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“Don’t worry about it.” I glance over at Jigsaw. “I know where I can get everything I need.”Chapter Fifty-SixShelby
Guilt washes over me with the lukewarm water in the dressing room shower.
Maybe this is what my momma wanted me to avoid. A man coming in and controlling my business. My father did something similar, taking over bits and pieces of her life until he finally knocked her up and bye-bye, singing career.
At least, that’s her version of the story. Dad’s not exactly around to give me his side.
I’m five years older than she was when she quit singing. Made it a hell of a lot further too. Rooster is nothing like my dad. Then again, my memories could be tainted with my mother’s bitterness and my own heartbreak.
Rooster’s not taking over. He’s trying to help me—that’s another important difference.
But what’s it look like to Dawson? To have my boyfriend handle things? Is he going to think I’m weak and pathetic? This business is hard enough. I want to gain respect from my peers, not pity.
All the men are out there discussing me and I’m in here hiding in the shower.
There’s some creep on the loose who thinks I’m going to have his babies.
My stomach twists. So gross. What kind of sicko thinks like that, let alone puts it in a letter and gives it to another human being? Oh, right. A man like that only sees me as a cute little blonde baby-making machine.
The tap squeaks as I twist it off. I snag my towel from the hook and wrap it around myself.
What are they talking about? Poor Shelby. She really attracts the weirdos? Is Rooster thinking this is too much and he shouldn’t have gotten involved with me? Or maybe he really has some white knight complex and—
Shoot. I need to calm the hell down.
Leaning against the sink, I swipe my hand over the foggy mirror and study my face. I’m so dang pale. Spending way too much time inside.
Quit stalling. Get your ass out there, Shelby Morgan.
I shake my jeans and wiggle into them. They stick in weird spots where my skin’s still damp. I braid my wet hair out of my face and slip on a T-shirt, then flip flop my way to the door. A cloud of steam follows me.
“Feel better?” Rooster asks.
My gaze darts around the room. “Where’d everyone go?”
Jigsaw spreads his hands in front of him. “The most important person is still here.”
That actually makes me chuckle. “Thank you, Jiggy.”
Rooster slides a half-smirk Jigsaw’s way. “Dawson needed to get ready for his set. Trent wanted to go to the hotel. Greg had to take care of some stuff. Told Bane we had you covered for the night. I’m meeting with Greg, Bane, and Trent tomorrow.”
“Wait, you’re what? Why?”
He stands, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead. “I’ll explain on the way to the clubhouse.”
“We’re not staying at the hotel?”
He stops and stares at me. “I didn’t think you’d want to. We can stay anywhere you want. I do need to go to the clubhouse to get some things, though. Either tonight or tomorrow morning.”
“We should stay there then.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I hate having this conversation in front of Jigsaw. As it is, he probably hates that I’m causing his best friend so many problems.
“Come on.” Rooster slings his arm around my shoulders. “You have to be exhausted.”
We grab my stuff and the three of us walk into the hallway. The canned music they play between sets thumps through the air. Outside, I take deep gulps of the muggy night air. Rooster’s right; I’m bone-weary.
Jigsaw pats my back and waits for us to get in the truck before firing up his bike.
“So what plans were you making with all the men while I was showering?” I ask as Rooster twists the key in the ignition.
“Can you help me out of here before we start talking about that?” He reverses out of our spot and points the truck toward the main road.
“Sorry,” I mumble, pulling up the map and directions on my phone. When we’re clear of the arena, Rooster fills me in on his plan.
“Wait, so between now and tomorrow morning, you want to take some cutesy video of me? Doing what?”
“I don’t know. Something your fans haven’t seen before. Something endearing that shows your personality.”
“And you want to create new content like that every night for the rest of the tour or until we catch the creep?” Is he out of his dang mind? “Besides singing, I’m not all that interesting.”
“That’s not true.” He drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. “What about your tarot cards? You could show off a morning reading or something.”
“Rooster.” I try to work my voice down to a reasonable tone. “Lotta country fans are kinda religious. I don’t want to offend them with my new-agey stuff. It won’t go over well.”
