It Was Nothing

12. Ford

CHAPTER 12

ford

A LIFETIME AGO

I stepped out of the old ranch truck and glanced up at the neon Bottoms Up sign, jaw clamped, a typhoon of hurt in my chest. The argument with my mom from a half hour ago wouldn’t leave me alone. “Your newfound fame must’ve gone to your head. I don’t care if you’re about to win The Nashville Launch . I don’t care how many famous people you’ve met in the last two months. Or if you’re about to win a million dollars and get a recording contract. You’re still a Dupree. And Duprees shouldn’t go to bars because Duprees are alcoholics and addicts. You, of all people, should know that.”

My mind was on the edge of a cliff, peering over, thinking about my grandpa, who’d drunk himself to death. But Mom had riled me up so badly that I had no other choice. I needed something to knock the edges off the pain. So the longer she’d argued, the more certain I’d become. I was going to Bottoms Up .

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out.

Ryland

You coming? Maverick is already here. You gotta see this chick in here crying over her beer. She’s a cliche if I’ve ever seen one. Hot though.

I didn’t bother responding. Just pulled the door open and stepped inside. The lighting was dim, as bars tend to be. Old-school George Strait was coming from the old-timey jukebox. I blinked, trying to adjust to the dark.

“There he is,” Ryland’s voice boomed over, “Ocean Front Property.”

“ Ford! ” Maverick thundered. These fools had been my two best friends back in high school. They hopped up from their bar stools and slapped me on the back.

“Saved the best seat for the celebrity,” Ryland said, gesturing at the stool he’d been sitting on.

“Not hardly,” I said dryly as I sat down. “If I don’t win the whole thing, everyone’ll forget my name by the next week.”

They sat on either side of me.

The bartender, a woman who looked around sixty-five, wearing a tiny jean miniskirt, eyed me up and down. “My name is Wanda. What can I get you?” she said in a seductive tone.

No.

I glanced at what they had on tap. “How about?—”

“Give him that new craft beer,” Ryland said before taking a sip and letting out a dramatic “ Ahh .”

I slapped the top of the wood. “Sounds good.”

“Man,” Mav said. “I can’t believe you made it to the hometown visit. That’s insane. One show left and you’ll know if you won?”

Wanda slid the beer toward me. I nodded my thanks. Not that I was checking her out. I definitely wasn’t. But I’d noticed that she kept gazing over my shoulder at something or someone, wearing an expression of concern.

Ryland elbowed me in the side. “Tell us the truth. It’s all scripted, isn’t it?”

“Hate to disappoint but it’s real. At least on our end. The host’s script is pre-planned, obviously.” I took a long pull of the draft beer. “Dang.” I shook my head. “That’s a good pour.”

When they didn’t respond, I looked up from my glass. They were both watching someone across the room.

I slowly turned on my chair. It was the woman Ryland mentioned earlier. I couldn’t see her face. Just that she had long, brown hair, a body that made me silently thank the fashion gods for inventing tank tops and daisy dukes, and she was literally crying into her beer. Ryland was right. This woman was a walking cliché. Her entire body shook in a silent sob, and it was painful to watch. Whatever was hurting her had cut deep.

“Probably just needs a night on the town.” Ryland cracked his thumb knuckle.

I snorted. “Is that still what you’re calling your back seat?”

I was about to turn around and mind my own business and tell them to do the same. The last thing that woman wanted—whoever she was—was everyone gawking at her. But then a man from two booths over approached her, his hungry eyes focused on her like a pair of missiles. She looked up from her glass and shot him a terrifying glare that sent him back the way he’d come. My breath froze in my lungs.

It was Peyton. Lemon’s friend.

I didn’t actually know her. She’d graduated the year before I entered high school. But I knew of her. Everyone in Seddledowne did. The woman was a walking anomaly. Her beauty was almost unreal, yet effortless. She didn’t have to chase it like a lot of women—and they hated her for it. I’d heard plenty of baseless shade thrown her way in the past.

