I squint at him. “I can’t believe you’re so shocked.”
He shakes his head. “Actually, I’m not. Some of the girls we work with get some pretty twisted messages, but—”
“Oh, you think because I’m a sweet, sassy little country singer those kinda guys will treat me nicer than they treat a stripper? Nah. All women are whores dying to see a dick in their inbox to them.”
He busts up laughing. “I still don’t like it.”
I reach over and tug on his beard. “And I wouldn’t like you so much if you did.”
“Seriously, though.” He takes a deep breath. “I want you to be careful.”
“I am. I never post pics until after I leave the location. I don’t answer those creepy messages. I don’t go off exploring by myself when we’re in a new city—”
He leans in and presses his mouth to mine—a soft kiss that whips into something wild and demanding.
And then it’s over.
Woozy from the kiss, I’m slow to open my eyes.
“I know this is…new and we’re still figuring out how this long-distance thing works, but I can’t help wanting to protect you. Can’t help wanting to beat the shit out of anyone who disrespects you. It’s just who I am.”
“I understand that.” I force a quick smile. “I kinda like that about you.”
“Good.”
“It’s a little weird for me, though.” The intensity between us feels too heavy, so I stare out the window. “My momma’s fierce.”
He chuckles softly. “I remember.”
“Well, I watched her fall apart after my sister…after Hayley…”
He reaches over and squeezes my hand.
“Then my dad just walked out. Not that he was some super-dad even before Hayley got sick. He was one of those ‘fetch me a beer while I sit and watch television all night’ kind of dads when he got home from work. Never paid all that much attention to us in the first place. It broke her a little. I had to fend for myself and look out for her.”
I risk glancing up and find him staring at me, beard twitching from grinding his jaw.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take a detour there.”
“I’m listening.”
I wipe my hands against my skirt, trying to force the thoughts in my head into words on my tongue. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m not familiar with someone else looking out for me. My mom worries about me but it’s different.”
“Shelby. Look at me.” He waits until I comply, then trails his knuckles down the side of my cheek. “You’re not alone anymore.”Chapter ThirtyShelby
The next morning, I’m fighting tears as Rooster and I leave our hotel room and quietly walk through the silent hallway to the elevator. It’s early. If I hadn’t been woken by Greg’s text, I’d assume no one in the building was awake yet.
The sun’s barely peeking over the mountains and the sky matches my gloomy mood. At least the air is still cool. As my protest against the early morning wake-up, I’m still in my fluffy mint-green fleece jammy pants and a T-shirt with two lambs kissing on the front. In the name of decency, I slipped a bra on underneath my shirt and stuffed my feet into my Converse.
Jigsaw and Dex are parked next to Rooster’s truck, leaning on their bikes, sipping cups of coffee. Rooster rips a shrill whistle and they wave to acknowledge the greeting.
The three tour buses for Dawson’s crew and Thundersmoke line the edge of the parking lot.
Hmph. Doesn’t look like any of them are awake yet.
Our sad little van is parked along the curb. Rooster taps on the door and our driver, James, opens it. “Mornin’, Shelby.”
“Morning,” I grumble.
“I got her stuff,” Trent says, walking up behind us. He scowls at Rooster and I scowl right back.
Rooster doesn’t bother engaging.
“You leaving right away?” Rooster asks James.
“You got time.”
“Thanks.” Rooster rests his palm at the small of my back and guides me over to the truck.
“Morning, Shelby.” Jigsaw grins at me.
“Morning.” I nod at Dex. “Morning.”
“You stay at Chaser’s?” Rooster asks.
“We grabbed a room here earlier this morning.” Jigsaw yawns and stretches.
“Someone should’ve warned me he sleeps naked,” Dex says.
Jigsaw grins. “Nah, that was just for you, buddy.”
Rooster groans and steers me toward the tailgate where we have some privacy. I lean against the cool metal, trying not to look up at him or all the heartache gathering in my chest will pour from my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” He rubs my bare arm. “Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine.” Such a lie. “The air feels good.”
“Talk to me,” he pleads.
“Rooster,” I whisper, finally daring to look up at him.
He stares into my eyes and I search his face, trying to commit every bit of him to memory.
“What, chickadee?” he says lightly.
I can’t fake the same light cheeriness. Not when I’m coming apart inside. “I’ll miss you.”
His smile fades. “I’m gonna miss you too.”