I feel so uncomfortable.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, how I’m supposed to act. But I have a famous rock star and an arena full of cheering fans who want something from me, and my job is to give it to them.
So I squeal and push back from Connor just enough to swat his chest.
And think.
“Nuh-uh,” I say in a sassy voice. “My parents are present. You really think I’m gonna kiss on the first date?”
Connor laughs into his microphone and steps back, bowing his head in apology. “Pardon me, Miss Lucy. You’re just so beautiful, I forgot my manners.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I say, eyeing him playfully.
He looks every bit the country star he is.
Even if he’s from California.
“Well, don’t just stand there, handsome. I got a song to play! Either pick up a guitar and show these fans what you got or wait for me backstage so we can …” I raise my eyebrows at him for effect, “set up that date.”
He holds a hand over his heart dramatically. “I don’t think your band would forgive me for stepping on their toes, so I’ll wait for you,” he says, walking backward over cords like he’s done this a hundred times.
Then he takes a half-dozen steps back and kisses my hand.
“I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
He says it with such sincerity, I can’t tell if he’s acting or not.
I bring the hand he kissed up to my mouth, my fingers touching my lips, and I’m not sure if I’m acting or not, either.
I look at the crowd, letting my eyes go as big as saucers. “Y’all, what am I supposed to do now? Connor Nash just kissed me on the cheek and asked me out!”
The noise from the crowd could blow the roof off this arena, and I let myself feel their joy, their excitement, as I laugh.
I just hope it will smooth over my nerves.
Is he really waiting backstage for me?
My band comes back on, playing one of the last songs in my setlist, and I run offstage to give the roses to a stage tech and tear away the ball gown, leaving the tight black mini dress.
“One more song and then the encore,” I whisper to myself.
“Counting down the seconds till you get to see your boyfriend?” Patty says in my ear, his voice as tart as rhubarb. But then it changes. “Put him out of your mind, Queenie. You command the stage as well as anyone I’ve ever seen. Finish strong.”
I have to pass his booth to get back on stage, and I spin and blow him a kiss before going out there. “Always do,” I say, the bravado helping me as much as his chuckle does.
Pushing Connor Nash out of my head, I focus on giving the fans the show they paid for. Their energy feeds me, giving me all the motivation I need.
But as soon as the encore is over—after my band hugs each other and smiles at me, after my bodyguard whisks me away into my dressing room—I’m left wondering if I have the motivation to leave for the unknown that awaits me in the green room.
Is he really waiting for me?
Do I want him to be?
And what if Patty’s out there?
That thought makes my guts clench like I have a stomach bug. I’m not sure if I’m more or less reluctant now.
I hang my head, pressing my fingertips into my jaw, which is so much better than the pressure point in my hand I always used to press. Fussing over what to do isn’t helping, and fussing at all is silly. My family is out there! I should go.