I remembered the first time I’d seen her. I was in fifth grade, and Ryland and I were riding on the youth league football float in the Seddledowne County Day parade. Peyton walked by in her cheerleading skirt. Ryland had reached over and lifted my jaw off the ground. I’d been smitten from that moment on. But I’d never spoken to her. You didn’t just speak to Peyton Jamerson. You approached the throne. And being four years her junior, I was nowhere near worthy enough to try something that foolish.

Obviously, my friends were too drunk to recognize her.

“Wish me luck, boys.” Ryland started to stand.

I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him back to his seat. “That’s Peyton Jamerson, you moron.”

“Oh,” Ryland said, his mouth hanging open the same way mine had in elementary school.

Wanda filled a glass of water and started around the bar. I headed her off.

Lemon would want me to make sure her friend was okay. At least, that’s what I told myself as I walked to Peyton’s table, carrying the glass.

When I stopped next to her, she didn’t notice. Her head was dropped, her hair making a curtain around her face as she tried not to sob out loud.

“You’re watering down a perfectly good beer,” I said.

She looked up, wide-eyed and bare-faced, all her makeup long gone. She blinked like she recognized me but then she shook her head like maybe not. “Sorry, for a second, I thought you were Silas. But Silas wouldn’t be in this bar.”

No. No, he would not.

“Mind if I sit down?” I asked. “You look like you could use a friend.”

She stared at me for a few more seconds and then scooted further around the semi-circular booth. “You must be Ford.” She sniffed. “I’ve seen pictures of you. On Lemon and Silas’s wall. From Dupree Family Beach Week. Not that, like, I go around looking for pictures of you. I don’t even know you.” It all came out in an unashamed tumble. Like this is who she was and she didn’t care what anyone thought. But she must’ve cared what at least one person thought because right then, another quiet sob shook her chest.

I set the water glass on the table and slipped in next to her. “Yeah. And you’re Peyton, right?” I said stupidly, as if there was anyone in this town who didn’t recognize her on sight. Other than my half-drunk friends. I let out a stilted chuckle. “What’re you doing here, in this bar, crying, alone?” It sounded like a pick-up line. But probably anything I said to this woman would sound like I was hitting on her.

“What does that mean? I’m not allowed to have problems?” Her bottom lip trembled. “I can’t ever be sad?”

A man in the next booth over kept eyeing her.

“No. I just mean, the kind of crying you’re doing is the kind of crying that usually happens when some douchebag man breaks a woman’s heart. But there’s not a man dumb enough to do that, is there?” I was ogling—couldn’t stop from drinking her in. I couldn’t help it. It was like having your lifelong wish of seeing your favorite work of art in person finally granted.

She looked me right in the eye, searching for…I didn’t know what. And then she started to laugh. “Oh, my word. Where did you get those player skills? Did Holden pass on the crown when he got engaged?” Her smile completely faded and she took a sip of water. “Stupid, idiot men cheat on women all the time. Even women who look like me.”

My mouth parted slightly, shocked. “Braxton cheated on you?” I knew way too much about this woman. Anytime someone dropped any tidbit of info about her, my mind snapped to attention and grabbed on, storing it for later. Even her dumb fiancé’s name. “I thought you were getting married.”

“Not anymore.” She wiggled her naked ring finger. “I hope he gets an STD,” she whimpered before another sob made her shoulders dip.

“Do you want me to call Lemon and have her come get you?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, and you’re not going to tell her about this either.” It wasn’t a request.

“Okay,” I said softly. “But Peyton, Bottoms Up is not the place for a woman like you.” I caught the eye of the man in the next booth and gave him a firm head shake.

“Well.” Her chin quivered. “It’s the only place I have right now. I can’t go back to my apartment because Braxton the Bed-Hopper, ” she said through gritted teeth. “Is there, waiting to grovel, beg, whatever. And I can’t go to my parents because my mom’ll tell me if I’d married him a year ago when he wanted me to, he wouldn’t have cheated. Like I’m responsible for his inability to keep it in his pants.” She groaned like it hurt her to say those words.

