Hillbilly Rockstar (Blacktop Cowboys 6)

Dammit. This was recreational sex. Nothing more. She needed to remind him of that. “I need my personal space too. And I’ll expect you to leave your aggressive lover side on the bus.”

“That I can do.” He kissed her forehead. “So many different roles we’re playing. Is there any doubt one of us is gonna f**k something up?”

“As long as you let me do my job in public, I’ll gladly let you put me in any role you want when the bus door closes.”

“Remember you said that.”

She stepped back and stared at him.

“What?”

“Handing you control was easier and more freeing than I thought it’d be. I’ve never done that before.”

Devin growled. “Get in the damn shower before I change my mind and join you.”

They were thirty minutes late to the pancake house.

They took a rash of crap for it—undeserved because Devin had been working on a song, not working her over between the sheets. As soon as they grabbed seats, Devin scooted their chairs together so Liberty couldn’t move any part of her body without bumping into his. While wanting her by his side was a bigger declaration of their togetherness than she’d expected, his closeness impeded her ability to get to her gun.

She murmured, “I’m on duty, so give me some space.”

Devin stiffened. Then he placed his lips on her ear. “I’m pretty sure no one is gunning for me in Batesville.”

“If they were, you’re blocking me in. You know the deal. Our personal parameters changed last night, but the professional ones, especially in public, remain the same. Especially since three people recognized you the second you walked in.”

He frowned at her. “Really? Already?”

“I never understand why that surprises you.” She placed her hand on his cheek. “This is a memorable face. Too damn handsome for your own good.”

“I like this flattering side of you.” He angled his head and lightly bit the base of her thumb before he backed off.

She paid little attention to the band’s conversation at the table. Or the stack of pancakes Devin ordered for her. Before she’d taken more than a few bites, the group of teenage girls in the corner got up and approached Devin.

“Ah, Mr. McClain?”

He whipped his head around. “That’s me. What’s up, ladies?”

“Omigod! You’re, like, my favorite singer ever! I can’t believe you’re in my town!”

The other girls behind her squealed their excitement.

“Crash, would you take some pictures?”

Good to head them off before they could ask; it put him in control. Liberty stepped to the side, keeping an eye on the fans and the front door. As soon as the cell phone snapshots were done and he signed autographs, the girls practically floated out of the restaurant.

Then an angry woman stomped close enough to get right in his face. “I’ve heard your songs. You sing about sex, sex and more sex. And even homosexual sex. It’s wrong to put them kind of nasty ideas in young girls’ heads. I’m praying for you to find God’s guidance in your life and use the talent he gave you to spread the Good Word.”

“I appreciate the prayers, ma’am. You have a fine day.”

She really had no comeback for that.

Devin returned to his seat. His food had gone cold. But he scooted up to the table and shoveled in what was left. Then he snatched the bacon off Liberty’s plate and grinned at her while he crunched it.

“Hurry up,” Crash said. “We’ve got an hour before we reach the venue, and we have to do a quick run-through as soon as we hit the parking lot.”

“Why? We’ve played there before,” Gage said.

“They upgraded the sound system since last time. I’ve been on the phone with Boomer. He’s having a shit fit. Nothin’ is going right. Half the speakers don’t work, and amateurs are trying to tell him how to do his f**king job.”

“Amateurs?” Devin repeated.

“Jesse-Belle’s crew.”

“We’re done here.” Devin stood and addressed everyone at the table. “Be ready to hit the stage as soon as the bus door opens. Got it?”

Mumbled yeahs echoed.

Liberty hadn’t seen Devin so infuriated since he’d had front-of-house security haul out a guy in the front row after he’d punched his girlfriend in the face.

Devin had his phone out and was barking orders at someone as he exited the restaurant. She remained a few steps behind him, glancing around to see if the woman with the Bible intended to chase him down and thump him with it.

Reg reached the bus first and unlocked it. He and Liberty exchanged a look when Devin scaled the bus steps without pause.

“Thanks, Reg. Time to put the pedal to the metal, huh?”

“Sounds like, Miss Liberty.”

Inside, Devin paced. “I don’t give a damn. She can use our equipment, or I’ll scratch her from the rest of the dates. Yeah? Go ahead and call Carl at Big Sky. I guarantee if it gets out that I dropped her from the tour, it’ll be a long damn time before she gets another offer from anyone. No, sir, that is not a threat; it’s a fact. I’m not letting some wet-behind-the-ears twenty-year-old diva f**k up one of my best venues.” He paused. “You do that. We’ll be there in less than an hour.” He hung up. “Motherfucking hell.”

“What’s going on?”

“In a nutshell, Jesse-Belle’s road crew can’t get her equipment to work, which has delayed getting my stage show set up. We’re sold out for tonight. The damn show starts late anyway, and I’m not sucking up her delays. I’ll cut her. Double Trouble can do their set damn near acoustically, so I’m not worried about them.” He tossed his phone on the bench. “Only ten shows with her, they said. How bad can it be? It’s the second night and I want to send her packing.”