Sad but true, boy, it isn’t you. Oo-hoo-hoo, boy, it isn’t you.
The second verse was just as catchy. More than a handful of audience members clapped and sang along with her. She smiled, clapping with the beat and rounding out the number with the final chorus.
But go on, keep on smiling. Feel free to keep on trying.
I know what I want. Nothing you can do.
Sad but true, boy, it isn’t you. Oo-hoo-hoo, boy, it isn’t you.
“Emmy Lou King, everyone.” Late-night television host Guy James stood at the end of the stage, clapping.
Emmy bowed, blew a few kisses, and waved. With the help of a stagehand, she walked across the stage to Guy. He hugged her and helped her to her seat, opposite his large desk.
Brock, Guy’s first guest, stood to greet her while she did her best to act normal, even though this was the first time she’d seen him since she’d tried to rip his clothes off. Now he was here, blue eyes shining, watching her. And what did she do? She held her hand out for a perfectly acceptable handshake. But somehow, he pulled her close and they ended up hugging.
Not a big deal. Yes, he smelled like heaven and his arm was rock hard around her waist, and the press of his hand at the base of her spine caused head-to-toe tingles, but…she would pull it together. Starting now. She would definitely not let these four, maybe five, seconds of being wrapped up in his arms remind her of the stroke of his hands or his fingers gripping her hips as he’d pressed her against the hospital wall.
She’d never experienced anything like it. Ever.
And now, here she was, thinking about it. Here. In front of an audience, late-night television host Guy James, and Brock. Brock, whose eyes pinned hers long enough to leave her rattled before he let her go and they could all take their seats.
“Well done,” Guy said, still clapping. “We are so glad to have you here tonight.” He tapped the desk with his pen and stared out over the audience, waiting for their applause to die down. “Really. It’s been a while.”
“It has.” She nodded. “I think I was here as part of a package deal last time.”
“That sounds right.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry about your ankle. Is it quite painful? Side note, you’ve somehow managed to make an ankle brace look fashionable, Emmy.”
She held her ankle out so the brace could sparkle in the lights. “Thank you. You can thank my sister for the excessive bling.” She’d left Krystal alone with a glue gun and a bag of crystals. Her rhinestones-and-sequins-covered brace was the result. Krystal thought it was hilarious.
“Your twin writes songs and decorates medical devices.” Guy chuckled, the look he gave her brace causing a round of laughter from the audience. “Will you be wearing that when you kick off your new tour?”
“Our tour kicks off in six days.” She’d never been so ready to get back on the road. “Three Kings and a Jace—since Jace is joining us. It’s a play on poker. I’m not sure if Jace is the Jack or the Ace, but there you have it.” She smiled at the ripple of laughter from the guest audience. “I think it will be our best tour ever. New music, new costumes, and a whole lot of flash and excitement.” Some of the new choreography was wreaking havoc on her ankle.
Guy glanced at one of the notecards on his desk. “More good news I see. You’re now the voice of Sunday night football? Are you a football fan?”
“Well, I have spent many a Sunday and Monday night beside my daddy, watching a game.” Probably best if she kept her Brock fangirl status to herself.
“Don’t let her fool you. She rattled off some stats the other day—I’d say she’s a fan.” Brock shifted so he could face her, his expression all business.
Emmy Lou blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He was teasing her? Here? Two could play that game. “Did I? Are you sure? Guess I forgot.” She ran her hands over her thighs.
Brock smiled then, his gaze following the path of her hands and knocking the air from her lungs.
“You’re from Austin, too, aren’t you, Brock?” Guy asked.
Brock cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. Born and bred.”
“And you two are both volunteers for the AFL Drug Free Like Me campaign. How did you get involved with this project, Brock? This is very personal for you, isn’t it?”
It was a loaded question. Everyone in the room knew the answer—Brock Watson’s fall from grace had been well-documented. She’d been heartbroken over his troubles and the possible end of his career. He’d always been so single-minded, so driven. For him to have lost his way… It was hard for her to imagine what that was like.
“Short version? My tibial fracture four years ago led to a pain pill addiction and a string of bad choices.” Brock shrugged. “I was damn lucky…” He paused, frowning. “Can I say damn?”
Guy nodded. “Damn is fine.”
She and the audience laughed.
“It was the wake-up call I needed. Working with DFLM and the kids in this program helps keep me focused. I want to help in any way I can. It’s the least I can do.” Brock looked acutely uncomfortable at the audience’s applause.