“Idon’t think I’ve ever seen skirts this short,” Alabama muses, one hand on her cocked hip as she stares at her closet.
“Pigeonholed again,” Holly crows in her ear. “You gotta shake things up. You hate wearin’ all of that, so why are you?”
With a frown, Alabama tucks the phone under her ear and stands. She rifles through her closet, the clothes the stylist picked out. Everything’s short and low-cut, pink or some color that screams princess. Clothes meant for someone else. Someone other than Alabama.
“You know, you’re right. I should just burn this whole bus down.”
“Sounds rash. Maybe just wear something you like.”
“No.” She examines the gold metallic manicure she got in the last town over. Macon? Atlanta? She can’t remember. “Fire’s the answer. Flames and fury are the answer to everything.”
Holly laughs. “And then how will you get to Birmingham? Maybe Griff Grumperson will fireman-carry you all the way to Marlow’s Bar and Grill.”
Alabama groans and glances at her door to make sure it’s really closed. Closed tight. Against Griff. That’s what she’s been doing ever since they had sex. Shutting off. Powering down. Focusing on the music and not some man who keeps looking at her like she’s his undoing.
It’s been a week of keeping her distance from Griff, of leaving the room when he enters, of singing their one song and then exiting the stage straight after her set, of eating Thanksgiving dinner alone in her room, of watching to see if Griff brings a girl back to the bus. She’s doing all she can to avoid him. She knows any close contact, cramped quarters, would be dangerous business. She doesn’t have willpower around Griff.
It’s how she got herself into this mess in the first place.
Alabama sighs. “That’s the last thing I want, Holly.”
“Really?”
“Really. It’s called the ol’ two-step avoidant shuffle.”
“What?” Holly’s hopeful voice deflates. “C’mon, y’all gotta make a comeback. I rescind what I said at the tavern. I’m secretly rooting for you two.”
Alabama fingers a sequined jumpsuit and frowns at the scratchy material. “All I wanna do is buckle down. Just four more weeks and I get that big fat check on payday.”
She’s put off the lawyers until the end of the year, but she doesn’t know how much longer she can stall until they come calling with collections. Or worse, another lawsuit.
“Sounds like Griff’s bucklin’ down too,” Holly drawls. “No drinkin’, no fightin’, no news in the Star. You’re keepin’ him on the straight and narrow, Al.”
“He has been surprisingly ... good lately.” It’s the truth. He hasn’t brought a woman back to the bus since their night on the pier. She hasn’t seen Nikki since then either.
“Then why on earth are you avoidin’ him?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Alabama bites her lip, readying herself for Holly’s strangled outburst. Then she takes the plunge and the words topple out in one fast ramble. “Maybe it’s because we slept together?”
Holly gasps. “Alabama Grace, what?”
“We slept together last week. He took me boot shopping, and it just happened. And then Brian—he gave me some pompous lecture about how I was ruinin’ my chances and Griff’s and I ... I let it get to me, Holly.”
An incensed sputter from Holly. So loud, Alabama has to pull the receiver away from her ear. “That slimy little snake. Send him back home and I will put a boot so far up his ass I’ll knock his block off.”
“I know.” Alabama groans. “I hate lettin’ that little weasel scare me off.”
“So don’t. You’re still gonna get the money. You might as well be gettin’ a little more from Griff while you can too.”
“Holly!” Alabama can practically see her best friend’s lascivious eyebrow rise over the phone.
“Well,” she hedges. “I’m just sayin’.” A beat, then, “Was it good?”
“Oh, yeah.” Alabama’s face goes warm, her palms clammy. She tries to focus on the conversation at hand and not the memory of Griff’s lips kissing on every inch of her body. “Like cold ice cream on a hot summer day,” she adds stupidly.
“Then you gotta get that back. Cold ice cream on a summer day? Who passes that up?” Holly makes a sound of disgust. “Fuck Brian. You can’t let him control you. That’s the exact same thing you were trying to get out of with Six String. So here’s what you do. You do Griff on the sly. You pretend Daddy Forester’s around and you’re back in Clover, humpin’ in the shadows. You were good at that.”
Alabama scowls at the phone. “Thanks a lot.” The thought of bringing her father into this has her dry-heaving. No doubt Griff would feel the same way. While her father never flat out hated on Griff, she knew he wasn’t Griff’s biggest fan.