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She sighed and tried to think back to the unpleasant memory. The moment itself was a blur of lace panties and heartbreak. It took her a moment to conjure the exact placement of his hands in her mind. “He was touching her shoulders.”
Malcolm nodded thoughtfully. “That’s some sexy stuff. I know whenever I’m faced with a half-naked woman, I always go straight for the shoulders.”
Ivy frowned. Not the best example. “That’s because you’re terrified of lady parts.”
“Exactly! Blake, as you’re well aware, is not. He likes them. If he was interested in what Lydia was offering, I sincerely doubt he would’ve opted to put his hands on her shoulders.”
“He shouldn’t have had his hands on her anything! I don’t care if she was dancing around his office naked, throwing glitter.” Ivy’s brows drew together in irritation as she tried to rid herself of this pesky new image. “Why are you taking his side, anyway? You’re my friend.”
“I’m not taking his side. If he’s guilty, let him rot. But I just have to wonder, with the way things were going with you two, if you walked in on something else. You said Lydia was after him. Maybe she lured him there and put the full court press on him. It might not be the simplest explanation, but it could happen.”
“You’re grasping at straws. Aren’t I supposed to be the one doing that?”
“Yes, but you’ve got to admit that you have doubts about what you saw. You wouldn’t be so torn up over this whole thing if you didn’t. You’d be writing some song about lighting his balls on fire.”
A small smile curled Ivy’s lips. “I hardl
y think that would get airplay. But it might be therapeutic.”
“You need to let him know how you feel, Ivy.”
“He knows! The whole world knows. I got on that stage and announced to thousands of people that I loved Blake and always have. Even if he missed the song because Lydia’s tongue was in his ear, he has to have heard it by now. It’s all over the radio and the Internet. With as much money as we’ve already raised for the Rosewood Gymnasium Fund, someone has to be talking about it there. He hasn’t called or texted. He must not care.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. I think he knows he’s screwed up so badly that you might never give him another chance. He might be afraid to call you and tell you how he feels.”
“And how does he feel?”
Malcolm shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Ivy picked up the pillow beside her and threw it at him. “A lot of help you are!”
“But,” he argued, “I know how you feel. You’re miserable without him. You put your heart out there once; do it again. You’re going to be on Late Night with Jimmy Jones tomorrow night, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Her hiding away wouldn’t last much longer. Jimmy’s show was her first promotional performance. After that, she had The Tonight Show and MTV.
“Go on that talk show and sing that song the way you did before, like he’s listening. Pour your heart and soul into it and give him another chance to hear you the way he was meant to. I’m telling you, you’ll get a call within twenty-four hours.”
“And if he does, what do I do? How can I trust him, Malcolm?”
He scooted beside her, putting his arm around her shoulder to snuggle against her. Ivy rested her head on his chest, hovering on the verge of uncharacteristic tears. “When that phone rings, listen to what he’s got to say with an open mind and an open heart. Give him a chance,” he continued. “I want to see you happy, Ivy.”
She wanted to be happy. Having a taste of it with Blake convinced her that she did. But after everything that had happened, could he still be the one to bring her that happiness? She just didn’t know. She supposed she should do what Malcolm suggested.
Right or wrong, Ivy would find out one way or another.
Chapter 21
Blake was standing on the arrivals curb at LAX the next afternoon, armed with nothing but determination and a small bag of clothes. But as he moved through the cab line, he realized he had missed a critical detail: he had no idea where Ivy lived. He didn’t think “somewhere in Malibu overlooking the ocean” would cut it.
He’d tried calling her parents, but they were both at work and neither was answering their phone. He could probably try to track down her manager’s information, but that could take a while. That meant he had to call her directly and hope she stayed on the phone long enough to give him the information.
Stepping out of the taxi queue, he went back into the airport and looked for a quiet place to call. He stared at his phone for a moment before he dialed her number. His palms were sweating like he was about to start in his first NFL game. “Man up, Chamberlain,” he said in his gruffest coach voice. It worked on his students and players; maybe it would work on him, too.
He hit the button to call her before he could stop himself.
From there, he could only raise the phone to his ear and wait. It rang four or five times before someone picked up, but it wasn’t Ivy’s voice. It was a man’s voice.
“Hello?”
