18. Ford
CHAPTER 18
ford
I should’ve called ahead and requested Stacy play something other than Dirt Road Memories on the jet. Actually, no country music at all. But with the wedding and getting everything ready for the trip, it hadn’t even occurred to me.
Anytime Peyton heard that song, it made her go into a deep, dark depression. So for the entire flight to L.A., she stared out the window, looking like she was fighting back tears. As soon as we landed, I took her straight to In-n-Out Burger—she’d never been—for a cheeseburger, animal style, and a Neapolitan milkshake. The smile was back. Everything was great.
Until the Breaking Curfew with Marcus Holloway interview happened.
“Peeeey-ton!” Hank called, his arms spread wide as we walked into the green room.
“Trouble in a dress,” Grady grunted, his hungry gaze scanning her head to toe and back again.
“Sup, Mrs. Dupree,” Travis said respectfully. At least one of them was.
“You don’t have to hug them,” I hissed.
“It’s fine,” she said. Then she let Hank pull her into his arms. “Hi, Hankie Panky.” She patted him on the head, then quickly stepped back.
Grady sucked his teeth as he smashed her against him. No doubt, he’d slide that wedding ring right off her finger if she gave him any inclination that she’d let him. Grady had almost no scruples. When the hug went on a second too long, she gave me a glare that said I’d better save her right now or the toenail clippings in my coffee threat would be a reality tomorrow morning.
“Okay. That’s enough.” I pried Grady off.
Travis’s hug was innocent.
When he released her, I hooked an arm around her waist, tucking her against me. Her hand slid around my back and one of her fingers drew mindless curlicues against my side.
“Sorry we couldn’t make it to the big day,” Hank said, apologizing for he and Grady. “The schedule is insane.”
Lies. Travis made it fine. But when Hank and Grady found out it was a dry reception, they’d emphatically declined.
“No worries. We didn’t miss you on the biggest day of our lives or anything,” Peyton said, perturbed. She’d let me know multiple times how crappy she thought it was that they couldn’t be bothered to come. When I reminded her that she was only marrying me in name, she only said, ‘They don’t know that.’
I chuckled, trying to break the tension. “And thank you so much for the thoughtful wedding gift.” A “honeymoon” basket complete with a pair of handcuffs, a literal ball and chain, an economy sized box of five hundred condoms, an inflatable raft for “When Ford’s in the doghouse,” and a notebook of “Love Coupons” that I could cash in for things like, “One Free Nap Without Chores,” or, “Permission to Leave the Toilet Seat Up.” Oh, and two pairs of edible lingerie.
Super tasteful.
“So fun opening that in front of Jenny,” Peyton said, dryly.
Travis shook his head. He’d bought us a slew of gift cards to local restaurants for nights we didn’t feel like cooking.
A petite blonde with red-rimmed glasses and an official looking earpiece walked into the room. “Mrs. Dupree, would you like to watch from backstage or in the audience?”
Peyton looked at me for guidance.
I smiled. “I’d say the audience.”
“Yeah, that way you can see Ford blush when he flubs a question,” Travis said with a smirk.
Peyton turned to the woman. “Audience.”
The woman was waiting for Peyton to follow but I didn’t want to let go of her waist. After that torturous flight, the fact that she was letting me touch her at all seemed like no small thing.
She turned and looked at me, head tilted. I leaned over and quickly brushed a kiss over her lips. You know, for show.
Then I whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry about the song.”
Her fingers slid around the back of my neck. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” But then she gave my hair a little tug. “Just don’t embarrass me in this interview.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Yes ma’am.”
Forty-five minutes later, the show began. I sat on a leather couch, waving at the audience.
Peyton seemed at ease in the front row.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Marcus Holloway said dramatically from behind his desk. “My next guest is no stranger to the spotlight. You know him as the lead singer of Whiskey and Women, the voice behind dozens of chart-topping country hits, and the guy who’s probably made your significant other swoon at least once. But now, he’s gone and done something wild—Ford Dupree is a movie star!”
