20. Rory
RORY
Tonight, I’m going to be smart and use the stroller, but first I have to get Layla and her stuff down the steps of the bus.
“Here, let me help you.” Our security guy Edmond smiles as he grabs the contraption.
“You’re a lifesaver. Thanks.” I get the baby strapped in, and we book it for the pavilion. A few guys watch me as I cross the parking lot, and I debate my outfit for the millionth time.
Calm down. Your friends said this looked good. That it wasn’t too much.
I texted photos of every outfit I wanted to buy to Baylee, Paige, and Honey because I have zero fashion sense beyond liking vintage dresses.
When I reach the VIP line, I flash my credentials and make my way to the green room. Tonight is a big deal for the guys. They’re at the larger stage. I want to wish them luck and smooth things over with Cooper and Shane. I didn’t mean to be snarky to their guest this morning.
When Frank spots me, he smiles. “Come in. We have about ten minutes before the guys need to go.”
“Thanks.” I push the stroller into the green room that smells like old gear and musty furniture. Jace is talking with his friends, but when he sees me, he stills. His eyes travel slowly up and down my body, and I feel that look everywhere.
This outfit is more adventurous than I’m used to, but I feel pretty.
Except it’s been a long time since I tried to look nice.
I’m wearing a black bikini top with a wispy, sheer, long-sleeved shirt that I left open and a pair of jean shorts.
Plus some dangly earrings, matching bangle bracelets, and a long necklace.
After I bought all of these clothes, the shop owner suggested I pop in next door to get my hair and makeup done. They squeezed me in, so I now have a whole new makeup collection and a slew of hair products.
It’s a lot, but I don’t remember the last time I bought myself new clothes. After getting fired, I figured I deserved to treat myself.
Jace’s grin goes crooked. “Hey, gorgeous.”
I almost look behind me until I realize he’s talking to me. “Hi.”
He leans over to kiss me, and I go with it. We’re supposed to be married after all. There are a few people in here I don’t know, and obviously Jace wants this ruse to be convincing. I will my pulse to slow down.
When we part, I look up at him with what I hope is affection in my eyes, fully committed to my role. He’s particularly handsome tonight in a button-up short-sleeved shirt that’s tucked into his jeans, a backwards baseball cap, and his cowboy boots.
“I brought everyone a pre-show snack.” I whip out the fudge I bought this afternoon.
“Thanks, babe.” Jace winks, takes a square, and shoves the entire thing in his mouth.
I laugh and offer them to his bandmates.
When I get to Cooper, who’s leaning against the wall, he rubs his hands together. “My favorite. Thanks.”
“I’m sorry about this morning,” I say quietly. “I didn’t mean to be rude to your friend.”
“It’s all good,” he says as he chomps his snack.
I hope that’s true. I don’t want there to be bad blood between us. And his situation with his girlfriend is none of my beeswax.
When the guys gear up to go on stage, I get Layla out of her stroller and hand her to her dad.
After he kisses her chubby cheek, Jace holds her with one arm and tosses his other around my shoulders as we head to the stairs.
“I might be late tonight. We’re supposed to cross-promote with the other bands afterward. ”
“Do you want me to grab you some dinner? I was going to get something after the show.”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
I open my mouth to respond, but I’m shoved back by a whirlwind of red as a woman scoots between us and throws herself at him.
“Jace! Oh my God, it’s been a million years! How are you?”
Behind her, Frank sports a fierce frown. When he makes eye contact with me, he mouths, “Marlowe.”
Dang it, I wondered if this was Jace’s ex, the one he swore he didn’t date but obviously loved.
She’s beautiful and tall with a mass of sleek red hair and all kinds of curves that put my bikini-clad boobs to shame. I tuck my shirt closed and back away, but once the clinger lets go of him, Jace grabs my hand and tugs me closer.
“Hey, Marlowe. What’s up?” he says casually as he hands me Layla.
She does that thing where she sizes me up in two seconds and turns so I’m not part of this conversation. “I’ve missed you! I’m so glad we’re on tour together again. This summer is going to be fun.”
So much fun.
“Walker.” Frank motions to the stage, and Jace nods.
I expect him to wrap things up with Marlowe. Instead, he turns to me and cups my face. “Meet up later?”
“Yeah. I’ll grab you dinner.”