All I really knew was that my heart was tugging. And it was urging me to do something stupid, like put an arm around her. I didn’t think she’d appreciate that. But I had to do something to make it better.

I chewed on my bottom lip, an idea brewing. “Do you trust me?” I asked her, which was stupid. Why on earth would she trust a man she’d barely met?

Her eyes did that scrutinizing thing again. “I mean, you’re a Dupree.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no. “Okay.” I rubbed a hand across my mouth. “You know what calms me down when I’m stressed?”

She was watching me, maybe really looking at me for the first time. “What?”

“Playing my guitar. Looking up at the stars. Laughing with a friend. There’s a really great hill back at the ranch where I bet we could see the Big Dipper, nice and clear.”

For a moment, her eyes were bright. But then a groove formed between her brows. “This better not be some ploy to seduce me in the back of your truck. I’m a good Christian girl. I’m not sleeping with you, Ford Dupree.”

The words hit me like she’d thrown that glass of water in my face. My mind hadn’t even gone there. Peyton Jamerson was not a one-night stand. She was a lifelong commitment. A roll out of bed every morning, fall to your knees, and praise God for allowing you to love her kind of woman.

I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Good. Because my sister-in-law would kill me if you did.” I cocked my head and smiled. “I was planning to give you a personal concert, play a couple of rounds of UNO. You like UNO?”

“I’m human, aren’t I?” A smile toyed at the corners of her mouth. “Are there actual people who don’t like UNO?”

I rubbed my hands over my thighs. “None that I know of.”

“That actually sounds perfect. UNO, the concert, all of it.” Another tear leaked from her left eye. She quickly brushed it away. “Are you sure? That’s a lot of effort for someone you just met.”

“It’s nothing.” I smiled like her heart wasn’t breaking. “No trouble at all. I know you mean a lot to Lemon.”

My buddies watched the entire exchange. When I stood, Mav gave me a thumbs up and Ryland shook his head like I was a hypocrite. They clearly both thought I’d talked her into something I definitely hadn’t talked her into. And I wouldn’t. I made a slicing motion across my throat. But I tipped my head toward the door so they’d know I was leaving. I felt bad about that but I’d see them the next time I came home. I always did.

Mav made a thumb-tapping motion for me to keep them updated. Doubtful. Those two would gossip anything I told them all over town. That was the last thing Peyton needed.

Then I turned my back to them and offered Peyton a hand. She slipped her fingers into my palm and my heart slammed against my ribs. I needed to get my crap together. I was a grown man, not a pubescent boy.

I held the door open for her as we stepped out into the humid evening air. “Do you want to meet me there?” I asked.

She stared at her truck. “What if your family sees my car?”

My family was asleep but I got it. Why take the chance? “No problem. I can drive and I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready.” Looked like I wasn’t getting any sleep tonight. I opened the passenger side door of my truck and closed it behind her.

When the engine started, the radio blared. I quickly reached over and flipped it down to background level. “Sorry about that.” Once I’d pulled onto the main road, I asked, “How were you going to get home?”

She turned in her seat to face me. “The Downward is just up the street. I was going to sleep there. Pull out a yoga mat and use a bolster for a pillow.”

“Sounds like a solid plan.”

Her nose scrunched. “What are we listening to?”

“‘Cruise’ by Florida Georgia Line?”

She waved that away. “I know what it is. I mean, what kind of terrible music are you listening to?” She switched the radio station and turned it up. “Party In The USA,” by Miley Cyrus.

I groaned. “Please, no.” I reached over to change it back and Peyton smacked my hand. I scoffed. “It’s a universal rule that the driver chooses the music.”

Her eyebrows wiggled. “Are we having our first fight?”

She was flirting with me. I stared at her, grinning like a fool.

She snapped her fingers and pointed ahead. “Eyes on the road.” Her shoulders started to shimmy. How was I supposed to keep my eyes on the road when she was doing that? She belted the chorus. Dang, she had a nice voice. Maybe she should try out for The Nashville Launch next season.

After the chorus, she turned it down. “What is your girlfriend going to think about you hanging out with me tonight?”