The audience clapped.
“Star’s a strong word, Marcus.” I smiled. “I just tried not to embarrass myself.”
He asked me some questions about working with Claire and I lied my butt off.
Marcus leaned in conspiratorially. “Now, let’s talk about the real pressure. You’ve got a romance in this movie. And we’ll get back to that in a minute. But first, you’ve had a little romance in real life, lately, haven’t you? I spot something new on your left hand.”
I held up my ring finger, showing off the titanium band that Peyton had slid over my knuckle. “Yes.” I grinned. “I got married yesterday.”
Marcus’s brow quirked. “Will she let us show her off on national TV?”
I glanced at Peyton to ask permission. We’d talked about this being a possibility before we arrived at the studio. She nodded.
The camera turned to get a close-up. She smiled and gave a little wave. The audience oohed and aahed like she was a shiny red Ferrari.
“Whoo, she’s a looker,” Marcus fanned himself. “It’s suddenly hot in here. Can someone get me an ice pack to run over my neck?”
I didn’t care for that reaction, but I gave him the chuckle he was expecting.
He pointed at me. “Congrats, man.”
“Thanks.” I beamed.
He adjusted in his chair. “Let’s talk about the movie. Can you tell us the title and the premise?”
“Doomsday for Two,” I said straight-faced like it wasn’t something I’d snickered about hourly ever since the decision had become final. But according to extensive polls, potential viewers connected with that title. “It’s a post-apocalyptic rom- com starring me and the one and only, Claire Winters.” Then I told them the synopsis.
After a few more questions, Marcus said, “The whole apocalypse thing is happening, sure, but what we all care about is the chemistry. How was that? Getting cozy with your co-star?”
“Um,” I cleared my throat. “Good.” My head waved side to side. “I mean not as hot as with my wife , but good.”
The camera turned to catch a shot of Peyton laughing. The woman was made for this. The camera loved her.
“Good answer.” Marcus laughed. “Smart man. Well…” He winked at Travis, who I’d realized was seated behind the drum set on the side stage. Travis began a dramatic rat-a-tat-tat. Marcus kept talking. “We’ve got a little surprise for you. The studio was kind enough to send us a sneak peek from the movie. Folks, you’re about to witness history—Ford Dupree’s first on-screen kiss!”
The audience whistled and cheered.
“Oh. Wow. Okay.” What was happening? Would’ve been nice if someone had given me a heads up. I scrubbed a hand over my face, a pit forming in my stomach. Would the whole world be able to tell that I’d wanted to be anywhere else, doing anything other than kissing Claire Winters?
I turned in the leather chair and watched as the screen behind us lit up. Claire and I were sprinting through the field when a flying piece of scaffolding—CGI’d, like I wished the kiss could’ve been—nearly took off my head. When we realized I could’ve just died, we stopped, chests heaving. Our faces were illuminated by the flicker of nearby flames as debris and ash fell around us.
I grabbed Claire’s hand and pulled her to me. The camera zoomed in on my face. My eyes smoldered.
“Listen, 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.”
Then it was kiss time. It took everything in me not to wince when our mouths came together. For the first time in my life, I understood the term: phantom smells. Because I swear I could smell Claire’s breath right there on the Breaking Curfew stage. My hand was rubbing my jaw, holding my face in place so I didn’t full on grimace as the kiss went on and on. And on.
I’m a married man, my brain said . I should not be kissing other women.
It’s fake. Like your marriage.
Yeah. That’s right. It was only a job. And Peyton won’t care. She’s not in love with you.
But the knot in my stomach was only hardening. Growing, the longer the kiss lasted. Because all the tongue kissing made it look like Claire was devouring me for dinner.