When he leans down to kiss me, I shove my hand in his thick hair. I’m committed to selling this kiss.
Except I don’t have to.
Because the moment our lips part and his tongue strokes mine for the first time, I let out an embarrassingly loud moan.
Like an involuntary response, my fingers tighten in his hair as my nipples go rock hard.
Layla pats my face. “Mama!”
Wow. I forgot I was holding Layla. I back away with a laugh and hug Layla to my chest. “Good luck tonight. Not that you need it.”
Did Layla call me Mama? No, silly. She’s at that age where she confuses a female with her mommy.
Jace winks and heads for the stairs.
All the while, his ex watches us with wide eyes.
I’m tempted to tell her I’m just as stunned by this turn of events as she is. Instead, I smile at her naively, like I don’t know what she was trying to do a minute ago.
But I have one advantage—I know this is all pretend.
Somehow, Jace’s show is even better than last night. When he sings, I swear it feels like he’s singing to me, but I realize that’s delusional. All around me, gorgeous women scream his name, and backstage, I spot Marlowe watching him with what I can only imagine is regret in her eyes.
Because if Jace loved me, and I let him go, I’d regret it too.
Tonight, they sing “Dead Flowers” again, and if I’m not mistaken, those words have a little more meaning with his ex in the wings.
I get tons of video and photos for their social media. On my way back to the bus, I grab burgers and fries for Jace and myself, plus chicken nuggets and fruit for the baby. Jace already had “nugs” for lunch.
After Layla and I eat, I clean her up, get her to bed, and then take a quick shower. I expected to be wiped out after today, but I’m a little wired. I sort of understand what Jace means by getting amped up by the adrenaline.
I need to process… well, everything, so I grab my journal and my favorite book, Pride and Prejudice, because you can never read that too many times.
But when I get out my olive-green canvas tote, I frown. My beautiful magenta journal with the smooth dot grid paper isn’t in the place it usually is—in one of the middle upright pockets, next to my pen pouch and washi tape holder.
It’s in the side pocket.
Weird.
Would Jace have gone through my things? He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to be nosy. I get the impression that if he wants to know something, he’ll ask.
Maybe I put the journal there accidentally? I suppose it’s possible.
This has been one of the longest stretches I’ve gone without journaling, but things have been busy. I flip to a fresh page and brain-dump everything that’s been going on since we left Wild Heart.
I’m still not crazy about sharing accommodations with a busload of men, but having the back bedroom gives me a reprieve from all of that testosterone.
I’m also really drained at times from being around people.
Part of me misses being able to hole up in my apartment for an entire weekend and turn off my brain.
Except I’m enjoying my time with Layla. She’s such a good, easygoing baby. It’s easy to love her.
But my biggest revelation is I’m having fun on this tour. I’m outside my comfort zone almost every minute I’m here, but it’s pushing me to try new things.
I also have to admit I misjudged Jace.
He’s not the turd I thought he was last winter. He’s sweet and caring and really freaking talented.
And then I confess the part I’ll never say out loud—that I’m not sure how to prepare myself for this tour to end. Because at some point, I’m getting off this bus, literally and figuratively.
After I’ve purged my soul and tucked my journaling supplies away, I must doze off because when I open my eyes, Jace is sliding into bed. “How did it go tonight?” I whisper groggily.
“Great. We talked to Niles Prescott, the VP of Bandit. He wants me to focus on writing. Basically said if I can pen two or three more good songs, he’ll sign us.”
“I’m so happy for you.” There’s something I’m forgetting. Food. “Did you eat? I left you a plate in the lounge.” I wrote his name on it so no one would touch it.
“Found it. Wolfed it down as soon as we got back. Thanks for the doggy bag.”
He smells like he just showered. Smiling, I close my eyes and breathe him in.
“Rory.” I open my eyes and find him turned to me, so I shift until we’re facing each other. “Niles said he was impressed with your posts. You got us ten thousand followers overnight. Your video went viral.”
I sit up in bed. “Are you serious?”
He laughs and tugs me back down. “Completely serious.” Cupping my face, he studies me. “I know you didn’t wanna come on this tour, but you’ve been amazing. I love seeing you in the audience during the shows, and I’m really grateful Layla has you.”
My heart thrashes in my chest. “I’m having fun.”
“What was that?” he asks, chuckling, as he cups his ear, and I shove him playfully.
He shoves me back, and I tickle him.
