7—Dallas （Larinda’s Dressing Room）
So, here’s the thing…
I said yes.
I also didn’t sleep a wink. In fact, even breathing has been a challenge since everything blew up at 7:57 last night. That was the moment Jarvis stalked onto the stage in the middle of my last song with a giant bouquet of roses, a flock of backup dancers, and a hot mic to sing two minutes of drivel asking me “to be my o-o-only wife, for my lo-lo-lonely life.”
And I panicked.
Which means I forgot how to function.
Which means ten thousand people watched me slip into default mode and do what I was told to do:
Say yes.
I even cried like they wanted when I realized what I did and how much I regretted doing it.
Val hasn’t said a word since. No visit to my bus demanding answers. No phone call. Not even a text. He wasn’t backstage when I walked off with my new “fiancé.” He wasn’t at the “celebration party” or in attendance at the strategic video call with the label. He also wasn’t on his bus when I pretended to look for Steve before returning to mine for the night. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere I could find and I’m worried he didn’t even follow us to Dallas.
I chew on my nail as I stare at my phone. My “Can we please talk?” still sits unanswered in our text stream. There are three more before that, also unanswered. Would he hate me enough to abandon the tour completely?
A cold rush spreads through me. What about our music? Did I also ruin the best thing that ever happened to my art? Did I really lose Val and my inspiration as a result of a single word?
Man, I hate the word “yes.” I’ve spent my entire life saying yes, so maybe it’s time to say no.
No to almonds.
No to itchy costumes they have to stitch and tape on me.
And definitely no to getting engaged to people you don’t like.
The breathing thing is starting to become a real problem, and I scroll to my conversation with Steve.
Me: How’s your bus this morning? Everyone sleep okay?
Steve would tell me if there was drama. You know, like if someone pooped in the shared bathroom (big no-no). Or if the air-conditioning broke down. Or… I don’t know… if a certain producer never showed for roll-out and they left without him.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down, heart racing.
Steve: Fine. And no clue. Not everyone snores. Let’s say sure? Everything okay?
Crap. What does “fine” mean? Is it fine as in fine, or fine as in there’s nothing worth discussing because I’m not the biggest fan of Val Andrews, so the fact that he quit the tour isn’t on my radar?
For the record, Steve’s dislike for Val isn’t personal. He doesn’t like anyone who distracts my attention from him, and Val is incredibly distracting. My assistant was even jealous of Nash until my new friend helped me survive the world’s worst video game festival last year—not to mention the whole Jarvis-trying-to-steal-my-songs scandal.
Jarvis.
My text stream with him is the mirror image of the one with Val. A whole bunch of gray messages litter the left side and almost no blue ones occupy the right. It’s not that I don’t wantto respond to his gushy proclamations about our fake future together… actually, no. It is that.
Jarvis:Let’s grab breakfast. We can hashtag this out.
No. My new favorite word dances through my head.
No, no, no.
I don’t want to grab breakfast or hashtag anything with him. I have nothing to say. After years of sort-of sometimes dating, he knows I panic under pressure. He knows how hard it is for me to fight a lifetime of being conditioned to follow orders. He also knew going ahead with the proposal after I explicitly told him not to would trigger both of those reactions and give him the “yes” he(and everyone else) wanted. He used me against myself, which only infuriates me more.
And now I may have lost Val.
I’m tempted to head over to the crew bus for a totally random hello to whichever crewmembers happen to be on that vehicle, but the reaction to that gesture would be even more dramatic than yesterday’s breakfast appearance. Some days it sucks being a diva.
My phone buzzes again, and air rushes from my lungs at Val’s name. He responded! But wait… what if it’s bad?
Potential Val Text: I hate you and decided to relocate to Oklahoma City permanently. Don’t call me. Also, your music sucks.
Well, probably not the last thing. He’s too nice to say something like that. Plus, it’s his music too, so that would be awkward.
With a shaky hand, I open the message.
Actual Val Text: I’m not mad. Hurt, but not mad. We can talk. When’s good?
Potential Me Text: RIGHT THE HECK NOW!!!
Actual Me Text: Whenever. I’m alone in my dressing room if you want to pop in now.
My teeth sink into my lip as I watch my screen for a response.
Bubbles!
No bubbles.
More bubbles!
No bubbles.
Bubbles again and… ah! Is he trying to torture me as payback? Maybe. I guess in the grand scheme of things, agreeing to marry someone hours after telling another person you’re secretly dating them is worse than being indecisive about what to say in a text message.
Val:Okay. Be there in 5.
Thank the heavens!
Me: Great. Bring your laptop so people think it’s a work thing.
Val: Of course.
Me: I’m so sorry, baby. It was an accident, I swear. You’re the only one I want. You’re all I’ve thought about since. Please forgive me. Please don’t give up on us. Please please please try to understand. I need you now more than ever. I’m not just upset, I’m scared. I didn’t want this. I DON’T want this. I’d do anything to be in your arms right now. I care about you so much, maybe even love?—
DELETE!!!
I stare at the empty text box.
Actual Me Text: Great. See you soon.
Val looks tired when he peeks into the room, laptop in hand. Cute, because he always looks cute, but tired. Guess the night wasn’t good for him, either.
