“Finished it this morning.”
I hold it up against my chest and swish the layered skirt back and forth. It’s white chiffon with teal flowers and a skirt meant for twirling. I probably have fifty other ones just like it in my closet, but this is my favorite style. Under the stage lights, I tend to sweat through a lot of dresses. Thank the Lord, my mom can sew.
“It’s perfect.” I lean in to kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”
She hands me a small brown paper bag. I peek inside and grin. Little matching teal booty shorts to thwart the pervy guys who always try to take upskirt shots. “Thanks, Mom.”
“So, I’m guessing you had a sleepover?” she raises one eyebrow.
“What makes you say that?”
Her stern-mom eyes drill holes in me. “The condom wrappers in your room.”
“Mom! Jesus.” I crush the dress and paper bag to my chest and dart a quick look around the room. Sandra’s busy stacking clean glasses. One of our regulars is staring at the muted television screen over the bar. Neither of them so much as glance our way. “Really?” My harsh whisper has an edgy whine to it.
She snickers and sips her drink. “I hope it was Rooster and not Brad.”
“Yes, it was Rooster. Brad and I are done.”
“Good. That boy was all hat and no cattle.”
I snort at her description of Brad.
“Rooster looks like he’s all cattle,” she adds.
“Why are you so happy about me having a fling with a guy who’s leaving town in a couple of weeks?”
“Because now isn’t the time for you to be tied down. You’ve got a big tour and all sorts of opportunities opening up. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have some fun.” Her smile fades. “Just be careful. Guard your heart carefully, Shelby. And don’t get yourself into trouble like I did.”
Sure, my mom’s own dreams of stardom were shattered when she got pregnant with me. My whole life she’s drummed it into my head to avoid getting pregnant at all costs. Hell, she even gave me a box of condoms on my fifteenth birthday.
I understand her concern, even if the reminder that I ruined her life stings.
“Is he going to come watch you tonight?” she asks.
“No, I didn’t even tell him.”
“What? Why not?”
I shrug, not sure I can put it into words. It was nice being with someone who didn’t know anything about the last year of my life. Clearly, Rooster didn’t consume a lot of reality television. Just the kind of person I need in my life right now.
“Like you said.” I swallow hard and can’t quite meet her eyes. “I don’t want to be tied down.”
Truth is, I can’t afford a broken heart right now.
Chapter Thirteen
Rooster
The double shot of tequila currently burning its way down my throat is damn good. It had been served to me between two giant tits. The bartender seemed to serve everyone that way, so I wasn’t special. Although, she’d made it clear she’d be more than willing to sneak in the back and suck me off if I wanted.
Normally, I’d be jamming my cock down her throat a few minutes after that type of offer. Tonight, the only woman on my mind is one particular tiny blonde. One I’ve been searching for ever since we arrived. Maybe I got the name wrong. Shelby can’t possibly work in this dump.
Murphy and his old lady, Heidi, tagged along tonight. Doubt they’ll stay long, but I appreciate their company. Heidi’s a smart, thoughtful old lady. Grew up around the club since her brother’s the treasurer of our upstate charter. Loyal as fuck to the club, even though she’s barely twenty-one. Can’t blame Murphy one bit for claiming her ass as soon as he could.
Jigsaw, Ravage, and Sparky also rode with us. They’re busy prowling the bar in search of non-clubwhore pussy.
Soft fingers brush the back of my hand. “Sure you’re not interested in something sweeter?” The bartender’s southern drawl comes out harsh and grating. Nothing like the sweet honey that passes Shelby’s lips.
“No,” I grunt at her. Christ, I should’ve turned Jiggy loose on this chick. She sure can’t seem to grasp that I’m not interested.
Finally, she turns her predatory gaze on Murphy who doesn’t even notice the target on his big, ginger head. The laser-focused stink-eye Heidi shoots the flirty bartender makes me chuckle into my beer. No one messes with Heidi’s man.
The bartender sends Heidi a wink and nod before finally moving along to her next…customer.
Now, where the hell is Shelby?
The lights blink a few times. As if it’s some sort of signal and not a sign of failing electric, people move away from the bar. Curious, I turn just as the room is plunged into darkness.
Cheesy blue and white lights sweep the room, finally landing in the corner.