I frowned. “I…don’t have a girlfriend.”

She released a skeptical hum. “Right. You’re probably one of those guys who doesn’t like to commit. A situationship specialist.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.” I met her eye. “I’d commit. For the right woman.”

“Ha.” She snorted. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You seem like a sow-my-wild-oats kind of guy. The Rebellious Dupree.” My mom would agree. Peyton nibbled on her bottom lip. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so cute in person. You’re even cuter than Silas.”

My head jerked back. “You think I’m cute?”

She let slip a sarcastic sound. “Please. Nobody in this truck believes you don’t know you’re nice-looking. Not you and not me. You’ve got curly hair. And those expressive eyes. Pretty sure you’ve never been able to get away with a lie in your life.” She shook her head. “You’re way too confident to fool me.”

My head was spinning. Peyton Jamerson was in my truck, going with me back to the ranch, and she thought I was nice-looking. What the freak was happening? Was I dreaming? I’d better not be dreaming.

Maybe she’s enamored with your recent fame?

Nah. Something told me she was unimpressed with notoriety.

“You have really nice forearms,” she said.

“I have nice forearms ?”

She undid her seat belt, slid over, and ran her finger up my right forearm. I nearly swerved into the other lane. “This part,” she murmured. A gentle wave of plumeria and sweet island rain hit my senses, taking me straight back to our family vacation when I was in the eighth grade. But as quickly as she’d come, she slid back to her side of the cab and clipped her seat belt back in place.

“Yes.” I chuckled, trying to shake off the overwhelming desire to take a trip to Hawaii. With her. Definitely with her. I pictured us on the beach together, her in a bikini. At that image, I sucked in a breath that sounded more like a hiss. “I know where my forearms are located.” I glanced over to see her smirking. I was pretty sure she knew exactly what she was doing to me. “It’s because I play so much guitar.”

She hummed appreciatively.

I flipped the blinker and turned onto our paved driveway under the tall metal Dupree Ranch entrance sign. “I gotta grab my guitar real quick. And the UNO deck. And a blanket or two.” I lifted a hand to show I was harmless. “The truck bed is hard and it has grooves in it.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” She smirked. “I know how to use my knee. And if you make a move on me, I have zero problems channeling my inner Lorena Bobbitt.”

“Oh. Wow.” I slid dramatically away from her, flattening myself against the door.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. It was a forced smile though. She was still struggling with Braxton’s betrayal. I had to fix that. I determined right there to make it my mission for the evening.

I pulled up in front of Sophie’s old house where I’d been staying. “Be right back.”

A half-hour later, we were chilling in the truck bed, side by side, each on our own sleeping bag, playing our second round of UNO by the light of our phone flashlights and the full moon that was coming up over the horizon.

“That's the third draw four you've put down,” she accused. Her dark hair fell forward as she sorted her growing hand of cards. “Did you stack the deck?”

“Stack the deck?” I laughed. “We shuffled it together.” My ankle started to itch. Probably a stupid mosquito. I lifted the leg of my jeans and scratched.

A gasp exploded from Peyton’s throat.

My head snapped up to find her eyes wide, looking at me like she’d learned something scandalous.

“What?”

“Oh-ho.” She laughed. “Does Jenny know you have a tattoo ?”

I chuckled at her use of my mom’s first name. “Yes, Jenny knows.”

It’s what had started the argument before I headed to Bottoms Up. Duprees do not get tattoos , Mom had said. Did she care that Holden had a tattoo? No. Because Holden was engaged and a successful lawyer. I was the problem child. The prodigal son. Mom thought I was going to lose the show and be a college dropout for nothing. She hadn’t said it, but I could tell.

Peyton reached over and lifted my pant leg. Then she giggled. “A guitar pick with the Dupree Ranch brand?” Her gaze flashed to mine and the way she was looking at me felt intimate. “It’s…perfect.”

“Thanks,” I said like my cheeks hadn’t flushed with heat. “I wanted something that would help me remember my roots.”

“I was thinking of getting a tattoo,” she said, laying down a red six.

“Where?” I asked, curious. I laid a red seven on top of her six.