Laughing, he grabs me and twists us around, until I’m pinned down and he’s hovering over me, close enough that I can smell his minty breath.
In the streetlight that peeks through the blinds, I can make out the taut lines of his arms as his muscles bulge.
How I’d love to run my finger over his shoulders.
He’s a work of art. Sighing, I shake my head.
“This is a bad idea.” But oh my God, I’ve never wanted to do something more.
“I know.” He leans down and brushes his nose against mine.
I swallow, afraid to ask this question but needing to know. “Is this just about a release?”
“No.” But then he sighs. “At least, I don’t think so.”
He flops back on his side of the bed and covers his face with his arm while I try to catch my breath. When he stays quiet, I nudge him. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Trust me when I say you don’t want to know what’s in my head right now.”
“Maybe I do.”
He glances at me, a question in his eyes. “When this tour is over, we’re both going our separate ways, right? You’re gonna look for a job, and I’m… well, I don’t know where I’ll be. That’s kinda the point here. I don’t know. So I can’t promise anything. I can’t offer you a relationship.”
I’m not sure why, but his words strike a chord. “Did I ask you for a relationship?” This conversation is stupid. We’re already married, for Pete’s sake. In name, at least. But not in a way that matters.
“No, but…” He pauses to press his palms into his eyes. “For the things I wanna do with you, I’d be an asshole to suggest them without also offering to date you.”
Is he saying he wants to have sex with me? My whole body lights up again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden that bicycle. I’m not sure I remember how to do it,” I joke, not knowing what else to say.
“This is why Rhett suggested rules,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just… I’m dumb.”
Reality settles in.
No, I’m the dumb one for feeling tempted. Because I won’t be the one to help him break his sex fast. What if he goes off the rails? I don’t want that responsibility. “We’re not going to do this. I’m not your type, remember?” How could I have forgotten what he said last winter?
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m just reminiscing about what you told Vance Kozlov at your brother’s wedding.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why are we talking about that jackass?”
“I thought… I thought you two were friends?”
“No. He shows up to all of our gigs and expects to get in free. He crashed Mav’s wedding for the food. What kind of dickhead does that?”
Huh. Did I misunderstand that conversation? “When Vance asked you about me, you told him, and I quote, ‘She’s not my type.’ And then Vance called me a dog, and you stayed silent.” It’s all coming back to me now.
His frown deepens. “I’d never let a man talk about a woman like that. I must not have heard him.” But that still doesn’t explain—“As for the ‘not my type’ accusation, I’ve been saying that for months about everyone. So my friends would stop trying to set me up.”
Hmm. That makes sense.
And now I’m annoyed with myself for bringing it up. He tugs on my hand, and I bat it away. “I’m sorry I assumed the worst.”
He chuckles and laces our fingers together. “Come here.”
I shake my hand free. “You’re just horny. Go do push-ups.” Because this can’t really be about me. He’s hyped on the rush of his show and meeting executives from his label.
“I already did a hundred.”
I glance at him and laugh at the annoyed expression on his face. But then it occurs to me this might be about a beautiful redhead. “Did you see Marlowe again tonight?”
He nods slowly. “We all hung out and took pics. Signed autographs. Did a couple of shots.”
“And? Did you fall at her feet in supplication?”
His grin emerges. “Nope.”
A slab of concrete lifts off my chest in relief. “We shouldn’t mess this up,” I say quietly. “We both have too much riding on your tour, but maybe we can be friends.”
“We’re married,” he says.
“On paper. Practically speaking, I’m just your nanny.”
“So… friends. Instead of—?”
“Instead of strangers who go their separate ways in a few months and never talk again.”
He grins and turns to face me. “Why, Aurora Anderson, are you saying you wanna be in my life?”
“I’m saying I know where this ends if we throw caution to the wind, and I don’t want to feel disposable when you decide to move on.” Perhaps that was too honest, but I can’t take the words back.
His eyes soften. “Maybe you’re the one who moves on. Maybe you crush me under your little Chucks.”
Rolling my eyes, I giggle. “Shut up, fool.”
He rubs a strand of my hair between his fingers. “Can we still snuggle?”
I tap my chin as I pretend to think about it. “Depends. Can I be the little spoon?”
When he moves closer and tucks me to his warm chest, I sigh.
Snuggling doesn’t have to mean anything.