Finally, she peeled my shirt up over my head and I was relieved. Because our mouths came apart. The audience gasped, tittered, and oohed at my bare chest. I’d thank Holden later for helping me get in shape. Someone had done a nice job touching up my pecs, shoulders, and arms. I mean, those were my muscles, but I was suddenly tattoo free. The effect was impressively real.
Finally, after what had to be the longest kiss scene ever put into a movie, Claire and I laid down in a pile of leaves to get it on, fade to black, PG-13 style. The screen blanked and the Breaking Curfew logo popped up.
I released a slow exhale as the audience cheered. That had turned out much better than I’d thought possible, what with the discomfort I’d felt over Claire’s determined tongue and the bad breath situation.
I wanted to be impressed. I would’ve been if I hadn’t just said ‘I do’ to the woman I love last night . Instead, all I could think was, how would I feel if that were Peyton?
She doesn’t care. If anything, she’ll rib you about it the rest of the way to Hawaii.
But if that were true, Peyton wouldn’t be sliding down in her seat like she wished she could disappear.
Crap.
She’s embarrassed. It’s Dirt Road Memories 2.0 . and you promised you wouldn’t embarrass her .
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, wishing I could rewind the last three minutes.
“Man!” Marcus hooted. “Whew! Not kidding, I need that ice pack.” The blonde who’d led Peyton to her seat walked a baggie full of pellet ice onto the stage and handed it to him. The audience laughed as he laid it against his forehead. “Ford, my man, you might need to trademark that smolder. Can you teach me how to do that?”
I gave him a little lesson which took my mind off of Peyton and the movie kiss.
“All smolder aside,” Marcus said. “That looked fantastic! When’s the movie coming out?”
“January 27th. Can’t wait for you all to see it.” But I had a feeling my wife was not going to want to escort me to the red carpet-premiere. Not if it meant she had to watch that kiss again.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Ford Dupree!”
The minute I was okayed to leave my seat, I hopped up and hurried off the stage. Thankfully, the people sitting around Peyton had all stood to use the bathroom. Jog around the block? Get a drink of water? I had no idea. I was just glad they were gone.
I squatted down in front of her. “Hey, I’m so sorry about that.”
She waved it away, though her eyes were watering, making her irises look like glowing crystals. “About what? It’s fine. It was very… believable .” Her voice broke on that word, betraying her nonchalance. “You’re a really good actor. I’m proud of you,” she whispered.
I pulled her head to my shoulder. “Peyt, it’s okay to be upset. You just watched your husband make out with another woman. That has to be jarring.”
She sniffled and nodded against my neck. “Even if it’s a marriage of convenience?”
“Yes. Even then.”
“Okay.” She fanned her face and let out a shaky laugh. “Wow. That was…”
“Yeah.” I pressed my nose into her cheek. “But only because I was pretending I was kissing you the whole time.”
She nodded again but said nothing. Her expression turned sad. “Told you I’m not cut out to be a celebrity wife.”
I ran my thumb over her cheek. “You’re doing just fine.”
“Mr. Dupree.” The blonde said behind me. “Sixty seconds.”
“Coming.” I stood and let out a loud exhale. “The next segment will be better,” I said to Peyton. “We’re doing Lyric Roulette.”
She smiled. “Oh, I love that game.”
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Then I walked back to my chair, adjusting my suit jacket.
“Alright, Ford,” Marcus said once the cameras were rolling again. “We’ve talked about your movie, but now it’s time to put you to the test. Are you ready for a little fun?”
“Why do I feel like I’m about to embarrass myself ?” I chuckled.
“Because you probably are. Here’s how it works: We’ve got your band, Whiskey and Women, all set up, and they’re going to start playing random parts of your songs—could be the middle of the chorus, the end of a verse, heck, even some bridge you probably wrote at 2 a.m. Your job is to jump in and sing the right lyrics immediately. No pausing, no mumbling—just pure, unfiltered Ford Dupree.”
I glanced at my band. “They’re going to mess with me, I know it.”
Travis grinned. Hank smirked. Grady hollered, “Absolutely!”
