my finger for him to follow me.

“You gotta do better, Ford,” Ronny said around a mouthful of donut. A chunk of the yeasty pastry remained in his handlebar mustache. “You’ve filmed a load of music videos before. Kissed scads of gorgeous women. Almost married one of them.” I winced at his reference to my botched engagement last year with Georgia. “What’s the problem?”

I grunted, hurrying across the field to Alex’s trailer. I didn’t want to repeat my complaint twice. I was still recovering my oxygen levels.

As soon as Ronny and I were inside the trailer, I shut the door and turned to face the firing squad.

Alexander sighed and dropped into the swivel chair. “What’s up, Ford?”

“Look.” I paced away from them. “When we first got huge, Double Dubs performed in every dive bar from Tennessee to Texas. We were fed actual roadkill once. I did a meet-n-greet at the Gilroy Garlic Festival.” I whirled and put my hands on my hips. “My mom fed me liver as a kid and Brussels sprouts from the can.” My stomach wrenched at the mere thought. “I’ve castrated thousands of bulls and had cow manure in my hair, up my nose, and between my teeth.”

I held up a finger. “In fourth grade, I mistakenly poked a skunk, who I thought was our black and white border collie puppy, with a toy lightsaber. My mom had to bathe me in tomato juice for a week. And even after all that, never,” I jammed my pointer finger at the floor, “ ever , have I smelled anything as foul as Claire Winters's breath.” I collapsed, hands on my knees. The relief of finally speaking the truth, sucking all of the strength from my limbs. “Inhaling her breath is like getting hit with a toxic gas grenade. I dare either one of you to kiss her for longer than three seconds and not pass out.”

I kept my eyes on the ground, waiting for Alexander to shame me with a lecture on how Claire had won three Academy Awards. Or tell me if I was a real actor, I’d power through and do what needed to be done. Or flat-out fire me.

But then a noise I couldn’t decipher broke through the silence. Was that a huff? A scoff? I dared a peek at Alexander, who seemed to be having trouble breathing. His cheeks were red, and tears pooled over the rims of his eyes.

“Baaaah!” shot out of his lips. He doubled over. “Hahahahahahaha.”

Oh, he was laughing.

I sank three inches with relief. I glanced up at Ronny, who was licking the sugar off his fingers. Eyes wide, he watched Alexander laugh so hard he couldn’t make a sound. Or get any air, it looked like.

I walked over and pounded Alexander on the back. “You all right, man?”

He slapped his thigh and then forced himself to a stand. “I’m so…” He gasped. “So glad someone finally said it.” His chest lifted with an inhale. “I’ve been watching the dailies through watery eyes for weeks now. If we weren’t all being paid to be here, that woman would clear the room with one exhale.” He blew out his breath and wiped his cheeks. “Whew.” He gripped my shoulder and smiled. “That felt good. You ready to get back to it?”

Wait. That was it?

I held my hands up. “Can we say something to her? Make her go brush her teeth? Or possibly feed her Listerine jello shots?”

Alexander, still grinning but finally done laughing, only shook his head. “We already talked about this. She had her Daddy fire her last co-star for suggesting she try yoga to help with stress. How do you think she’ll take it if we say anything about her breath? She’s Hollywood royalty.”

“I need an addendum to my contract. No tongue,” I pleaded. “Actually, no parting of the lips at all.”

“ Please ,” Alex cried. “Just finish the kiss. With John flying back to Louisiana, adjusting your contract would take at least a week.”

He wasn’t wrong. And I couldn’t make everyone hang around here any longer. I couldn’t hang around here any longer.

John was the intimacy coordinator. And as luck would have it, he wasn’t here when I needed him most. He was currently in a labor and delivery unit, helping his wife, who’d gone into labor five weeks early, breathe through contractions.

“Well, you gotta have enough footage to patch together a kiss,” I said as despair tried to drown me. “Surely after fifty-seven takes.”

Now Alexander was holding his hands up. “Maybe if you weren’t grimacing in every shot.”

In desperation, I threw my hands out. “Can’t we just…CGI the kiss?”

