Alabama puts down her phone and watches Griff swagger into the breakfast nook. She’s unable to keep the smile off her face at the heated look he gives her. They haven’t been able to tear their eyes, their lips, their skin away from each other. For the last week, Alabama’s been living on fumes, hustle, and Griff. Every night he joins her onstage at the end of her set to sing a song or two. The one safe way they can be together without attracting any unnecessary attention.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Griff scratches his belly, giving her an eyeful of lean, toned stomach. He pops a Keurig pod into the machine, presses the LCD screen and waits for it to brew. “You sleep okay last night?”
She scoffs. If what they did last night was considered sleep, then she must’ve had a full night’s rest. Although the yawn that’s escaping her lips says otherwise.
Griff grins. “You know, you’d get more rest if you stayed over.”
Her scowl deepens at the smug look on his handsome face. She finally snuck out of his room last night around two a.m., much to Griff’s chagrin.
“I meant what I said.” She shrugs her shoulders. “No sleepovers.”
“Suit yourself.” He nods at her buzzing phone. “What’s the news?”
She picks up her phone and scrolls through. “Holly says hi. Daddy is on a tear about the weather. They said frost and there’s still sun. And ...” She arches a brow, excitement coursing through her body. “The Nashville Star reviewed us.”
His expression darkens. “Alabama, that is the last thing I want to hear this early.” Picking up his coffee, he slips into the horseshoe booth beside her.
“Griff, it’s eleven a.m.”
“Okay, okay.” He groans and rubs his face. “Who do I gotta kill?”
She laughs, swats his arm. “No one. Yet.” She scoots closer to him, only to be stopped when Griff sticks a broad hand between them.
A cocky smile plays on his face. “Is this the approved two-foot distance?”
She glares his way, not liking the rules thrown back in her face. She could give in, just grip the front of his white T-shirt and yank him in for a kiss. She knows it would please Freddie, her and Griff taking up since their fans love them, but she still can’t do it. The main thing stopping her—her reputation. Slowly, she’s been regaining some of the traction she lost. In the press. With her fans. Her father. Her and Griff, they have to keep up appearances as long as they can. If not, she could lose everything she’s gained.
Knocking her shoulder to his, Alabama scoots away from him. Griff’s eyes flash with annoyance, a red-hot yearning to keep her close. But if he can call her bluff, she’ll damn sure call his. “You want to hear it or not?”
He gestures for her to go on.
“First the headline: Two Bad Acts Clean Up Good.” When Griff nods, she continues. “Turning over a new leaf? Maybe not a good leaf per se, but it’s new, different and we like it. Alabama Forester, the so-called pop-country princess, who’s had her issues in the press, and with men, has changed. She’s shed the glamour and the glitz and joined country-rocker Griff Greyson on his ‘Straight to Hell’ tour as his opening act. And while she occasionally sings the achingly saccharine track, she’s blossoming onstage with a new sound and new songs. With honest clarity, she sings songs about heartbreak, love and loss. She also shines when she’s joined by Greyson. The duo is engaging and charismatic, with Forester’s raw, ballad-like country croon mixing perfectly with Greyson’s rowdy rocker attitude. This is a different Alabama Forester than we’ve seen in the past and we hope she’s here to stay.”
She looks back up at Griff. His golden eyes shine with pride and she smiles. “For once the Star ain’t shittin’ all over me.”
A grumpy look settles over Griff’s face, and he wraps a hand around his coffee. “They never shoulda in the first place.”
She glances back at her screen and smiles again, her cloud nine high still hovering around her fringes.
It all feels too good to be true—the review in the Star, reconnecting with Griff, the ease with which her songs are coming to her—but she won’t fight it. She’s learning to embrace what the universe is giving her and trying not to worry so much about it all blowing up in her face.
“You two ready for the show tonight?”
Alabama jumps at the sound of Brian’s monotone bleat. “Jesus,” she breathes, pressing a hand to her heart. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“You’re lurkin’, Brian,” Griff drawls. “Gotta get a new act.”
He is. He’s always lurking. Ever since Brian’s sleazy threat, Alabama’s kept a wary distance, but she feels his eyes on her. She hates knowing that he’s watching her, that he’s trying to control her and Griff both, that he’s judging her for doing whatever it is she’s doing with Griff.
Brian, leaning back against the kitchenette, surveys the two of them. Alabama fights to keep a neutral face, especially when she feels Griff’s hand slide beneath her the skirt of her sweater dress. A covert cop-a-feel from Brian’s prying eyes.
Damn you, Griff.
Alabama stifles a moan as Griff’s large palm wraps around her thigh and squeezes.
“Freddie’s flying in from London,” Brian offers. “Since we’re doing two nights in Baton Rouge, we’re booked at an Extended Stay. It’s got a pool,” he adds uselessly.
“Can’t wait,” Griff says dryly. “Sign me up for water aerobics.” He stretches lazily in the booth, his eyes landing on Alabama. “Two nights, huh?”