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So here Rachel and I sit at one of our favorite places, eating one of their delicious appetizers, all while I’m trying to hold it together so I don’t burst into tears in front of her and admit I’m terrified of leaving.
It was difficult enough trying to keep myself calm when I was with my mom earlier. Rachel, on the other hand? She probably won’t let me cry. She’ll probably scare my tears away or tell me I need to get over myself, which I know she’s right about. I should totally get over myself.
But I’m nervous about this entire situation. I’m leaping into the unknown, and I can only hope that everything goes... well.
What does that mean? I can’t even answer that question. The whole plan is still so foreign to me.
“I’m not going to lie to you.” I lean across the table, lowering my voice, though I know no one is really paying attention to us. “But don’t forget, you’re the only one who knows what’s really going on besides me and Tate.”
“And his business manager, the entire team at the record label, and all the suits. Got it.” Rachel flashes me a thumbs-up accompanied by a shitty smile, just before she starts laughing.
“You’re the worst.” I shake my head and grab a fried green bean, dipping it in spicy sauce before I pop it into my mouth.
“You’re going to miss me so bad you’ll end up begging your little boyfriend to let me fly out to LA and hang out with you,” Rachel says.
“You wish. And there is nothing little about my boyfriend,” I mutter, taking a sip from my water glass.
Rachel arches a brow so high I swear it hits her hairline. “Oh, do tell, my friend. What do you know about his,ahem, size?”
My cheeks go hot at her words and their implication. “I know nothing about his... size, but he’s tall and has broad shoulders and big hands.”
“I bet there are other things on his body that are big.” Rachel bursts out laughing when I scowl at her. “I’m just teasing. But you’ve gotta know the boy is probably packing. Wait, let me correct that—the man.”
“Right, the man.” I nod, the green beans in my stomach curdling at the idea of being with Tate in any sort of sexual manner. My feelings aren’t disgust—they’re more like fear. And I can’t deny it—they’re also curiosity. “My mom wants me to get on birth control.”
“If I were Gloria Lancaster, I would want the same for my beautiful daughter before I sent her across the country to spend a month with freaking Tate Ramsey.”
“It might not be for a month. He told me it would only be a couple of weeks, max.” I feel like I’m repeating the same conversation I had with my mother only a few hours before.
“When is your return flight?”
“We don’t have one. They hired a jet for us, and they’ll do the same when we’re ready to come back,” I admit, my voice small.
The knowing look on Rachel’s face is obvious. “Uh-huh. Which means you could end up there the entire time he’s making his album, and that could be months, Scarlett. Did you even think of that?”
“Why would he make me stick around that long?” Alarm sweeps through me at the thought.
Alarm and a heady rush of excitement. This is truly the wildest thing I’ve ever done in my life. And it’s especially scary because I’m doing it alone, with only Tate by my side to guide me.
“I don’t know. Because it looks good? Because everyone is buying the two of you as a couple? Plus, he might need you there for good luck or whatever. Inspiration,” Rachel explains.
“He told his guy at Irresistible that I’m his muse,” I admit.
“His muse?” When I nod my confirmation, Rachel literally fans herself. “Well, that’s all kinds of hot. Do you think he means it?”
“No,” is my automatic response.
“He wrote that song about you.”
“He was mad at me when he wrote it.”
“Mad and horny for you, more like.” Rachel starts laughing, no doubt at the look on my face. “I’m teasing you, but not really. Look, I totally believe you’re some sort of inspiration to him. He wrote a freaking song about you. He wants you with him.”
“That’s the suits talking,” I remind her. “They like the idea of us together.”
“Give them what they want then.” She takes a sip of her soda, her bright-pink lips pursed around the straw. “And hey, if you need me for emotional support, I could be there whenever you call, since you canceled on our European tour.”
“I didn’t cancel. I just postponed it.” I feel terrible about it too. “I wish we could still go.”