He barked out a laugh as if I was kidding and pushed back through the door. Completely unsympathetic, Ronny Don grabbed a leftover apple tart off the counter, jammed it in his mouth, and followed Alex outside.

Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, my insides leaping at the FaceTime.

Peyton!

She’d pep talk me through this.

I heard her before I saw her. “Your cape is stuck in the door?” she said in a panicked tone. Her gorgeous face popped up on the screen. She wore her silky brown hair in a messy bun atop her head; her sweatshirt hung over one perfectly defined shoulder, and her cheeks were flushed. “Ford, are you okay?”

Crap. I’d scared her. I was supposed to save the code for when I needed real help. Like when I was thinking of taking a drink…or worse.

I exhaled. “Sorry. Yeah. I’m fine. I mean, I’m feeling kind of?—”

A loud, soulful “awroooooo” sounded from Peyton’s end. I chuckled.

Peyton disappeared from the screen like someone had yanked her. “Knock it off, Lula!” she fussed, and it made me smile. She was at my place, feeding my dog. The idea of Peyton being in my house, taking care of my chocolate lab, put an ember of satisfaction in my chest.

My brother, Ashton, and his wife, Tally, had been taking care of Lula for the past two months while I was on set. But they’d been gone for the last two weeks on a European vacation with their kids. Peyton had agreed to feed Lula until I got back. Pretty sure she hadn’t bargained on it taking this long, though.

She sighed. “When are you coming home, Ford?” Did she miss me? “Lula is whining every night when I leave. And she looks like she’s losing weight.” Oh.

“Are you feeding her the special?—”

“Woooowooooo,” Lula sang. She was going to sing every time she heard my voice. That was just Lula. More in love with me than any woman I’d ever dated.

“Shhhh,” Peyton hushed the dog. “Yes.” She turned back at me, her light blue eyes almost iridescent under my kitchen lights. “I know to feed her the canned food. You only remind me every single day.” She opened the pantry and led Lula inside. I heard Lula whimper, and then the door shut. Lula hated being in her crate. But I couldn’t blame Peyt. She looked like she was at her wit’s end.

I rewarded her with a wink. “I only remind you every day because I want an excuse to call you.”

She blushed so hard, her freckles were blushing. Then she looked down, her mouth breaking into a smile even as she fought it. Her perfectly white teeth—natural, no braces—mesmerized me for a split second. But then she snapped her expression to attention and scowled. “Stop flirting with me, Ford Sutton Dupree.”

I chuckled. “Okay. Just as soon as you marry me.”

She glared. “This again? You don’t want to be married any more than my mama wanted me to stop wearing my wedding ring to family functions once Braxton and I split. That’s why you broke up with Georgia, remember?”

Factually, false. We’d broken up because Georgia wasn’t Peyton. But I couldn’t tell Peyt because it would only give her more reasons to keep me at arm’s length. And she was wrong. I did want to be married. To her. So badly it actually hurt.

“You gotta stop fighting me on it.” I clicked my tongue. “The biological clock is ticking for both of us.”

She snorted. “The clock has expired for me. I’m thirty-eight. Way too old to be having babies.”

“We’ll adopt, then.” But dang, I really wanted to procreate with this woman. We would make beautiful children together. She’d already made one without me. I couldn’t imagine how much better Cash would look if I’d fathered him. Probably not much actually. The kid was stupidly handsome. My mom was constantly talking about how he could be a model if only someone would do something with his bristly hair.

Peyton frowned deeper. “You only want me because you don’t have me. The minute I’m yours, you’ll change your mind.”

My brows flicked up. “So you’re saying yes?”

“Pfft. In your dreams. The last thing I need is another failed relationship.”

“Let’s not fail then.”

She chewed her beautiful bottom lip and got a far-off look in her eye. “We fight too much.”

I puffed my chest. “It’ll never be boring.”

“You’re gone too much,” she countered.

“I’ll make the guys come to the ranch to record albums. I already have a studio there. And you and Cash can come with me on tour.” I shrugged. “C’mon Peyt, I have an answer for any argument and you know it.”

Her mouth moved without any words coming out. She released a frustrated breath. “You are insufferable.” Lula bellowed from the pantry. Peyton stared up at the ceiling and sighed. “For the love, come home already.”

