She nodded and led them over to her small couch. Lucky followed. As soon as they sat, the pup leaped up and wormed his way into the space between them, head on Roxy’s thigh, tail thwacking West’s knee.
Roxy absently scratched between his ears. “When Earl caught up with me at DeShay’s today, he gave me the name and number for a man who’d called Rawley’s looking for me. According to Earl, the guy claimed to be a music producer interested in one of my songs—I should probably back up here and explain that, unbeknownst to me, Jeb posted some videos of my performances on the pub’s social media sites. This man, J.T. Turner—”
“Want me to look into him?” As if he wouldn’t check either way, but making the offer felt better than wondering why his heart suddenly wanted to beat its way out of his chest. This could be the opportunity Roxy dreamed of. Was he happy for her and trying to do what he could to help, or was he hoping the guy was some kind scam artist he could push out of her path?
“I…uh…” She glanced over and offered him a sheepish smile. “I guess that would have been smart, but I already spoke with him, actually. Addy, Melody, and Ellie were so excited, and I guess I got swept up. Anyway”—she took a deep breath and resumed petting the dog—“he’s Vice President at PlayHard Music. He wants to license rights to ‘Wet and Reckless’ for one of the artists he’s working with—he didn’t straight-out drop a name, but let’s say it rhymes with Gady Laga—and he quoted a figure.” Her eyes sought his again. “A big figure. A big figure in my world, at least.”
“Okay.” He swallowed the unfamiliar panic that rushed up at the notion of her not just flying away but flying so far beyond his reach that all he’d be able to do was watch her disappear. One phone call, a reasonable voice in his head reminded him. No need to plan a farewell party. Yet. “I’ll still look into J.T. Turner and PlayHard, but let’s assume everything checks out. What happens next?”
She wrapped both her hands around one of his, tight enough he could feel the excitement in her grip. “He’s emailing a contract to Roger. Roger agreed to look it over and let me know if it looks okay. And then”—she took another deep breath—“I’ll go from there.”
His heart, his pulse, his breath, every cell in his body rebelled against the inevitability of her trajectory. He couldn’t try to influence it or insert himself into it. That wouldn’t be fair. “Where?”
Her eyebrows scrunched. “Huh?”
“Where do you go, Reckless?”
Her eyes locked on his, pupils wide. He felt himself falling in. “I-I don’t know,” she whispered and sounded genuinely unsure. “California was my goal, but…eventually.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I’m not ready to make any firm plans. You know me, West.” Her laugh sounded a little forced, and the hands nudging Lucky off the couch seemed a little unsteady, but he lost sight of those things when she climbed into his lap and settled herself there, facing him. “I’m the kind of girl who does better with the here and now.”
Her fingers sank into his hair. Her hips rocked against his.
He slid his palms along her thighs and raised an eyebrow. “Here?”
Soft lips found his earlobe, and a soft voice murmured, “Mmm-hmm.”
“Now?” He took a fistful of the back of her shirt.
“Yes,” she shivered, ran her hand down his chest to curl her fingers under the fly of his pants and graze his cock—which turned out to be a big fan of the here and now.
As the T-shirt he swept over her head landed on the floor he decided he, too, could live in the here and now.
Chapter Twenty-One
Roxy walked through her section of tables at the diner, feeling like a lone gazelle wandering an open plain. Unprotected. Vulnerable to predators. She wouldn’t see them coming, but they could take her down in an instant.
>
First day back jitters. That’s all.
Soon she’d relax and hit her stride, stop wanting to flee to the kitchen or hit the deck every time the door swung open to admit a customer. Unfortunately, her stress level refused to listen to the part of her brain that kept pointing out Jeb had posted the first video weeks ago, and the only fallout had been a call from a music producer. Not someone scouring the Internet for traces of Roxy Goodhart, just someone with interns continuously searching for the next potential hit song. So far. She might have convinced herself logic was winning the internal war against irrational fear, but then Ed Pinkerton’s Bronco backfired on its way out of its spot in front of the diner, and she started so badly she nearly splashed hot coffee in Dobie’s lap.
“Holy crap.” Kenny laughed. “I haven’t seen anyone lose their shit like that over a loud noise since dick-for-brains here set off a cherry bomb on the porch right behind my pappy’s rocker.”
“Hey, how was I supposed to know he was going to have a flashback to ‘Nam?” Dobie gave Roxy a sheepish look. “I was ten frickin’ years old. I didn’t even know what ‘Nam was.”
“But geez, Rox, you look about the same as Pappy that day,” Kenny said, “all pale and sweaty. Having flashbacks to ‘Nam?”
With a hand still pressed to her pounding heart, she tried to laugh. “No. I guess I’m just a little wound up.” Her other hand visibly shook as she refilled Dobie’s mug. All three of them noticed.
Her boss noticed, too, because she wandered over and took the coffee pot from Roxy. “Honey, you’re looking a little worse for wear. I don’t want you to overdo it on your first day back.”
“I’m not,” Roxy rushed to reassure her. “Ed’s belching pickup startled me just then, but I’m fine now.”
“You’re pale,” Addy replied, to which Kenny and Dobie nodded in agreement. “It’s finally slowed down a bit in here. Go ahead and take your break. If your color isn’t better afterward, I’m going to have you clock out early, head home, and rest. ‘Kay?”
Damn Randy Boudreaux to a sub-basement in hell. She was giving the man way too much power, letting him mess with her head from three hundred miles away. “I’m all right,” she repeated to Addy’s retreating back. To Kenny and Dobie, she added, “I just need to settle my nerves is all.”
“I’ve got just the thing.” Dobie reached into the chest pocket of his crisp, new Gas ‘n Go uniform shirt and pulled out a hand-rolled smoke.