Chapter Twelve #4
“Turned out, LJ was less interested in my music than in getting up close and personal with Adriana Banks, the hottest shooting star in country music heaven. That’s the exact line he quoted from some magazine article about me.
He said that to produce a hit together, we’d have to form a special connection.
He just wanted to fuck me.” I let out a gagging sound.
“I didn’t want to sleep with Doyle to keep my label, and I didn’t want to fuck LJ to make that song.
I spiraled. I bartended. I walked around Nashville every day, hating the starry-eyed guitar girlies who—like younger me—didn’t know what they were getting into, hating every man in a suit because I just saw leeches in them.
It all seemed fake and pointless, and I didn’t know who I was without making music.
Things got really dark for me.” I turned my palm around to show off the scar again.
“Eventually, I just came back home. My mom pampered me for a few months, got me out of bed, drove me to doctors, made sure I’d eat.
When I was better, her best friend, Renee, got me a job in the saloon.
It wasn’t easy here either. People held a grudge for my debut album and all the ways I sang about wanting to leave my shitty, tiny hometown.
But those grudges were easier to navigate than the absolute disregard people have for you when they reduce you to a sexual transaction—Open your legs, I’ll give you an album.
Get on your knees, I’ll produce a hit for you.
Easier but not easy. After months of just fighting to keep my head above water here, I had one bad day too many. And that’s when I texted you.”
“To play a gig in the Rattlesnake Saloon because you needed brownie points,” he recalled the message.
“The tour getting cancelled didn’t ruin my career,” I said to bring us back to the point. “And if we could go back in time, I wouldn’t ask you to do anything differently.”
“I knew things had gone off the rails with Marble Audio, but I never imagined anything like this.”
“Yeah…” I sighed and pulled my sleeve back over my wrist.
I’d never told anyone the whole story. Not my mother.
Not my friends. Not even a doctor. At first, I’d been too ashamed to admit that I’d allowed myself to get cornered into those situations, that I should have known better.
I’d since accepted that the problem wasn’t me, it was men who still got away with this kind of behavior, but I still couldn’t open up—because I had gone through all of that, yet I wasn’t ready to give up on music.
People wouldn’t understand. If I didn’t know the effervescent rush of connecting to complete strangers just through a couple of notes, I would consider myself crazy for wanting to go back.
But Brooks knew. Brooks had felt it, the way music surpassed barriers between people and stripped them back to their humanity.
And when he looked at me now, I didn’t see pity or worry. He just looked at me. All of me. And offered me the kind of soft smile that sunk through my skin like warm sunlight.
“Thank you for telling me,” he whispered.
“Is it okay if we don’t talk about it? I just needed you to know that cancelling the tour didn’t ruin my career.”
“Of course. If or when you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you prioritized Skye. She’s such a great kid, and she lucked out with her dad.”
“Believe me, I lucked out with her.” He smiled at the bedroom door. “Again, I’m sorry about the fireworks.”
“Stop apologizing.” I rolled my eyes and poked my toes into his thigh. “You didn’t know—” My own words were cut off by a yawn, so long and loud, Brooks chuckled and squeezed my ankle.
“Do you want to stay here tonight? I can take the couch, and I’ll get you some fresh sheets for Skye’s bed.”
“No, I should probably go home. I need my uniform for work tomorrow, and I still have to figure out what to bring for lunch.” I pushed to my feet and emptied the contents of my kangaroo pouch back into my regular tote bag.
I considered taking the hoodie off for a moment, but I was warm and comfy, and I’d be good to drive in this thing.
“I’ll bring you lunch tomorrow,” Brooks said as he walked me to the suite’s door. He held it open for me, one hand braced on its edge, leaning in slightly, and I forced myself to look anywhere but that sliver of tanned skin between his shirt and his jeans, and the muscle that cut down his hip.
“You don’t have to,” I replied, my voice unusually raspy.
“I want to.”
“Are you sure? Because I can—”
“I want to.”
“Okay.” I should have just walked away. Headed for the elevator. But I wasn’t used to people offering to take care of me, even if it was just a lunch he picked up from one of the snack carts in the park, and I kept staring at him, trying to puzzle him out.
“Cozy is a very cute look on you.” Brooks reached for the string on my hood and gave it a gentle tug, and my stomach fluttered again, flashing back to the weight of his hands on my hips and the taste of his lips on mine.
Nope.
Not going there.
“You’re gonna have to stop saying these things when no one but me is around to hear.”
“Why?”
“Because you give compliments that sound an awful lot like flirting.” I swallowed, hoping that a boundary like this wouldn’t shut him out completely. I liked the comfort he wrapped me in. “Stunning? Awestruck? Cute? You might not mean it that way, but it confuses me a bit.”
“I’m sorry. Let me be perfectly clear.” He let go of the door, only to take hold of the second hoodie string. He tugged on them, tugged me closer. Back to his familiar woodsy scent and the warmth of his chest. My heart thrummed faster.
He leaned down.
His lips hovered an inch over mine, close enough for me to inhale his air.
All my thoughts scrambled, because all I could focus on was the proximity.
I could see the little grooves where his dimples usually resided and the hues of green and brown in his eyes.
Oh. Oh. The narrow space between us charged with anticipation and longing and the heady fear of making a mistake, like jumping from a plane and trusting your parachute would catch you.
“If you want me,” Brooks rasped, “I’m yours.”
He stayed perfectly still.
If I wanted him.
He was giving me an out. But I didn’t want out. I wanted to keep feeling as cherished and safe and light as I did around him. I wanted in.
So I rose to my tiptoes and kissed him. Without pretense. Without audience. Slowly. I savored the softness of his lips mixing with the prickle of his mustache, and the bittersweet taste of his tongue as he teased mine.
His hands slid up my neck to cradle my face as he let me kiss him at my own speed. And he met me at the exact same pace, without rush, striking the perfect balance of softness and hunger.
“That clarifies things,” I whispered when I finally fell back. My lungs ached for fresh air.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep here? In a very unpresumptuous way. Separate beds.” His dark eyes were hooded, fixed to my burning lips, and he didn’t let go of my face just yet. “You shouldn’t be driving alone at this time.”
“I’m sure.” I forced the words out against the prickling of my skin and the heat in my lower abdomen. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“I’m the one with the guitar, Addie baby.”
My chest did its stupid fluttery thing at that nickname, and I had to turn and head straight for the elevator, or my traitorous body would have found good reason to stay.