“I don’t know. I wasn’t allowed to date back home.”
“Neither was I. Still lost my virginity at fourteen. That’s what sneaking out is for.”
“Trust me, there was no sneaking out of my father’s house.”
“What is he, like a warden or something?”
I cough into my fist. “Not at all.” Spilling my love life to her is bad enough, there’s no way I’ll tell her how my father makes his living.
“Damn. And Chaser’s not wigged out by that?”
“By what?”
“Oh, God, is he one of those freaks with a virgin fetish?”
“No,” I snap, annoyed she’d suggest that.
“Sorry. Some men are obsessed with shit like that.”
Our weird conversation is mercifully cut short when she pulls into a dress shop parking lot. “This is it!”
Every dress Pamela picks out looks more like lingerie than something I’d wear to an awards show.
“It’s the Small Screen Music Awards. You’re supposed to wear something daring and edgy,” she says.
“Then, won’t it be daring to show up in an evening gown?”
She screws up her pretty face into a frown at my logic. “No.”
The dress she ends up choosing is a mix of see-through nylon and leather. I gravitate toward a floor-length, metallic gold beaded gown in the back.
“Who are you, Melanie Griffith on her wedding day?” Pamela plucks at one thin, off-the-shoulder cap sleeve. “This isn’t the Oscars, Mallory. Far from it.”
“But it’s so pretty.”
“You’ll look like something between Scarlett O’Hara and a gold disco ball.”
“I’m pretty sure one of my Barbies had this exact same dress when I was little.” I press it to my chest and twirl around, ignoring Pamela’s exasperation.
“It’s very old Hollywood glamour,” the shop owner assures me.
“You’re supposed to help me talk her out of it,” Pamela complains.
“Nope,” I smile at her, “This is the one.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chaser
There’s one important shopping trip I need to take before leaving for tour.
Unfortunately, the most annoying person in the world joins me.
“Dude, you’re buying her a Honda?” Andrew runs his calloused fingers over the shiny green paint. “Mallory’s classy. Strikes me as a BMW or Porsche kinda girl.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have BMW or Porsche money yet.” I glance at the car I picked out for Mallory. It’s brand new, so several steps up from the car my father got her for back home, which she claimed to love. It’s small, so she can zip in and out of the ridiculous traffic around here. I spent time researching exactly what to get her that would be both reliable and in our budget. Andrew’s begging for a beating if he keeps running his mouth.
“You want me to loan you the cash?” he asks.
That’s a big hell-fucking-no. “I don’t need your money to buy my girl a car.”
“I bought Pammy’s Porsche.” He squeezes his eyes shut and a filthy smile curls his lips.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“What?”
“Whatever disgusting car sex story you’re about to share. Just keep it to yourself.”
He grins. “Busted.” He takes another look at the car. “It’s nice. Cool color. She’ll look good in it.”
“Thanks for your blessing,” I grumble.
After ironing out the details with the dealer and signing some papers, I’m ready to go.
“You psyched for the tour?” Andrew slips on his sunglasses outside and searches the parking lot.
More like a mixture of excited about the tour and bummed I’m leaving Mallory. Not sure what sort of spell I’m under, but I actually like the routine we’ve settled into since moving into the house. No point in explaining that to Andrew, though.
“Can’t wait.”
“Mallory going to visit you on the road?”
“As often as she can.” Already bought her first ticket to join me in Texas for a weekend. A few weeks later, she’ll meet me in New York and stay on tour with us until our last show. At least that’s what we’re planning.
“Cool.” He jumps into the driver’s side of his truck and unlocks my door. “Pammy will join us in New York. Lots of fun to be had before then.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously?” He hangs his head and turns the key in the ignition. “Chaser, I don’t think you understand the quality of women who turn up at our shows.”
I blow out a long breath, while counting back from ten. “And I don’t think you understand, this isn’t a conversation I want to have.”
“We still meeting the guys at Pogo’s?”
“Yup.”
Thom and a short, skinny guy I don’t recognize, are waiting for us in a back, corner booth of Pogo’s. As soon as his gaze lands on Andrew, Thom jumps out of his seat to introduce himself.
“I’m just here as Chaser’s ride, man, but nice to meet you,” Andrew says.
“Sure, sure.” Thom seems to remember who his actual client is and reaches out to shake my hand. He motions for the skinny guy to get up and join us. “This is Pete, he’s going to be your tour manager.”
“What now?”
Behind Thom’s back, Jacob curls his fists together in front of his face and shakes hard—like he’s choking a chicken. A snort of laughter escapes me, and I avert my eyes.