“But that’s why it’s so fun,” Marcus said, rubbing his hands together. “Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I walked to the barstool in the center of the stage in front of Grady, Hank, and Travis.
Once I was seated, Marcus hailed, “Let’s spin the Lyric Roulette wheel! Band, hit us with the first song!”
Hank played two notes and automatically, my mouth knew what to do.
Pour me, baby, like whiskey on ice
Take off that dress and don’t think twice
We’ll regret this in the morning, but tonight it feels ? —
The timer dinged, indicating I’d won that round.
The audience broke into applause. I glanced at Peyton, who was sitting very still, smiling, her hands lightly clapping together in her lap.
Then we were on to a new song. Three notes in, I knew what it was. I stifled a groan. Ride Me Like A Cowboy , my mom’s least favorite song, and for good reason. It was everything you’d think it would be with a title like that.
But what choice did I have?
Saddle up, sweet thing, grip these reins tight
Gonna show you how a real cowboy rides all night
Every bump and grind, every wild rodeo ? —
Ding!
The audience hooted their approval.
Peyton’s face was expressionless but she clapped diligently.
“Whoo!” Marcus yelled. “This is a family-friendly show.” He grinned. “No, it’s not. Another ninety seconds and you’re done.”
Travis hit four very distinctive taps on the drums and I already knew. Lyric Roulette was going to cost me years of therapy and possibly my marriage. Because Whiskey Stained Promises was next. My band thought they were hilarious. They were doing this to tease me about being a married man.
The way I touch you down where the neon glows
Ain't nothing sacred when the moonlight's this hot
Gonna mark every inch of that forbidden ? —
Ding!
I would not be able to remove my jacket for the rest of the show because I was full-on sweating, the pit stains expanding by the second.
The songs started speeding up, only a quick clip before jumping to the next and the next.
Push me up against the wall, make me lose control .
Ding!
Rip my clothes off, leave marks down my spine
Ding!
What if my mom sees this?
Sweat dripping down as we dance skin to skin
Ding!
What if Cash sees this?
Three AM and your dress is falling to the floor
Ding!
Another shift in music. I did groan this time. Motel Room Confession. Yeah, the other three members of Whiskey and Women were so, so dead. The last thing Peyton wanted was to hear me sing a song about a sultry affair and they knew that.
I opened my mouth and obeyed the melody.
Screaming my name while your ring's on the nightstand .
Stolen glances, electric touch
Knowing we shouldn't, but wanting too much
Ding!
I looked at my bandmates, disgusted at them and, honestly, at myself. I’d helped write this song. Granted, it had been ten years ago, but still. I gazed at my gorgeous wife, who I would fight heaven and earth to protect, her expression twisted with pain. My music hurt her. I was hurting her.
I glanced back at my bandmates, a mental montage of all the years between us flashing before my eyes, and it was right there on the Breaking Curfew stage that I had a heart-breaking epiphany.
I’d outgrown Whiskey and Women.
The thought took a second to shake loose. I could worry about it later. There was only one thing I needed to worry about right then. Not hurting Peyton with the next song.
I turned and gave Travis a glower that was impossible to misunderstand. I chose him because he’d care enough to do something about it. The other two would take it as a dare.
“We’ve got time for one more,” Marcus shouted over the steady sizzle of Travis’s drum beat.
“We’ll go easy on him this time,” Travis called, and then he hissed something to Grady.
I relaxed a bit. Grady played two notes. Two. Dirt Road Memories. My eyes locked with Peyton’s. Her, ‘I want to be anywhere but here,’ posture told me she already knew the song. I tried to apologize using telepathy.
My mouth opened and I forced my vocal cords to do their job.
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
Ding!
I slumped in defeat.
“Congrats, Ford Dupree!” Marcus shouted like I’d won the Super Bowl. “You won Lyric Roulette! Give it up for Double Dubs!” He gestured at my bandmates.
Yippee.
End freaking scene.