“Small of my back.”

“A tramp stamp?” I said in a disbelieving tone.

“It would be tasteful. Something sweet like a dragonfl?—”

“Don’t,” I said too forcefully. I mustered all my courage and looked her right in the eye. “Don’t mess up perfection.”

She held my stare—something she wasn’t the least bit afraid to do. The opposite of how I was struggling to keep eye contact. Looking at Peyton was like staring at the sun at noonday.

She laughed. “You’re really smooth .”

“It wasn’t a pick-up line,” I said. “It’s the truth. You’re too good for a tattoo.”

Her eyes skittered away and the air grew heavy. I didn’t know her well enough to say those kinds of things. I needed to shut up.

I drew a card, painfully aware of how close our knees were to touching. The bullfrogs sang somewhere in the darkness beyond the truck, and the air smelled like hay and humidity. Dad and Holden had just gotten done with the second cutting. Fireflies danced in the field thirty feet away on the other side of the fence.

I dared a glance at Peyton’s face. Her eyes were turned down. I hated that she was going in her head again.

“He’s an ass for cheating on you,” I said. The words hung between us for a few heartbeats. “I just…I hope you know that. You deserve so much better. If you were mine, you’d never doubt your worth.”

Shut up, idiot. You’re coming on way too strong.

“That’s what all guys say. At first,” she said so low I almost missed it. She laid another card down. “UNO,” she announced triumphantly, holding up her last card.

I looked at my hand, then at her face, illuminated by the full moon. “Don’t hate me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare.”

I slowly and dramatically laid down another Draw Four.

She let out an adorable string of faux curse words. Then she shoved my shoulder and cards scattered between us.

“Wanna go again?” I said, grinning, as we gathered them up.

She stretched her arms above her head and I had to fight the urge to pull her into a hug. “Nah. I’m ready for my concert.”

The hurt in her eyes was fading the longer we were out here. The pride I felt at knowing I’d made things better for her, even a little, felt like scoring the winning point in a game I hadn’t known I was playing.

I pulled my guitar out of its case and played a few notes, tightening the pegs to tune it. When I was satisfied, I strummed a couple of chords. “What do you want to hear?”

She turned to face me and her knee rested against my thigh. Heat erupted in my legs. I forced myself to exhale slowly.

“I know.” She grabbed my arm and I let out an embarrassing gasp. “You have to sing an original for the season finale, right? You should sing it for me now.”

My head cocked. “You watch The Nashville Launch ?”

She shrugged. “Every now and then. When I run out of American Idol or America’s Got Talent episodes. I’m a sucker for those kinds of shows.”

“Yeah. Okay. You got it.” My heart was hammering at the thought of playing something so personal for her. “You can’t make fun, though. I think it’s good, but I heard Ruby Faith—she’s the other finalist—I heard her song and it’s holy impressive.”

“Ruby’s not as good as you. When she sang “Strawberry Wine” last week …” She shook her head forcefully. “Her accent’s too fake. You can tell she’s not from the south.”

I let the implication of that statement sink in. “You’ve been watching the show.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Of course, I’ve been watching. Everyone in Seddledowne’s been watching. And you’re Lemon’s brother-in-law.”

“Have you voted for me?” I asked too eagerly. But I had to know.

“3673.” She shrugged. That was my first name spelled in numbers on a phone keypad. The code to cast a vote for Ford Dupree. “When you deserved it.”

Peyton Jamerson watched me on The Nashville Launch and she’d voted for me. Tonight was completely surreal.

I cocked my head. “Tell me.” My tone was pleading. “Which weeks did you vote for me?”

She looked up like she was digging through months of mental files. Then she said decidedly, “All of them.”

“You’ve voted for me every week,” I said in disbelief. My mind was buzzing, completely blown.

“Every. Single. Week.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “Are you going to sing me the song, or do I have to beg you?”

I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from smiling. But I couldn’t hold it back. This was the best night I’d had in…ever. I took a deep breath, strummed the first chord, and began.

Tailgate talks under country skies.

