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“I never said I did.” I don’t need Rooster to make me happy, but I sure do crave his smooth, mellow voice at the end of a long, grueling day. He always listens and offers words of encouragement—something I seem to require more than usual these days.
“Use him for what he’s good for and be on your way,” she says.
Maybe she’ll never believe me, but Rooster’s good for more than sex. These last few months, it’s been nice to have someone—besides my mother—to share good stuff with. Like, the deal I landed that put two of my songs in heavy rotation in every single Southwest Steakhouse in the country. Rooster had been so stoked when he saw my picture in his local restaurant, he called me right away.
I don’t need years of experience to know men like Rooster are rare.
Arguing with her when she’s wound up on this topic is pointless. “Sure.”
“You need to invest your time and energy into yourself, not a relationship.”
Tears well up in my eyes. I’m so done with this conversation. “You’re right,” I answer in a calm, even voice. “I’ll end it tomorrow.”
I hang up, only feeling a little guilty for lying to my momma.Chapter EighteenShelby
Something scratches against the lock and a few seconds later the door swings open.
Rooster. Even better-looking than he was when he left.
I swipe a stray tear or two off my cheeks, swallow down the lump in my throat, and force a bright smile.
He’s not fooled.
“Who were you talking to?” He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. He’s all menacing scowl, as if he wants to hunt down whoever has upset me.
“My mom.”
His frown gives way to a smile. “How is Lynn? She get the videos?”
“Oh, yeah. She wanted all the details.”
His gaze drops to the tarot cards spread out in front of me.
I lean forward and hurry to scoop them up—not that he would be able to interpret the cards any better than I did. No, I bet a logical, practical man like Rooster would think I was ridiculous for dabbling in this stuff.
“What’s that?” One corner of his mouth twitches.
“Nothing.”
“You trying to talk to spirits or ghosts or somethin’?” He flashes a grin.
I roll my eyes. “You’re thinking of a Ouija board. Not the same thing. At all.”
He moves closer to the bed. Concern darkens his features. “What’s wrong? You look upset. Is your mom okay?”
Bet he wouldn’t give a damn if he knew how adamant she was that we shouldn’t be more than fuck buddies.
I sniffle, annoyed with myself for letting my momma rattle my cage. I’m twenty-two years old. But her dang guilt trips do me in every time. I’m tired of feeling responsible for ruining her life.
“She’s fine.” I let out a sad laugh and shake my head. “Opinionated as ever.”
“Was she happy about your duet?”
“Oh yeah.”
He drops down on the edge of the bed and I reach over, placing my hand over his. Gosh, he’s big. “Be honest—did it bother you? Me singing with Dawson?”
His mouth twists and he glances away.
My heart sinks.
Momma was right.
“Hey.” He places a finger under my chin and lifts my head. “Bother isn’t the right word. I can’t lie, though. I want to beat any man who gets too close to you half to death.” His lips quirk. “But I can control myself.” He half shrugs. “Most of the time.”
His teasing finally pulls a chuckle from me. “Great. Feeling much better now.”
“I’m not dumb, Shelby.” His mouth flattens into a serious line. “I get how important last night was for you. You need the visibility. I hope every one of his fans went home and bought your album. Don’t ever think you have to turn down an opportunity like that because it’s going to make me jealous.”
Shoot, if all these sweet words keep flowing past his lips, I’ll never stop falling for him. I push forward onto my knees and shuffle closer, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me.”
He kisses the tip of my nose. “Now, if he touches you offstage, or says something inappropriate, all bets are off. I will fuck him up.”
I shake with laughter. “That’s fair.”
“I meant what I said. I want to be by your side, not stand in your way.”
My silly heart sprouts wings and threatens to fly out of my chest. Too bad I’m about to open my big mouth and risk slapping it down. “Yeah?” I tease, feeling shitty for what I’m about to say. “The big, bossy biker, won’t eventually demand I put down some roots? Be home to cook dinner?”
“Is that how you see me?” He cocks his head. Shoot, maybe I hurt his feelings. “Some meathead asshole who thinks your career is a cute little hobby?”
“No, Rooster. It’s not.” It’s how my momma sees you. And now her words are messin’ with my head.
