“You ready?” she asks, swiping all of her makeup off the vanity into a large bag.
“After you,” I say, happy that she broke me from my daydream. Extending an arm out toward the door, she bumps into me on purpose as she passes by. I shake my head at her and follow her out.
Back outside, in the cool hallway, we gather Raleigh and Dalton and head for the box seats I’d sat in earlier. “Would it be okay if I put my arm around you?” I whisper.
Her sweet smile lights up her face as she looks up at me. “I’d like that.”
Not needing any more confirmation than that, I drape my arm around her shoulders. Her left arm circles around my back, andher head falls into the crook of my arm. The click of a camera causes me to look back for an offender, but it’s just Raleigh. Holding onto Mae a little tighter, we pass through a few more secluded hallways before taking the elevator up.
Hannah, Ben, and the kids meet us at the door. Carly immediately grabs Mae’s hand and leads her to the railing. “Look at them down there!” she exclaims. “I wish they would wear sparkly outfits like you.”
“Why’s that?” Mae asks, stifling a laugh.
“Because it’d be cooler,” Carly answers matter-of-factly.
Mae twists back to glance at the rest of us with a smile. Her hair is hanging over her shoulders and down her back in natural waves. The picture-perfect smile on her face exudes happiness. I can’t get over how beautiful she is.
Ben’s slap on the back distracts me from my ogling, and my concrete feet move forward to stand by the girls. They’ve removed the stage quickly to make way for the bull rider introductions. While the rodeo is the “main act,” I don’t see how any seven-second ride could overshadow Mae’s performance. I mean, how many instruments did she play? I didn’t even recognize one of them.
As the first rider enters the ring, food is served. Mae gets the hotdog she was craving, along with a whole array of barbecue and sides. At one point, she curls herself around my free arm and squeezes it. When she pulls away, I slide my arm across the back of her chair, brushing my fingers through her hair.
Having a woman beside me has never felt this natural. We’ve grown a bit closer since we first met, thanks to flirty but honest texting and a couple of short phone calls. It’s turning into more than that, though; I’m glad she’s comfortable with me and that she tells me that fact.
Her fans have done their damndest to let me know that if I hurt her like the last guy, I’m a dead man. And yes, ladies, I can“fight.” I can’t even fathom hurting her like the last guy. Pulling her a little closer to me, I try to expel the thoughts of Trenton Travers from my mind. Her fans had given me the rundown on him, too, and even though I’ve never met the guy, I kind of hate him.
The rodeo continues and soon enough the kids get sleepy. Hannah and Ben bid their goodbyes. With the two kids and their parents gone, it leaves the room feeling empty.
“Should we head out, too?” Mae asks from beside me. “You’ve got meetings and practice tomorrow, so do you want to turn in or …”
“Well, I’d really like to keep hanging out with you. If that’s alright.” I leave out the fact that I might like to hang out with her the rest of my life because I figure that might freak her out.
She nods, and then her eyes light up with an idea. “Have you ever heard of Dillon’s?”
“The dance hall? Darlin’, you forget I’m from here.” I cringe at my southern drawl. I only pull that out when I’m nervous, but Mae is none the wiser.
“You want to go? I think my friend Chris is playing there tonight.” She reaches for her phone, ready to text him upon my response.
“I’m not much for dancing, but I suppose for you I will.” I shrug. I’d be up to just about anything if it’s with her.
She reaches out and pinches my cheek. “Well, aren't you just the sweetest?” she says before rolling her eyes and tapping away.
She shifts her phone towards me as the response comes up.
Mae:In town. Hoping to catch you play at Dillon’s tonight.
Chris Mayfield:Anything for you. Mitch will send Raleigh the details. Excited to see you… and hopefully that football player.
“Do I know any of his songs?” I ask as she takes the phone away.
She shrugs and puts her phone in her pocket. “Probably not. Chris has been playing bars and dance halls for like 20 years,” she explains. “Never was a fan of the city lights or the draw of Nashville, though.”
“How do you know him?” I ask, thinking the question is harmless enough.
I feel her stiffen, and I can tell that question has pinched a nerve that I don’t yet understand. “His wife got me a gig opening for him. That show launched my career. I owe them both a lot.”
“I get it.” I run my palms down my jeans and then extend an arm to her. “Well, I’m excited.”
“He’ll put on a heck of a show,” she says, having already bounced back from the sore question.