Murphy elbows me. “Guess they actually use that stage.”
When we’d made our way down the rickety wooden staircase into this little honky-tonk paradise, we’d passed several signs declaring there’d be “live music” tonight. Heidi had shown more interest in it than any of us. It’ll probably be some hillbilly country crap that will make me want to stab a steak knife in my ears.
With the barest amount of interest, I glance at the stage. Irritation that I still haven’t seen Shelby colors my mood even blacker than normal.
A spotlight shines down, bathing the slightly elevated wooden platform with golden light. Four figures saunter out and fiddle with instruments.
A few seconds later someone to my right gasps. People murmur and strain to see the stage. Cheers go up and a large portion of the crowd rushes forward. Over the small sea of jostling bodies, familiar blonde curls bounce into view.
Is that…Shelby?
“How y’all doing tonight!?” she shouts at the crowd, raising her hand in the air.
I sit up and crane my neck to get a better look. She’s wearing an innocent enough flowered dress with well-worn, brown leather cowboy boots covered in long fringe. Underneath the pounds of makeup and big hair, I recognize my Shelby.
“Oh!” Heidi bounces up and down. “The sign outside said one of the winners of Redneck Roadhouse Star is performing live tonight. That must be her.”
I turn and stare at her. “Redneck what?”
She shrugs. “Some reality country music star finding show. Trinity and I watched it a bunch of times. Even got Hope to watch it with us once or twice.”
Shelby’s some kind of reality television star? A singer?
Reality television, hell television in general, isn’t something I waste my time with. If she’s so famous, why’s she slinging cinnamon rolls at that cheap diner?
The music starts up. Same kind of twangy shit that’s been assaulting my ears since my club invaded Texas. Not that country music isn’t popular in New York, but down here, it seems to be a religion.
Then Shelby opens her mouth and the voice of an angel floats out. Corny as fuck? Maybe. I don’t exactly know how else to describe what I’m hearing.
All her shyness seems to evaporate onstage. She vibrates with the bold sass I’ve witnessed a few times. Big voice, big personality. Fucking beautiful.
Most days, I’d rather shoot myself than listen to country music, but I could listen to Shelby caress that microphone all damn night.
Why didn’t she tell me?
Because you’re just a fuck.
I know I’d made it clear I wasn’t sticking around for long, but I thought we connected enough for her to tell me she’s kind of a big deal.
Christ, it’s been what, forty-eight hours, and I’ve turned into a whiny pussy over this chick? My motto has always been love ’em and leave ’em smiling. So, I should be thrilled she’s only interested in me as a dick to ride and nothing more, right?
During one part of the performance, the guitarist rubs up on her. They share an intimate look while singing a duet. Maybe it’s all an act, but the dude seems to be in love with her. Is it for the crowd? Are they involved? Will Blaise be pissed if I bury a body on his club
’s property tonight?
Does it matter if these two fuck on the regular? Is it my business? Maybe not, but the idea sure annoys the shit out of me.
The place fills up with more and more people. Doesn’t seem to be any sort of security keeping things in check. I scan the door every few minutes in case Brad decides to show his face. I’m sure that joker knows all about Shelby’s musical talents.
Jigsaw leans up against me and slaps my back. “Isn’t that your girl?”
“Yup.”
“You didn’t tell us she was famous.”
“I didn’t know,” I grumble.
“She’s good.”
“Yeah,” I agree, without taking my eyes off her.
Shelby fascinates me on several different levels. I’ve never met a woman quite like her.
The band goes through several more songs before the lights go out again. People crowd the edge of the stage, waiting for Shelby to sign stuff or take photos with them. I sit back and watch as she interacts with the crowd. Her fans, I guess.
Damn. It shouldn’t surprise me, but she’s sweet and patient with everyone who waves a napkin to sign in her face.
Finally, she’s free, and she heads straight for the bar. As soon as she sees me, she slows her steps. Her eyes widen. Her jaw drops.
“Rooster? What’re you doing here?” The hesitation vanishes, and she grins wide, running over and flinging her arms around my neck. I catch her and lean down to kiss her bright red lips.
“You’re something else.” I press my forehead to hers and lower my voice. “Why didn’t you say something?”