She pursed her lips. “Ooh-kay. Now I get it. You bring all the girls out here. Obviously. You wrote a song about it.”

I glanced up and grinned. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re the first. Call it a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” she said softly.

I flicked my brows up. “Me either.” I strummed another chord.

Sharing dreams and catching fireflies.

“How do you have a voice like that?” She shook her head like she found me unbelievable. “It’s raspy and smooth at the same time…It shouldn’t be possible.” Her shoulders swayed.

My grin was even bigger now. Of all the nights I’d won The Nashville Launch , none of them had made me feel like this.

First kiss by the old oak tree.

Now it's all dirt road memories.

“First kisses?” she said with a sigh. “This is adorable.”

“Adorable? That’s the word every aspiring musician wants to hear about a song they’ve poured their blood, sweat, and tears into.”

She lifted her shoulders, her blue eyes sparkling. “Guess you better keep singing if you want my vote.”

“Guess I better.”

I closed my eyes and felt the music deeper in my soul than ever before. Something about having her here—playing for her —was magical.

Every pebble, every stone.

Tells the tale of how we've grown.

Down that winding path, we drove,

Where bluebells and young love grow.

“Why do I feel like this is going to have a sad ending?” she asked.

I strummed D minor dramatically. A dark, melancholy sound. A foreshadowing of the bittersweet bridge coming up.

She tilted her head and held her hands up in an I told you so manner.

Now the oak tree stands alone

Different paths have called us home

But these memories still remain

Like sweet summer morning rain

In my heart, that old dirt road

Leads back to all I used to know

Halfway through the bridge, her swaying stilled and all her commentary ceased. I was certain she hated it. But I’d been playing my songs long enough that I knew how to fake my confidence until the song was through. To never show a speck of self-doubt until you walk off the stage.

When the last chord faded into the night, I dared to look up at her.

She was watching me intensely. But her expression didn’t tell me if it was a good or bad kind of intense.

“Well.” I smiled, my hands trembling. “What did you think?”

She leaned toward me, searching my face. “Who did you write this song about?”

“No one in particular.”

“So you whipped that up out of thin air about no one in particular ? No muse?”

“I’ve been working on it for two years. It’s a combination of a lot of things and people. Regrets. What do you think? Five stars?” I cleared my throat, wishing I’d thought to bring a water bottle. “Four stars? I’m not sure about the bridge.”

Her eyes were smoldering, locked on me like a lion on its prey. She pried my fingers from the neck of the guitar and slowly pulled it from my grasp.

What was happening?

Silently, she set my Gibson back in its case.

“That bad, huh?” I chuckled nervously.

“Just terrible,” she said so seriously that I almost believed her. But then she slipped onto my lap, facing me, her legs straddling my waist.

My heart bucked against my ribs and my throat tried to close up. What was happening? Had Ryland and Mav put her up to this? Maybe this was a setup. They were having a laugh.

Who cares? Peyton Jamerson is in your freaking lap.

Her fingers hooked around my neck.

“So you liked my song?” I asked dumbly, breathlessly, my hands at my side.

“Ford.” Her voice was husky. Her eyes flicked to my mouth and then back up to my eyes. “I’m going to tell you a secret.” Her lips brushed lightly over mine and every nerve ending in my body screamed ABSOLUTELY YES ! “I think you’re going to be a star.”

“You do?” I whimpered.

“I do.” She pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth and my heartbeat rattled my entire body. “Wanna know how I know?”

“Mhmm.” I gulped.

She left a kiss on the other corner of my mouth. My fingers balled into fists. “I’m pretty sure your song has magical powers.” Her tongue traced over my top lip and the world swayed. Ho-ly … “Because I think…” She tugged my bottom lip between her teeth and I saw stars. “I just fell in love with you,” she breathed. “And I don’t even like country music.”

I tried to lift my hands. To put them against her back but I couldn’t. I was paralyzed from the neck down.

“It’s because you’re drunk.” I gulped, barely getting the sentence out. I’d sung on the Ryman stage for 2300 people and millions more on TV—multiple times—and it hadn’t been this difficult to form words.

