Chapter 7
SEVEN
June
When I wake up the next morning, Deke is already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed.
Immediately, I’m hit with a bad feeling.
My throat constricts and hollowness creeps into my stomach.
I consider pretending to be asleep a little longer, just so I can savor the intimacy of sleeping beside him, even if it was only for one night, but no.
I need to face the music like a big girl, so I sit up against the headboard with a pillow tight to my chest.
Deke faces away from me in his signature black T-shirt and jeans.
His hat is in place, his head bowed forward, hands clasped loosely between his long legs.
This is the man who made love to me last night in the exact way I’ve needed it for so long.
In the exact way I’ve always dreamed of, twisted though it was.
Last night wasn’t something cheap or sordid.
It was a celebration of the secret I’ve held for so long. It was validation.
This morning, I’m no longer a prisoner of shame.
Deke set me free.
It appears he’s on the verge of setting me even freer, however.
I can read his body language. And I want to lunge toward him and wrap my arms around his thick body from behind. I want to beg him not to give me whatever speech he’s got planned to let me down easy. But I can’t find the words. They’re stuck underneath the lump in my throat.
“Morning,” Deke says gruffly, without turning around.
I banish the object in my throat with a heavy swallow. “Morning.” My voice is wobbly. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine.”
Liar. It was better than fine. We slept naked and entwined. It was glorious.
“Listen, June Bug.” He swipes off his hat and runs five fingers through his hair. “Last night was…incredible. It was something special. But it was a one-time thing. Understand?”
I knew the speech was coming. It hurts all the same. Hurts worse, because now the words have been spoken out loud. They sit in the air like a stain.
A surprising sense of calm comes over me.
I’m not sure where it comes from. But I’m a different girl than I was last night, before I came to this bed.
I’ve shed the secret I’ve been walking around with ever since I could remember.
This strange and confusing desire to make love to a man I once considered a father figure.
To have him explore my body and take pleasure in it.
In me. Whatever shame or insecurity I had about Deke has evaporated.
I felt his body erupt inside of mine.
I watched him grow consumed by lust. For me.
In the absence of my shame, there’s confidence.
I’m not going back.
Deke wants to push me away? I’ll go. But I’m not above making him suffer.
“A one-night stand is fine with me,” I say, climbing out of bed and dropping the pillow, leaving myself naked in the sunlight. “I learned a lot about myself. Things that are going to be valuable in the near future, you know?”
He shoves the hat back down on his head. “Meaning what?”
I find my panties on the floor and slide them up my legs into place, before I go searching for my jeans.
There. I put them on, too. “Meaning the things I learned about myself in bed with you last night will help me communicate more clearly in future relationships. What I need. What I expect. Et cetera.”
Deke’s head turns very slowly, his narrowed eyes finding me over his shoulder. “What kind of a game are you playing right now?”
“No game. I’m grateful for the experience.” I cross the room topless into Deke’s eyeline, noticing the instant drooping of his eyelids and the way his fingers clench together until his knuckles are white. “Wow. How did my bra end up all the way over here?”
He levels me with a frown.
“What?” I twirl the bra around my finger. “Did you think I was going to cry and plead to be your girlfriend or something?”
“Or something,” he grits out.
I loop my arms through my bra straps and quickly fasten the garment into place, swooping down to pick up my shirt in one hand, boots in the other.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I say, pivoting on a heel and leaving the bedroom.
As soon as Deke can no longer see my face, hot moisture crowds unwanted behind my eyes.
I walk faster toward the exit. Before I can open it, a hand smacks down on the door, barring my escape.
“What are you doing?” I complain without turning around.
“We’re getting back on the road soon and I need to shower. Move.”
His hands settle on my shoulders, turning me.
Panicked, I struggle in his hold, not wanting him to see my face.
In the end, Deke is too strong, though, and he gets my back up against the door, his fingers tilting up my chin just in time to catch a tear rolling down my cheek.
“Goddammit, baby,” he rasps, catching it with the pad of his thumb.
I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge an inch, the jerk. “I was trying to make it easy for you!”
He shakes his head, his expression troubled. Regretful. “I don’t need it to be easy.”
“Why couldn’t you just let me walk out of here with my pride? Is this fun for you?”
“No. God, no.” He cradles my face in his hands. “June, I’m not commitment material. You deserve someone younger who is a whole lot less cynical and angry at the world. Not to mention, I drink enough to sink a cruise ship…and I’m not sure I can stop. I would make you fucking miserable.”
“I didn’t ask you for a commitment,” I manage, chest aching.
“You’re not the kind of girl who has to ask. It’s just a given.”
