His eyes are locked on my cleavage, his smile far more intimate than it has a right to be considering that our conversation lasted only a split second longer than the picture itself.
At the time, I’d thought the shimmering pink dress the perfect combination of sweet and sexy, but looking at it now, with this headline, it seems garish. My smile’s too wide, my posture too open, my smoky eye makeup too much…
“Jenny. Talk to me,” Amber says.
“It’ll pass, right?” I say, still unable to look away from the photo to actually read the article.
Amber doesn’t reply, and Dolly lets out a sad little whimpering noise before sitting on top of my foot as though trying to shield me from what’s to come.
“It’s just another stupid rumor,” I say. “The tabloids are getting exceedingly bold. I can sue, right? And Shawn can sue, and we’ll—”
“Shawn confirmed it,” Amber says.
My ears buzz. “What?”
“This morning. Coming out of the gym, the vultures were all over him. Instead of keeping his mouth shut, Shawn said, and I quote, ‘Look, I’m not proud of my actions, but I can’t be the first guy to get pulled into Jenny Dawson’s vortex, and I’m sure I won’t be the last. At this point, all I can do is look forward and try to make amends.’?”
“What is he talking about?” I squeak, my eyes closing as I pull hard on my ponytail in frustration. “Make amends for what? My vortex? Is that a thing?”
“It gets worse,” Amber says, her voice miserable.
“I don’t know how that’s even possible.”
“He’s not the only one who’s confirmed the story.”
I blink. “Someone else is also delusional?”
“Yeah. His wife.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
I don’t know much about Shawn Bates’s wife, but pretty much everyone knows their story. Childhood sweethearts who started dating in middle school, they got married right out of high school, shortly before Shawn got famous.
There are always rumors that he’s cheating, but like I’ve said, I don’t put much faith in rumors.
One thing I know for sure is that if he is cheating, it’s not with me.
“She posted a tearful selfie on every single social media platform along with a big old statement about how she and Shawn are going through a rough patch, but their love is stronger than any country-singing home wrecker.”
“I’m not a home wrecker.”
“I know that, J. But you have that song, and there’s that picture—”
“The song was euphemistic!” I say, referring to my first hit single, a song I wrote about all the things that can come between a couple once the honeymoon period’s over: the TV, bills, iPhones, work. Those are the home wreckers.
Not me.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call, and I pull it away from my face to check the name. When I see who it is, I decline it.
“Candice is calling.”
“As she should be, as your publicist.”
“I don’t want to talk to her,” I say, my voice panicked. “I don’t want to talk to any of them. I want this all to go away.”
“And it will,” Amber says in a soothing voice as Dolly licks my shin. “But J, this one’s going to have some staying power, I think. It’s not just the tabloids, and you know everyone loves a good cheating scandal.”
“I didn’t cheat,” I whisper as tears threaten. “I don’t even know this guy. I don’t understand why this is happening.”