The tip of her nose brushed mine, her lips hovering a millimeter away. “I’m not drunk. Not even a little.”

She let go of my neck and I thought the moment was over. But then she reached down, picked my hands up, and placed them on her waist. Having her there, under my fingertips, was… unfathomable. I was no one and nothing. There wasn’t a single thing I’d done in my life to deserve this. And yet, here she was.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe through the rush of hormones overpowering my system. But I still couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Are you gonna Lorena Bobbitt me now?”

“Yes.” She nibbled on my right earlobe and I didn’t even try to stifle the groan that escaped my throat. “If you don’t start kissing me back.”

With that permission, the coiled tension inside of me snapped and a rush of adrenaline surged through my veins. “Yes, ma’am.” I slipped my hands up under her hair and inclined her head toward me.

My mouth met hers and she immediately parted her lips, inviting me in. Her tongue was warm and sweet. Her petite fingers around my neck were the only thing keeping me upright. My entire body had turned to liquid. My hands slid up her sides, feeling every rib. A wave of calm floated through my bloodstream and I was pretty sure I was having my first-ever spiritual experience, right here, right now.

After at least two minutes of us exploring, memorizing, love-drunk—at least I was—she broke the kiss. “I told you a secret.” She tipped her head back, begging me to kiss her neck. “Now you have to tell me one.”

“Yeah?” I littered kisses down her throat. Man, her skin was soft. The softest. When I reached her collarbone, I went left, pressing kisses in a line. I shoved her tank top strap out of the way and she didn’t stop me. I pressed a reverent kiss to her perfect shoulder. Then I dropped my forehead to it, giving myself a second. Because I needed one. At the very least. When I thought I could handle it, I headed back the other way, placing a trail of kisses as I went. “You sure you want to know? It might freak you out.” I let my tongue trace the hollow at the bottom of her throat.

She moaned. “There’s nothing you could say right now that would freak me out. Just tell me.” But she didn’t let me. No, her hands were tugging the back of my hair, urging me to come with her as she leaned backward, rolling us onto the bed of the truck.

I was on top of Peyton Jamerson, kissing her in what had to be the World’s Hottest Make Out. And then it got even hotter when her hands slipped under the back of my T-shirt. Her fingertips found my lower spine, trailing up, stopping at each notch to feel the divot there before moving to the next.

“Tell me.” Her words were frantic. But then her tongue was sliding against mine again and I could hardly keep a coherent thought.

“I—” Kiss. “I’ve had a crush on you.” Another kiss. “Since elementary school.”

She froze and her fingertips dug into my back, her whole body tense.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why couldn’t I ever keep my mouth shut?

I lifted my head enough to focus on her face.

She watched me so seriously. “You’ve had a crush on me since elementary school?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Just a puppy love kind of thing.”

“So, like…” Her fingers dug into my back even more. “You’ve imagined this. Us. Kissing like this.” Her forehead was in a crunch.

Crap. I’d weirded her out.

“Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t admit something like that since we’ve never met until tonight. I just…y-you asked for a secret…” I started to roll off of her.

Suddenly, her legs were around my waist, locking me in place—and there was a fierceness in her expression. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “I want you here. This feels…” She gently kneaded my left earlobe between her thumb and pointer finger. “You and me…this feels like something. Like we were supposed to meet. You feel it, right?”

I did. I had all night. But if this was some kind of divine matchmaking, the timing couldn’t be worse. If I won The Nashville Launch , there would be a media tour immediately after and I’d relocate there permanently. A tug of worry entered my gut. But then I looked down into her beautiful face and I already knew—I’d bend heaven and earth to have a relationship with her if she’d let me.

“Yeah.” I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I definitely feel it.”

“I thought so.” Her hands slid into my hair. “3673,” she purred, and hearing her say my number again made me tipsy in a way alcohol never had.

“3673,” I murmured before she urged my mouth back to hers.

It was right there, under those stars, on that warm August night, that I fell in love with Peyton Jamerson once and for all.

And it ruined me for every other woman that came after.