A career that probably belongs in Nashville. Not New York. I glance over at Shelby and she winks at me.
“Yeah, she’s tough,” I say.
And now I’m starting to wonder if I’m kidding myself about being part of her future.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Rooster
“Do you smell that?” Shelby tips her head back and spreads her arms wide.
Amused, I chuckle at her deep inhale and loud exhale. “What’s that, chickadee?”
“Smells like the land where dreams come true.”
“Or go to die,” Jiggy quips.
Shelby drops her arms to her sides and scowls at him. “Ya had to ruin my moment, didn’t ya?”
“It’s second nature.” He taps the side of his head. “Can’t help it.”
I curl my arm over her shoulders. “Ignore him.”
“You’re chipper at the ass-crack of dawn,” Steer grumbles.
“It’s noon,” Shelby says.
“He’ll be fine once we get on the road.” Pants thumps Steer’s back a few times. “He’s cranky because he left a warm bunny in his bed—”
“I don’t need details.” Shelby presses her palms against her ears.
The guys crack up and tease her with more lurid tales.
“All right,” Dex says. “Let’s get on the road before it gets any later.”
“I’m going to miss you guys.” Shelby hugs Dex. “Thank you so much.”
“Any time, sweetheart. Make sure you come visit when you’re in New York.”
“Of course I will.”
“No way, if she’s on the East Coast, she’s staying with us,” Pants says. He holds out his arms and Shelby hugs him next. “Everhart’s where it’s at.”
“You guys were good to me,” she says diplomatically. “Be safe.”
Steer picks her up for his own hug. “I’ll definitely see you when you’re home with Rooster.”
“Yes, you will,” she promises.
Damn, do I like how confident she sounds about that.
We end up bullshitting with the guys for another half hour before they finally take off.
“No one’s riding alone, right?” Shelby says.
“Dex has maybe two hours after he drops Steer off. But it’s all our territory,” I explain. “He and Dex will stay in Virginia, then leave for New York from there.”
“I’m sticking around, songbird.” Jiggy tips his head my way. “This chucklefuck will get lost without me.”
“I doubt that.” Shelby grins. “But I’m glad you’re staying.”
I check the directions Dawson gave me. “You riding with us?” I ask Jiggy.
“You don’t trust me loose in Nashville, do you?”
“Not really.”
We load up his stuff and head to Dawson’s. Jiggy takes up residence in the back but makes sure to be extra annoying by leaning on the back of my seat and reading the directions—loudly.
“I didn’t get to see much of Nashville when I was filming Redneck Roadhouse.” Shelby stares out the window. “I hope I can this time.”
Technically we’re headed outside Nashville. Shelby was thrilled by Dawson’s offer to let her stay at his place.
Correction—she’s staying in one of the guest houses on the property.
“Jesus Christ. This has to be a multi-million-dollar estate.” Jiggy whistles as the iron gate swings closed behind us. “Who knew there was so much money in singing about chugging beer and blue balls.”
“Dawson doesn’t have any songs about blue…that.” Shelby waves her hands in the air.
“His songs give me blue balls,” Jiggy explains. “They’re all about the tiny shorts and flirty girls with no payoff.”
I stare at him in the rearview mirror. “You are deeply weird.”
Thankfully, Shelby not only understands, but enjoys Jiggy’s infinite strangeness. “You need the penetration in your lyrics, huh? The release?”
“See,” he sings in my ear. “She gets me.”
“Don’t fret none.” She pats his arm. “I’m gonna make you a playlist for the ride home. You need some Conway Twitty in your life. The man’s got a storage locker full of songs about gettin’ horizontal.”
“I didn’t hear anything past ‘fret none,’ songbird,” he teases. “That time in Texas must’ve gotten under your tongue.”
“I’ll add a little Garth Brooks to your playlist,” she continues, ignoring the dig. “The way y’all were panting after my momma, I think That Summer will totally be your jam.”
“Let’s not encourage him, please,” I warn.
As much I need to get home to check in with Z, and Shelby needs to immerse herself in the songwriting process, I’m not convinced now is the right time to head to New York.
But is it ever a good time to leave your girl?
“No one’s getting in or out of Dawson’s compound.” My gaze roams over the property’s brick and iron fence as we follow the driveway past the main house. “He wasn’t joking.”
We drive around a man-made rock waterfall spilling into a dark blue pool, surrounded by its own separate fence.
“Wow,” Shelby breathes out. “I’ve been thinking of Dawson’s career in terms of the music, fans, and tour but never thought about what that money can actually buy. Dang. Here I thought buying my momma a one-story ranch-style home on a little plot of land would be the pinnacle of success,” she mutters. “And I haven’t even been able to do that yet.”