She shrugs and signals the bartender to bring her some water.
“Shelby?” I prod.
“Can we talk about it later? I have another set.” She swoops in and kisses my cheek. “I’m real happy to see ya, though.”
I introduce her to Heidi and Murphy.
Shelby turns to me and rakes her nails through my hair a few times. I fight the urge to close my eyes and lean into her touch. “If your hair were a few shades red, you and Murphy could be brothers.”
I flick my gaze at Murphy and smirk. “Well, no one’s ever said that before.”
“I’m insulted.” Murphy laughs and strokes his fingers over his beard. “But I’ll let it slide since my girl’s such a big fan of yours.”
Heidi grins and smacks Murphy’s shoulder.
“Sparky and Ravage are around here somewhere.” I point to Jigsaw as he prowls up to us. “You remember this clown.”
She wiggles her fingers at him. “Hi, Jigsaw.”
Heidi gushes over Shelby’s performance, and the two of them start speed-talking about music. Murphy glances at me and lifts his shoulders.
While she’s invested in her conversation with Heidi, Shelby’s butt rests against my thigh, her fingers laced with mine. Like the pervy fucker I am, I spend some time enjoying the view down the front of her dress.
The guitar player cowboys his way over, stopping and throwing a dark scowl at Shelby when he notices her ass in my lap.
“Shelby? Who are your friends?” he asks, without acknowledging me.
Murphy’s mouth twists in an are-we-killing-this-disrespectful-punk sort of way. I give him a subtle head shake. Not yet.
“Oh! Trent. This is my friend, Rooster.”
Friend. Huh.
I’m busy mulling over how I feel about friend while she introduces Murphy and Heidi. When there’s a lull in the conversation, I squeeze her hip and brush my lips against her ear. “I think I’m a lil’ more than your friend, Sugar.”
She leans back and gives me a sultry look before whispering in my ear. “Did you want me to introduce you as my fuck-buddy?”
“No,” I growl.
She pulls back and turns to stare at me.
“Never mind.” I flash a smile at her. “I’m just messing with you. You’re a pretty damn good singer.” Fuck, that’s inadequate.
“Thanks. It’s been a crazy year.” Her cheeks turn pink, and she lowers her lashes. “I play some of my own, original stuff during the next set if you want to stick around.”
Of course I’m staying. “None of that was yours?”
“No, silly.” She scrunches up her nose. “You don’t listen to country, do you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Not insulted, she laughs and slaps my chest.
Fuck, I want her under me again tonight.
Chapter Fourteen
Shelby
Dang. Rooster has me rattled right down to my lucky boots.
Never in a million years did I expect him to remember what the cops said and come find me here tonight.
The sexy, confident way he was leaning back on the bar with both elbows, facing me, left me breathless. Then it sunk in, he came here to see me. Specifically, for me. He didn’t drop in to a random bar for a drink and run into me accidentally. He wanted to see me again.
I end up rubbing against him like a horny little kitten, wondering if it will be totally detrimental to my career if I take him in the storage room and…
“Shelby, let’s go!” Trent shouts.
“Are you staying?” I ask Rooster.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
He gives me a quick kiss for luck and a gentle shove into the crowd.
Knowing he’s out there watching—with his friends no less—leaves me jittery. Trent nudges my arm as I step on stage.
“You okay?” he mouths.
“I’m fine.”
“We still tryin’ out that new song?”
“Maybe. Let’s see how the crowd reacts.” Lord, I’m a wuss tonight.
He throws a scowl in Rooster’s direction. “That your new boyfriend?”
“Sort of.” Now I wish like hell I’d never worked on the new song with Trent this morning. He’s smart enough to add up two plus two and come up with Rooster as the inspiration for my song.
Trent grunts and turns around, giving me his back.
Forget him. Rooster’s out in the crowd. Listening to me sing. Every word. Watching me. I don’t think I can go through with playing the new song now. No way.
The lights go down, and the band kicks in. I close my eyes and absorb the thump and twang of the music. After a few beats, all my worries and insecurities float away on the warm wind blowing over the stage, courtesy of two giant metal fans.
It’s just me and the music now. Where I’m happiest. Doesn’t matter that it’s a dumpy little bar in Texas. Or a huge stage in front of a television audience. Even as a little girl, music touched me emotionally in a way simple words never could. The throb of the music lights me up inside, and I thrive on sharing beautiful words with the strangers filling the bar.
As silly as it might sound to some people, Redneck Roadhouse Star had been my dream come true. My chance to be seen as more than the poor girl in the handmade dresses who won every talent competition in Bexar county. The show also opened my eyes to what the music business was really about. I was nothing more than a minnow swimming with sharks. It left me cynical. But I poured my disappointment into my music, giving it a grown-up jaded quality it lacked before.
Every cloud has a rhinestone-studded lining, right?
Sure, online gossip sites were full of people mocking me. Everyone seemed to think my blonde curls and big boobs indicated I was dimmer than a dying light bulb. People commented and criticized my weight so many times I still can’t eat food in public for fear of an unflattering photo showing up somewhere.
All the scrutiny eased up a little once I came home. I hadn’t made it to the end of the show or won the big prize, but I’d gotten enough attention to win an opening spot on a major tour. I planned to make the best of it. Ride it out as long as I can and pray like hell I make it to the top.
People ’round here seemed to assume being on television equaled rolling in money. But the show barely replaced the wages I lost from leaving my job for so long. I won’t make any money until I start touring, and even then, from what I understo
od of the contract I signed, I’ll be making pennies.
“Let’s do it.” Trent hands me a guitar and nods. “You’ve got this, Shelby. It’s good. Real damn good.”
Even though I sensed his annoyance earlier, Trent’s always encouraging and supportive where music’s concerned.
Music has always given me a way to express the things I shouldn’t say but couldn’t keep quiet about. But tonight, my hands shake at the thought of speaking a little too much truth to this audience. None of my other songs are this personal. And no one I’ve ever written a song about has watched me perform it in such an intimate setting.
Trent stops the band and takes the microphone, something he rarely does. “Miss Shelby has something brand new she wants to play for y’all tonight. She’s a lil’ nervous, though, so how ‘bout some encouragement!”
“Show us your tits!” someone screams.
“That ain’t what I meant.” Trent scowls into the crowd, searching for the degenerate who’s mistaken the Tipsy Saddle for a strip club.
I turn on my southern charm and flash a megawatt smile at the crowd. “Well, this song definitely ain’t about that guy.”
“I love you, Shelby!” someone else shouts.
My laughter comes out husky and soft through the microphone. “Thank you.”
I strum my fingers over the strings. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Trent’s nod.
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
Fear rolls over me. When Trent and I went over the song earlier, I never imagined singing it in front of Rooster.
It shouldn’t be such a big deal. With all the bright lights shining in my eyes, I can’t actually see Rooster’s face. I assume he’s still over by the bar.
Besides, it’s so loud. The sound system isn’t great. The crowd’s boisterous. He probably won’t be able to understand the words anyway.
Or maybe the song will scare him away before I finish my set. Then my heart won’t have to endure the utter humiliation of watching him run out the door in horror.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.