“Good?” she asked, in a smug tone that made it obvious she knew how she affected him.
“Phenomenal,” he said. “But I still wish I’d fucked you. I love being inside your pussy. I love kissing you while you come on my cock.”
Heat crept into Marisol’s gaze. “You have to stop with the dirty talk. We’re going to be there in less than an hour and I still have to get dressed and cleaned up.”
“I think you look fine the way you are,” Bubba said, running his hand up her thigh, ready to get his hand back between her legs. “You’ll look even better after you come for me again.”
“Stop,” Marisol said, slapping his hand with a laugh. “I’m serious. I’m nervous enough as it is without having to go up there looking like I’ve been up to no good in the limo.”
“I like it when we’re up to no good,” Bubba said, but he moved a few inches away from Marisol to adjust his jeans, not wanting to contribute to her nerves.
While Marisol touched up her hair and makeup and changed into the white sundress and knee high boots she’d decided to wear for their first public performance together, Bubba washed up at the tiny limo sink and did what he could with his hair before sliding his cowboy hat back in place. By the time they made it through downtown Lonesome Point, and into the line of cars waiting to park for the concert, Marisol looked so beautiful it was a form of torture to keep his hands off of her. Still, she looked nervous.
“Don’t worry,” he said, nudging her boot with his own. “You’re going to be amazing.”
She blew out a long breath through pursed lips. “And if I’m not, we can keep this little experiment to ourselves. No harm done.”
“I don’t want to keep it to ourselves,” he said. “Mia’s already set up to record my set. I want the duet to be the next single, and I want you on stage with me when we stop in Seattle on Wednesday. Wendy loves you, and I know she’s going to love the song as soon as she hears it.”
“Assuming she loves the song, and assuming she’s okay with you slipping a duet into your set, we can talk about it,” Marisol said in her all business voice. “But you’re not releasing a duet as your second single. You don’t want to dilute your brand this early in your career. We save the duet for your fifth or sixth release, after you’ve hit the top ten a few times.”
Bubba grinned. “And you’ll have a record deal by then. Once your demo tape hits Nashville, I expect the offers will be just around the corner.”
“Go ahead, jinx it,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. “I’m not sure I want to be famous, anyway. Managing your rising star is exhausting. If I had my own music career to deal with, I don’t know how we’d fit in time for the rest of the items on my nookie list.”
“Oh, I think we’d find a way,” he said, leaning in to kiss her neck, his body responding to her sweet scent as if he hadn’t just gotten off thirty minutes ago.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, laughing as she shoved at his chest. “I don’t have time to get cleaned up again. You’re on in thirty minutes, and we still need to check in at the talent tent and get a security escort to the stage.”
“I don’t see why.” He glanced out the window, amazed by the acres of cars parked in the makeshift lot beside the road. “I grew up here. Half these people have known me since I was in diapers. I’m not going to be in danger from crazed fans in Lonesome Point.”
“Mia arranged for security for all the performers, as well as the historic sites near the stages,” Marisol said, fidgeting with the hem of her dress as the limo pulled down the access road leading toward the oldest part of Old Town, where a striped tent with fluttering red flags on top sat slightly apart from the concert taking place in the restored portion of the ghost town. “I think she’s smart to take precautions. Better to be safe than to risk someone getting hurt.”
Bubba grunted. “I guess so. And who knows, my family might decide to come throw rocks during the show. I might need security, after all.”
Marisol reached out, threading her fingers through his the way she did every time the situation with his mother and John came up. From the start, Cole had declared himself Switzerland, but John and Mom had responded to Bubba’s announcement with about as much enthusiasm as he’d expected. Meaning absolutely no enthusiasm, laced with shades of shock and betrayal.
Based on their reactions, you would have thought Bubba had announced he was giving up his career as a lineman to join a cult devoted to the full-time sacrifice of kittens. His mother hadn’t spoken a word to him since the afternoon she told him she would never give her blessing for him to ruin his life, and John had refused to answer any of Bubba’s calls. Lily had jumped on the line once or twice to give him updates on the boys, and to whisper that she was sure the ill will would blow over sooner or later, but Bubba expected it would be much, much later. If ever.
His mother could hold a grudge with the best of them, and John had appointed himself guardian of their mother’s well-being when Dad had died. He wasn’t going to budge until Mom budged, and Mom wouldn’t budge so long as she felt like budging would betray the memory of the husband she’d loved and lost too soon.
It was a sad, stubborn, hurt spiral that Bubba wasn’t sure would end better than things had ended with Marisol and her family, but he tried not to let it bring him down. He might not have his biological family’s support, but he had his chosen family, including the friends waiting for him inside that tent, and the woman by his side, who he hoped would be something more serious than his girlfriend by the time the night was through.
He double-checked his back pocket for the tenth time since he and Marisol left the hotel in Portland this morning. The hard lump was still there, safe and sound, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. He just needed to make sure the recording equipment was set up like Mia had promised.
Bubba and Marisol emerged from the limo and hustled into the tent where musicians and benefit volunteers were scattered around the various picnic tables with water, lemonade, and other refreshments. At the far side of the tent, was a table filled with computers, clipboards, and a dozen walkie-talkies. Control central was manned by Tulsi, Ugly Ross, two techie guys Bubba didn’t recognize, and Mia, who was looking very official with her headset on and clipboard in hand.
The moment she saw him she let out a squeal he hoped hadn’t busted the eardrums of anyone on the receiving end of her mouthpiece, and dashed across the room.
“Oh man, I’m so glad you’re here!” She pulled him in for a hard hug before releasing him with a none-too-gentle punch on the arm. “Way to cut it close, jerk.”
“Sorry,” Bubba said. “I had a show last night, and we couldn’t get a flight out until this morning.”
“I know, I read all about the show on your fan site,” Mia said, punching him again. “Look at you! With a fan site! And a song on the radio! Pretty soon Pike’s going to have a run for his money for most famous Lonesome Point stud.”
Bubba shrugged, still not sure how to feel about his growing fame. The music and the rush of performing for a pumped up crowd, he loved. The rest of it made him grateful for Marisol, who always seemed to know when to step in when the weirder parts of his new career caught him off guard.
“Where is Pike?” she asked now, smoothly guiding the conversation into less awkward waters. “I have to get his autograph. My older brother, Luis, is a huge Cardinals fan.”