I blew out my breath. “I can come home as soon as I finish this kissing scene.”

“You’re still filming the kissing scene?” Peyton’s head snapped back and for a second, I thought she was jealous. But then I realized she was just surprised. She guffawed. “How many takes are you up to now?”

“Fifty-seven. It’s horrible.” I groaned. “Her breath could make an onion cry.”

“Oh, you poor baby. Getting paid millions to play pretend. Boo hoo.”

It was kind of ridiculous when she put it like that. Also, Peyton had minored in theatre in college. But now she slogged away, emptying bedpans and giving sponge baths to wrinkly old people. So yeah, I needed to shut up.

“Dupree!” The assistant director banged on the trailer door. “Two minutes.”

I groaned. “I miss you,” I said, fully sincere.

“No, you do not.”

I laughed. “Stop fishing for compliments.”

She made a disgruntled noise.

“I do,” I insisted. “Now tell me you miss me.”

She frowned. “Why? So your head can get even bigger?”

“No,” I said seriously. “Because you’re my best friend and because I’m yours. And friends miss each other.” I emphasized the word even though it was the opposite of what I wanted us to be.

Her hand pressed to her heart. “Fine. I miss you.”

“You do?” I asked, my breath catching.

“Who’s fishing now?” She gave me a pointed look but then her expression softened. “Yes. It’s so boring around here with you gone.”

I smirked. “You love me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I swear, boy, I give you an inch and you take a mile.”

“Yeah. You love me. I can see it in your eyes.” I shrugged one shoulder. “It’s okay. I love you too.”

Her perfectly manicured brows raised like I was crazy. “Have you been taking your meds?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Because I think you’re having hallucinations.”

“Ford!” The assistant director yelled again.

“I gotta go.” I pounded my fist against my thigh, frustrated. The memory of Claire’s breath made my stomach roll. I wasn’t going to get this kiss. Not tonight. Not ever. I would be stuck here in South Carolina, in kissing hell, for the rest of my life. “Looks like I’m not coming home tonight either.”

Lula barked.

“Hey,” Peyton said quieter, the fire gone now. “Just dissociate.”

My brows furrowed. “I don’t know your medical terminology.”

“It means disconnect. Separate yourself from the experience.” She waved a hand. “Or maybe...think of someone else when you're doing the scene?”

Our eyes met through the screen, and my heart started racing.

“Yeah?" I asked. “Like who?”

“Just…stop it.” Her face was Better Boy tomato red. “You know what I mean.”

“Thing is, I’ve already done that.” I’d had plenty of practice pretend kissing Peyton in my head. “But even pretending it’s you isn’t enough to overpower the smell.” I shrugged. “I think I’m going to need more incentive.” I flashed her my best crooked smile. She loved it when I did that…whether she’d admit it or not.

The pink in her cheeks deepened. But then she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. I knew that look. She was about to bless me out. I braced myself for the southern accent to unleash its fury. But then Lula belted the canine equivalent of a country music ballad about long-lost love.

My heart panged for my pup. She missed me. I really needed to get this kiss out of the way.

I was about to suck it up and tell Peyton goodbye when she blurted, “Fine.”

I perked up. “Fine, what?”

She looked like she already regretted whatever she was about to say, which meant it was going to be good. “You wrap that kiss up and get yourself home in the next twenty-four hours and I’ll kiss you myself.”

My mouth opened and closed a couple of times, shocked. I’d been trying to get with this woman for the last six years. She let me hug her, but that was it. No hand-holding. No snuggling. No friends with make-out benefits. And trust me, I’d tried it all. And now she was offering a kiss?

My face split into a grin. “Who are you, and what have you done with Peyton Jamerson?”

Lula let loose another warbling howl that quivered with longing.

Peyton clamped her jaw and blurted, “Don’t test me, Ford, or I’ll change my mind.” She cocked a brow in warning. “Twenty-four hours.”

“You got it.” I blew her a kiss and hung up. Then I turned, squared my shoulders, and faced my doom.

Finally, I’d get to kiss Peyton? I’d willpower my way straight through this in ten minutes flat.