His ball cap is off today, so his messy dark hair looks particularly tempting. I never told him this because our crushing was still a secret back then, but his new haircut from a few weeks ago is sexy as heck. The longer layers on top are the perfect length for gripping in the heat of passion, while the buzzed fade on the sides allows for the fun of tickling your fingers over the soft stubble. Having the chance to finally indulge in the fantasy yesterday makes this whole fiasco so much worse. All I want to do is climb in his lap and play with his hair (and other things). Instead, I’ll be lucky if he ever lets me touch him again. Plus, the sweatpants. I don’t know what it is with hot men in sweatpants, but he really shouldn’t wear them if he doesn’t want me lusting.
“Hey. Thanks for coming,” I say.
“Of course. Thanks for inviting me.”
So formal.
I feel a rare frown settle over my face.
You’re in love with this man and engaged to another you can’t stand.
That would make anyone frown, I guess.
I rub my palms on my yoga pants. “Would you, uh, like some alm…?”
I stop at the expression on his face. He probably doesn’t want almonds.
“I don’t love Jarvis,” I blurt out.
“I know.”
“Oh.”
I bite my lip and watch his fingers tighten around the laptop. They should be touching me instead. I should be enjoying the heat of his body, the taste of his lips that got to be mine for five whole minutes. Funny how I did everything I could to prevent Jarvis from sitting beside me in this same scenario, and now I’m doing everything I can to encourage Val.
But he doesn’t budge, so I’m stuck in the middle of a couch, staring up at him as he waits for me to explain why I’m engaged to someone else.
“I panicked.”
He stays quiet as his gaze sifts over my face.
“I told him not to do it, but then there were the dancers and the feathers and the horrific A-A rhyme scheme and I just… I don’t know what happened.”
“You said yes. That’s what happened.”
I wince. “Yeah, but I didn’t mean yes.”
“Right. So by yes you meant no?”
His jaw clenches, and I chew on my nail again. When his attention shifts to the jewelry case on the table, I cringe at the obnoxious ring glaring from the top pouch. I don’t know how many carats that diamond is but it would feed a family of rabbits for a week. Pretty sure Jarvis told the jeweler to take their five most ridiculous rings and smoosh them together. Then had them add a gold twig for some reason.
“I told him yesterday we’re not a couple,” I say in a pleading tone. “I will tell him again today. I’ll tell him every day. The whole world, even! I don’t care about my career anymore. It’s not worth these games and lies. I just want you, Val. You and the music are the only real things in my life. I’m so sorry.”
I hold my breath as his eyes follow the path of his finger along a seam of the couch.
“Say something. Please.”
He sighs and looks up. “What do you want me to say, Larinda?”
“Anything!”
“The pumpkin flies at midnight.”
I can’t help a snort. “What?”
“I don’t know. I heard my sister say it once and it’s been haunting me ever since.”
“What does it mean?”
“No idea.” His weak smile hurts as he lowers his gaze again. “I should probably go.”
“Val… please.”
“It’s okay. I get it.”
“You don’t! Clearly you don’t.”
His eyes land on mine again, soft and open with everything I love about him. He’s always so beautiful and kind, despite the pain he wrestles with inside. I hate that I’m the reason he’s hurting right now.
“I do. We live in different worlds with different rules,” he says. “I’m not mad. I will always support you and be here for you no matter who you choose or what?—”
I jump up and capture his face in my hands. He tenses, but I don’t let go. I can’t. The only time I truly feel like myself is when we’re together.
“It’s you,” I whisper. “It’s just you.”
When I kiss him, it only takes a second for the fire between us to burn away the obstacles. After shoving the laptop on the table, he tangles his fingers in my hair and tilts my head to deepen the connection. I can’t stop the slight moan at how good it feels to have him again. I wasn’t lying. I would give up everything for this man, and the fact that he would never ask that of me is just more of a testament to the treasure I’m holding.
I slide one hand up his neck as the other grasps the messy locks I’ve been craving since the last time he was mine. Our mouths melt together, our bodies sliding and locking in all the right places. I’m desperate to drag him back to the couch and show him how much I want him.
He runs his palms down my back, guiding my front into an aching collision with his. Our kiss becomes ravenous as my insides buzz with pent-up electricity. I need to feel his bare skin on mine, to explore more of him—all of him—and I grip the hem of his shirt to strip it off. But he stops me with a gentle hold on my wrist.
My disappointment fades at the tender expression on his face.
“Talk to Jarvis,” he says, framing my cheek with his other hand. “Take time to figure out what you really want. The stakes are too high to rush into anything.”
I know what I want. I literally have it in my hands, but he’s right. This is too important to mess up, and it’s not fair of me to ask him to ignore the fact that I’m formally engaged to someone else.
After one last kiss, I rest my cheek on his shoulder and burrow into his warmth. He locks his arms around me and presses his lips to my head. If I could stay here forever, I would.
“I’ll talk to Jarvis again and make sure he understands,” I murmur. “I promise I’m going to fix this. I want you, just you. Will you please forgive me and still be my secret boyfriend?”
I feel his sharp inhale at my words. The long silence has my heart pounding. After way too many seconds, he sighs and drops another soft kiss on my hair.
“Talk to Jarvis, then we’ll discuss the rest.”