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THIRTY-THREE

TATE

By the time Saturday arrives, date number six is locked and loaded with the help of the girls. Being suspended from driving isn’t too bad now, because it means I can keep my eyes on Talia the entire drive. She’s prettier than a sunset over the Smoky Mountains, her naturally wavy hair has a few extra curls to it, framing her heart-shaped face in a curtain of glossy fire. In her curve-hugging denim dress, she’s an absolute goddess. Don’t get me started on the boots.

Then there’s the cherry-red lipstick. My kryptonite. I’m half hard imagining those rouge lips stretched around my cock, smudging up the pristine lines along her Cupid’s bow. She always looks good dirty.

“You’re staring again,” she sings as she veers off the highway, following my vague directions to our destination.

“Shh. I’m admiring my favorite view.”

“You’re such a cheese ball.” She laughs the prettiest tune. “Are your songs this corny?”

I chuckle. “You tell me.”

The cab grows quiet.

“You’ve heard my songs—my new ones?”

She purses her lips.

“Or I guess not.” It shouldn’t sting. Not after we established she hadn’t watched any of my live performances.

Her furrowed brow deepens as she glances my way before returning her eyes to the road. “I was sad and angry when you left. A bitter mess, and I couldn’t bring myself to listen to your new album.” She reaches for the radio and switches it on. “Why don’t we see if they’re playing one of your songs on the radio?”

I switch it off.

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not mad you didn’t listen to them.” I bump my fist on the dash as I search for the right words. “I guess seeing me on stage or hearing my songs would remind you of a time you’d rather forget. If I’m honest, I lost myself in my work those first few months. I spent all my spare time in the studio, hardly sleeping. It’s no wonder I ran myself into the ground.”

“I was the same.” Her grip on the steering wheel tightens, the leather squeaking. “I didn’t come up for air until we went out for Harriet’s birthday last October. That was the night she met Warren.”

“At the fair? Damn, they were always a good time.” Would I be in town for the next fall fair? Probably not.

“You have a second album to deliver, right? That’s what they stipulated in your contract?”

“It is.” Our exit appears, and I point through the windshield. “Get off here.”

“Have you, uh, written it?” This is the first we’ve openly spoken about my career without disdain or an argument following.

I could tell her the truth—that I’ve had it written for a long time. That every lyric, chorus, and melody poured from my heart and soul, bleeding me dry. That the words cut me wide open, revealing the hollow shell I’d become since walking away from her.

But timing is everything, and right now isn’t the time.

“It’s in the works,” I reply, my tone disinterested. “Howard is hounding me, so I better get a move on. We’re here. Pull in on the left.”

I can tell she’s about to press me for more details, until the building in front of us comes into view. Her face breaks out into a magnificent smile. “A honky-tonk! I haven’t been to one in years.”

She turns to me expectantly. I just stare and stare until I remember she’s waiting for me to speak. “Hope those are your dancin’ boots. The girls are waiting inside.”

A girly squeal escapes her, and she darts out of the truck. The magnetic pull between us has me following closely behind, the sound of live music growing louder with each step.

Harriet, Parker, and Margot meet us at the entrance. Inside, the large barn has been converted, with a large bar on one side, a wooden dance floor, and lights hanging from the rafters.

I give Talia a little shove toward the dance floor and hold out my hand for her purse. “Go have fun. I’ll be here.”

Her face falls a little. “You’re not joining us?”