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“Oh.” He glances over. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.” I’m not mad at all. I’m impressed with his plan. It just seems like an awful lot of work.
“What about a short video of Cindy doing your hair and stuff for the show?”
“Who wants to see that?”
“I’m thinking an obsessive stalker would love to see it.”
“Ick.”
“Some of your female fans might get a kick out of it too. A behind-the-scenes glimpse.”
“I guess. We’ll have to check with Cindy and make sure she’s okay with it, though.”
“All right. If not, maybe you and Trent collaborating on a song. A little peek of your songwriting process.”
“Don’t you think filming me with another guy might tick him off?”
“Maybe. What about a simple yoga routine? That can’t possibly offend anyone, right?”
“Oh, I like that idea.”
Now that we seem to have a plan, Rooster reaches over and rests his hand on my leg. “You were amazing tonight. I forgot to tell you.”
Maybe it’s exhaustion or stress from the day but tears prick my eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“Your throat feeling okay?”
“Not great.”
“You want to close your eyes and rest? I’ll wake you when we get there.”Rooster
The clubhouse is quieter than I expected. No party in the parking lot tonight. Music still spills out the front door but it’s nowhere near the usual volume.
I’m actually relieved. I need to talk to Ice, and I want Shelby to get some rest.
Jigsaw’s boots crunch over the gravel and I open the truck door to meet him outside so he doesn’t wake Shelby.
“She all right?” he asks.
“Just tired, I think.”
“Tell her your plan?”
I glance back at the truck before answering. “Yeah. She shot down my first idea but I think we settled on something else.”
He stares at me. “Planning to share?”
“No, because if you say something obnoxious, I’ll punch you.”
“How bad can it be?”
“We were thinking one of her short yoga sequences. Sharing how she prepares for a show, kind of thing.”
Jigsaw bites his lip, and wiggles his jaw from side to side.
“Motherfucker, I swear to—”
“No, no, no. It’s perfect pervert-catching material.”
“Do you have to be an asshole?”
He scratches the side of his head. “It’s why I was put on this earth.”
“Lucky us.” I jerk my head toward the truck. “Come on. I want to get her inside.”
“Switch those last two words around, and I’ll believe you.”
“Christ, you’re a fucking pain in the ass,” I grumble, stalking to Shelby’s side of the truck. “We’re here, chickadee,” I say in a hushed voice.
“Jesus.” Jiggy leans on the truck and stares up at the sky. “I haven’t seen you like this since high school.”
“What’s your point?”
He glances at Shelby. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“I’m never fucking you, so put that thought right outta yer head,” Shelby rasps.
“You’re awake.” He slaps the side of the truck. “Listening in?”
“Kinda hard not to hear your big mouth.” She slides out of the truck.
I’m busy laughing for a solid minute. Hell, even Jiggy’s laughing.
“Now, why did your dirty little mind go there, Shelby?” Jigsaw asks with a big grin stretched across his face.
She waves her hands in the air. “That story you told about giving up your V-card to his girlfriend.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” I correct.
“Ex. Whatever.”
“That was years ago.” Jigsaw pulls a puppy-dog face. “I’ve matured since then.”
“If you’re not planning to help unload the truck, can you at least get out of my way?” I shove him to the side and yank open the back door, pulling out Shelby’s bags.
She and Jiggy continue their verbal sparring all the way into the clubhouse. I can’t help watching with a goofy-as-fuck grin. Nothing better than a sassy woman who can go toe to toe with my best friend.
We say hello to a few brothers we pass in the clubhouse. Ice and Pants are nowhere to be found. I’ll have to try to catch Ice in the morning.
And catch myself a stalker tomorrow night.Chapter Fifty-SevenShelby
Tonight, I’m more alert, and I study the clubhouse as we walk to our room.
Jiggy gives Rooster a fist bump and says good night at our door.
Inside, I take my backpack and one of my totes from Rooster. “I’m sorry you’re always schlepping my stuff around.”
“It’s fine.”
I drop my bag on the bed and unzip it, searching for my jammy pants. “So, is this place where the porno magic happens?” I ask.
“Are you still pissy about my job?” He stalks closer, hands on his hips.
I snort. “Some job.”
“Seriously?”
“Sorry, guess I haven’t had a lot of time to process—”
“Don’t,” he warns me. “You got some motherfucker stalking you, and you lied to me about it for days.”
“I didn’t lie about anything.”
“Are you fucking kidding?”
I hurry and dig through my backpack faster. Where are my damn pants? My fingers brush against something soft, and I pull out the velvet bag with my tarot cards. I’ve been too scared to do a reading since the last one where the devil card and his two buddies popped up again.
