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My lips dip down in confusion. “The husband’s couch?”
Isabella jabs her finger through the racks. I follow the direction of her finger and spot an old, crusty-looking couch. “That’s where bored husbands sit.”
Am I really being relegated to the level of a husband who is too bored to shop with his wife? “Isabella, wait a second –”
“Nope, I have a one-strike policy and you know it,” she says, holding up her hand. “Besides, you’ve been standing too long.”
I roll my eyes. “I feel fine.”
Isabella ignores me and waltzes away.
“The issue with the one-strike policy is I never know when I’m holding the bat,” I call out after her.
Isabella smiles over her shoulder at me. “You just have to be careful or you’ll never round the bases.”
I gape after her, relishing the little giggle she lets out as she goes.
Great, now I’m half hard and have to go to the husband’s couch. This is going… great.
I lumber over to the couch and sink down on it as low as I can to get out of view of those teen girls, pulling my hat over my face and whipping out my phone to cover my face.
I’m met with the unwelcome sight of six texts from Mickey. Fair. I’ve been avoiding him. All his texts are along the lines, “How are you feeling? Ready for rehearsals?” As if my feeling better isn’t enough of a mountain to climb.
No one knows about the little speed bump I’ve hit along the way. The whole sudden fatherhood thing. I’ll admit, I’m the one taking on the responsibility. I could have let Isabella bully me into never meeting Leo.
But what kind of man would I have been if I ran away from that?
Not to mention those two hours I spent with Leo were everything. I lit up in a way I simply haven’t in a long time.
The sudden fame and the money to produce our albums was enough of a high to coast on for a few years before it got old and tiresome.
Can’t go to the mall without girls taking out their phones to try and capture photos.
I’ve already seen a few headlines on TMZ. Rex Redford Crashes Motorcycle. Rex Redford DUI? Rex Redford Running From Fame.
The last one might not have been the exact truth, but it’s what I’d like to do. If only I could…
I glance up and see Isabella perusing the racks of clothes. She’s so focused. So intent on making my image fit exactly what she’s trying to convey to the headmistress. I’ll do whatever I can to please her, or else she might revoke my access to Leo.
And access to her.
Because even though we’ve only been friendly on this shopping trip, I’m still thinking about that moment she decided to kiss me out of the blue the other night. So sudden. So needy. And uninhibited. Not a care in the world if it didn’t fit within the Isabella Delgado image. The know-it-all who always has it under control.
“You make me lose control.”
That’s what she told me several times during our month together.
“I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me lose control.”
That was something she craved. Meanwhile, I craved the opposite. Still do. Life on the road is so out of my hands. I don’t get to control the schedule or the crowds or the cities we travel to. All I’m in control of is me and even that feels up in the air sometimes depending on the drinking and the partying.
We’re a yin and a yang, day and night, the opposites attract type of pair.
“We’ll never work,” Isabella used to say. “Not long term.”
I agreed then because I wasn’t ready to be tied down. But now I couldn’t disagree more.
Another text comes through from Mickey. I groan.
