He lost Alabama her money.
His heart thundering in his ears, he whips around to apologize, to tell Alabama that he’s the worst variety of asshole.
Alabama’s staring at him, her teary eyes as big as dinner plates.
But before he can say a word, she’s throwing arms around his neck and kissing him like crazy. He tenses, only for a moment, and then leans into her just as fierce. Though he feels the flashbulbs popping around them, the snap of cameras, the excited voices and hushed whispers, he tunes it all out and tunes into Alabama. Red-hot desire rushes through him and he drinks her in, gripping her tight by the hips as they kiss and kiss.
Finally, she pulls back from him with a wrenching gasp.
He grips her by the elbows, confused. “Al, what the fuck?”
A smile cracks her face, her expression joyous and flushed. She holds on to him just as tight. “No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.” She swallows. “No one.”
Griff’s chest tightens, and he cups her cheek. “The way he was talkin’ to you, I wasn’t havin’ that. I couldn’t—”
“Get inside the bus,” a knifelike voice says, the sharp sound of high heels echoing in the small space of the alley. Suddenly Freddie’s in front of them, a snarl on her lips. “Now.”
Alabama sits beside Griff on the black leather couch, their hands entwined, ready to get their ass reamed by Freddie, who stands over them, her face unreadable. But Alabama’s uncaring, because she only has eyes for Griff.
She’s shaken by what he’s just done for her. In front of everyone, he defended her. He wrecked his own chance at his comeback to put Brian in his place. She wants to be pissed that he just torpedoed the tour, her chance at financial freedom from Six String, but she isn’t. She’s never found something so damn hot.
When she looks at him, she sees the Griff she knows. That kid from the past who always stuck up for the underdog. A kind man. Caring. Protective. Someone she can lean on, who has her back always.
Not only is she struck by what he’s just done, she can’t believe what she’s just done. She kissed him in front of everyone. In front of the cameras, the fans, the world. Strangely, panic hasn’t hit her yet. Her reputation’s taken harder knocks than this. And she’s been honest. For once in her life, she’s putting her true self out there. What she wants, how she sings, and most importantly, who she’s with.
“You fought, Griff,” Freddie explains calmly, like they both weren’t there. “You swung a fist. And that fist connected with Brian. With your tour manager.”
“Yeah. I sure as hell did. I punched Brian in the fuckin’ face,” Griff retorts, his expression boiling with annoyance.
Alabama sighs. “Griff, the body’s already cold, you don’t have to stick another knife in it and watch it bleed.”
Griff drags a hand through his hair. “Hell, I ain’t sorry.”
Freddie sits on the short end of the couch and crosses her slim ankles. She turns to Griff. “Tell me what happened.”
Griff’s teeth clench, his grip on Alabama’s hand tightening. “Brian called Alabama something I ain’t repeatin’. And I ain’t havin’ that.” That’s when he looks at her, pain and regret etched across his face. “I’m sorry, Al. I snapped. I know I ruined things—”
“No,” Alabama says, her heart threatening to drumbeat its way out of her chest. “Don’t apologize.” She looks at Freddie. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”
Griff starts in his seat next to her. “Alabama.”
She ignores his sharp tone, keeping her eyes on Freddie. “It is. I take full responsibility. I brought all this to the tour.” She inhales. Griff’s shaking his head, his tawny eyes dark and stormy. “Send me home, fire me, but give Griff another chance.”
“Goddamnit, no,” Griff says, sounding so pissed off and worried that it steals her breath for a moment. “I got all the fault in this. There ain’t nothin’ Alabama did that warrants sendin’ her home. Not one damn thing.”
As Freddie sits silent, a curl of unease burrows deep in Alabama’s stomach, but she stamps it down. She’s doing the right thing. No matter what happens to her.
Freddie evaluates the two of them with a decisive eye. “How very sweet,” she finally says. “A united front.”
Alabama sits there, her hand clasped with Griff’s, feeling like she’s back in her daddy’s house, ready to get the dressing-down of the century.
Freddie pins her gaze to Alabama. “Brian called you a slut, is that right, Alabama?”
She doesn’t flinch. “Yes. That’s correct.”
“And Griff was defending you.”
“He was.”