“Look this way.” The photographer was snapping like crazy. “Good. Nice smiles.”
He wasn’t smiling—he was laughing. Dammit.
“I’m pretty sure this is one giant step back for the female empowerment movement,” Travis King said, hi
s opposition voided by the fact that he was taking pics or recording this mess with his phone. “Way back. Like dinosaurs and cavemen.”
“Cavemen and dinosaurs didn’t live at the same time, Travis,” Emmy said, her hand pressing against his back. “Your muscles have muscles.” Her fingers pressed against his back once—then again. “His muscles have muscles.”
Demetrius clapped his hands once and burst out laughing. “That’s a new one.”
“I’m serious,” Emmy continued, poking his back, then his side.
Which was a mistake. He was ticklish. Very ticklish. “Emmy.” But her poking continued. He shifted, trying to stop her. The more she poked, the more he arched away from the poking. The more he arched, the closer she was to the edge of his shoulder. When she slid off, the poking ended—and he caught her easily.
“I’m sorry.” Her hand rested against his chest. “I forgot.”
Because she knew he was ticklish. It was how she used to tease him. He set her on her feet and stepped back, removing her hand and easing the pressure on his lungs.
“I think we’re good here,” the photographer said.
About damn time.
Emmy Lou headed toward the young woman with the glasses and tablet, taking a long sip from the pink water bottle she was offered. More pink. Of course. She might not know he was watching her, but her brother did. So did Demetrius. And Sawyer.
He ignored them all and stooped to pick up the ball from the ground. Get a grip. It’s over.
“Thank you all so much,” Shalene was saying, all smiles. “We’ll get the pictures and marketing material to your publicists this week. We’re going to change lives.”
That was why he was here. This program was important to him. He’d worked hard to be free of the drug-induced haze that had taken over his life. Staying on track, to center himself and remember what was important in life, was a daily struggle. Photo shoots, marathons, auctions, and telethons were all ways to raise money for these programs. The more, the better. He’d barely survived his addiction and he’d had every available resource available to him. Unlike the kids he was trying to help. They were what mattered. Not staged, phony prom pictures, the laughter of his teammates, or the scent of Emmy Lou’s shampoo.
Chapter 3
Emmy sang the new lyrics softly. “And all I know is here we go. Ooh-hoo. Back to the start, straight to my heart. Ooh-hoo-hoo—”
“And then I was thinking of some sort of…zippy kind of chorus?” Krystal said, leaning toward the computer screen. “You know, toe-tappable?”
“Is that a word?” Emmy asked, scanning over the music. “I can only see half of your face.”
Krystal turned her computer. “Better? Okay. Now, focus.” She was sitting cross-legged on her rumpled bed.
“I am.” And what Emmy saw made her happy: her sister, caught up in the throes of creativity and getting back to the things she loved. Krystal deserved nothing but love and happiness. “And I like it.” She paused. “Is it for me?”
“Uh, yes.” Krystal’s brows rose. “I mean, if you like it. You know it won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t.”
Emmy shot her sister a seriously? look. “When have I ever not liked one of your songs?”
Krystal grinned. “There’s always a first time for everything.” She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and leaned back on the stack of pillows. “You’re looking a little skinny, Em.” Krystal stared at her. “Like, too skinny…”
Emmy shrugged. “I know you’re seeing things.” Maybe she had lost a few pounds, but she couldn’t help it. “Stress.”
Stress. As much as she loved her family, and she did, her childhood home was filled with constant tension. Since she was the peacekeeper, she did her best to defuse things—but she could only do so much. And Momma…well Momma wasn’t making things easy.
From the house renovations to the constant back and forth about the new tour costumes, Momma had her hand in everything. Everything. From Emmy’s wardrobe to her schedule, Momma weighed in. Diet was a big part of that. Every bite Emmy took, or didn’t take, was followed up with one of Momma’s concerned reminders about the dangers of stress eating and ways to stay trim. She meant well but…
Krystal sighed. “You know, you have to take care of yourself. And when I say take care of yourself that means eat.” She frowned. “Promise me you won’t…”
“I’m eating.” Emmy Lou interrupted. Yes, there’d been a time when she’d starved herself over every unflattering picture or “Is she pregnant or getting fat?” tabloid magazine article. But she knew better now.