“Not with you, I guess.” I’m immediately annoyed with myself for saying that, because it sounds whiny and immature, so I tack on, “Someday I’ll find someone who will want to commit to me. Hopefully they don’t mind me calling them Daddy.”
His eyes are instantly icy, his jaw bunched.
That powerful chest of his heaves up and down as he leans in close, his minty breath washing over my face. “You and I both know you’ll never be able to call another man Daddy, June Bug. That’s something that’s between us and no one else.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. Still, I shrug. “We’ll see.”
This time, when I push him away, he allows me enough space to leave with my purse and luggage, watching me escape through glacial blue eyes.
I have a good, long cry in the shower, then I set about repairing the damage with concealer and some cream blush.
Mascara. I crouch down in front of my open luggage considering my options.
I want to wallow in a hoodie and jeans, but instead I opt for a short, fluttery floral skirt and a strapless white top.
My cowboy boots complete the ensemble. While I would love to twist my hair up into a bun, I leave it loose and wavy.
For a girl who’s just been given The Talk by a man she’s obsessed over from afar for years, I suppose I look pretty good.
With a long-suffering sigh, I wheel my luggage out of the room and go downstairs to the lobby buffet for breakfast. As soon as I walk into the dining room, I spot the big group of Deke Decker roadies and musicians.
Deke sits among them with his back to the wall, scowling into a mug of coffee.
His gaze tracks me to the hostess station when I enter, but I ask to sit alone.
Not only would I rather stab myself with a fork than have a conversation right now, but I need to call ahead to the next tour stop and make sure Deke’s clothes are ready, food options secured, media outlets informed of his arrival.
There is a master list of items that a personal assistant to a country music star must always have on hand. Tide pens, Ibuprofen, a needle and thread. A phone charger. Water. Wet wipes. Band-Aids. A Sharpie in case someone asks for an autograph. Condoms.
I have all of those things, but I double check my purse, just in case.
I search twice—and I don’t find the Ibuprofen.
Dammit. That’s one of the more important items.
No big deal, though. I’ll just run to the lobby gift shop and grab some. I’ll be back before they even bring my coffee. I leave my roller suitcase propped by the table and exit the restaurant, making quick work of the carpeted hallway on my way to the gift shop.
As soon as I step into the lobby, I’m brought up short by a loud shout.
“There. That’s her!”
A crowd surges toward me, camera phones up, hands reaching out.
In mere seconds, I’m surrounded by people who seem to know my name.
“Sing ‘Sweet Venom’!”
A flash goes off too close to my face. “Are you sleeping with Deke Decker?”
“It sure seemed like it on stage last night.”
Security guards wrestle with the crowd, but there are too many people. It seems surreal that they would be here for me. How many views did that viral video end up getting last night? How is this happening?
Someone pinches my butt, and I yelp, spinning around blindly and stumbling into a woman, my toe getting caught in the edge of a rug, sending me sprawling onto my hands and knees. “Please,” I say, making myself as small as possible, hands shielding my face. “I can’t see—”
A loud crash quiets the crowd. Followed by a second one, as if someone is kicking furniture or knocking over lamps. “June Bug!” Deke bellows.
“I’m here,” I call back to him over the cacophony of voices.
Several members of the crowd are shoved aside and Deke appears over me like a pissed-off avenging god.
I don’t think, I just hold my hands up to him like a child and I’m off the floor in a millisecond, cradled to his brawny chest as he sweeps me from the lobby.
“How did this happen?” Deke is roaring over my head. “You call this fucking security?”
I take a tiny peek and see there are still people recording us on their phones, so I turn my face into Deke’s chest and take a moment to appreciate the musk that clings to him.
How his arms make me feel more secure than anything ever has before.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, rubbing my face against his pec. “I just got startled.”
“There’s a rug burn on your knee,” he shouts back at me.
“Oh.”
The voices around us die down and when I lift my head again, we’re back in the restaurant and Deke is sitting down at my table with me in his lap. “I saw all the shit you carry in this bag yesterday. You got a Band-Aid and rubbing alcohol?”
“Yes, but I can take care of it myself—”
“Give it to me,” he demands in a growl, already rifling through my purse. “I need to bandage up your knee so I can go back out there and kill the man who knocked you over.”
“Geez. I better not tell you about the guy who pinched my ass.”
“What?”
I swallow. “Just kidding?”
Whit appears to the left of the table, visibly stressed. “Are you okay, June?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“She’s not fucking fine. There’s no skin left on her knee.”
Whit wrings his hands. “We can’t have our viral sensation getting too injured to perform tonight,” he says, followed by a long pause.
“Perform?” me and Deke exclaim simultaneously. “Again?”
The manager laughs nervously. “I didn’t mention that?”