One of her eyebrows wings up. “Oh? It’s my job to pick out all your songs now?”
“Well …” I lean back on one hand. “We’ve seen what my song selections are like. And yours is already a hit. So I trust your choices more than my own. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll pick out some songs too. Then you can tell me how shit they are. Maybe eventually I’ll get better. With your guidance, of course.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling back at me now. “Of course.”
Captivated, all I can do is stare down at her. She sways toward me, and our mouths inch closer together. I force myself to hold still. To wait for her to close the distance. But she’s staring up at me like she’s waiting for me.
After an eternity of being frozen like that—or maybe like three seconds, but that’s apparently my limit—I clear my throat and stand, moving back to the couch and picking up my guitar. I need the safety of the barrier it provides. I idly strum a few chords, just messing around.
Alexis clears her throat, hunching her shoulders and crossing her legs, shrinking in on herself. “Um, why don’t you start from the beginning, but see if you can get through the whole song.”
I nod, mute, and do as she asks.
While I might be excited about her helping my career, if this kind of sexual tension doesn’t let up soon, it’s going to be a long couple of years working together. And if we actually get married? Because that’s the plan, unless I’m mistaken. We’ll be living together.
How the hell am I going to survive that?
Chapter Twelve
Alexis
Despite a few uncomfortable moments where I’m certain Colt is going to kiss me, spending time with him becomes the highlight of my day. And the next day. And the one after that. Until pretty soon, we’ve seen each other every day for a week, working on new material, recording covers for him to post online, and just generally having a good time. He’s easy to talk to. Easy to be with. And he even insisted on singing a duet with me. Despite my token protest, I was flattered and excited to be able to sing with him. It’s been fun working it up together, even if singing heartrending love songs with him leads to more of those uncomfortable, almost-kissing moments like that first day.
And in the wee hours of the morning when I’m too tired to lie to myself, those “uncomfortable” moments are the ones I look forward to the most. Because despite my insistence that things between us need to stay just business, deep down, I don’t really want that. I want those hungry kisses. I want his tongue in my mouth and his hand between my thighs. We haven’t gotten that far ever, but I imagine he’d know just what to do.
Groaning, I pull a pillow over my face and scream into it. I’m killing myself. Maybe I should change my mind. Because surely nothing can be worse than this torture.
After a night of fitful sleep and erotic dreams starring Colt, my phone wakes me up waaaay too early, especially since I didn’t get to sleep until after two in the morning.
But when I blearily look at the screen, it’s Delores, so I answer it, my voice croaky and tired.
“I hope you’re not smoking,” she says without preamble. “You’re supposed to be keeping clean. That means no smoking, no drinking, no drugs. Not even on your own time. You know better than that.”
“I’m not smoking,” I whine. “Or drinking. Or doing drugs. I’m on the straight and narrow. Promise. I’m just tired. I was up late, and it’s barely seven.”
She hums, the sound carrying a disappointed mother’s worth of judgment. “If you say so. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is because I’ve come to a decision.”
This pronouncement has me sitting up in bed, blinking awake. “What kind of decision?” I ask, trying valiantly to keep the panic clawing at my throat out of my voice.
“About you and Colt.” The sound of her typing comes clearly over the phone. She must have me on speakerphone. “I’ve been following your progress online, and while you’re not making huge waves, that’s to be expected. Which, on balance, is good, because it means they’re not still running stories about you in connection to the accident that ended your band’s short-lived career. But it also means that you’re not in the public eye as much as I’d like you to be. Popularity sells. Still, there are a few dedicated sites that report anything and everything that are following you and Colt closely. They seem to like the two of you together, and I must admit, you make a cute couple. You both have that wholesome sweetness that plays well across the whole country. So I’ve decided how we should handle the next step of your relationship.”
“Oh. Right. Great,” I stammer, not quite sure what the best response is to that deluge of information. Things are good, from the sounds of it, but they could be better. More good press, more attention to outweigh the boulder of negativity caused by my involvement in the accident.
“You shouldn’t get engaged,” Delores declares.
I blink at the wall across from me, wondering if I heard her correctly. That was the whole plan, wasn’t it? She was the one who suggested it needed that level of seriousness not to make me seem like a floozy. What the hell?
But before I can translate any of those questions into words, she stuns me speechless again.
“You need to elope.”
I choke. On what, I’m not sure. My own spit? The air?
Most likely that statement.
“I’m sorry, what?” I come out with at last.
Delores is unfazed by my shock. “I’ve been running the scenarios and also comparing what happened with Colt’s two brothers. His older brother was already somewhat famous when word got out about his girlfriend. And since they were just dating, she got raked over the coals. His other brother, who seems to prefer obscurity, more’s the pity, eloped in Vegas, and it had everyone in a tizzy for weeks. That seems to be the better option than either a surprise engagement announcement or a public spectacle proposal. Spectacles are about fifty-fifty on whether people think they’re romantic or opportunistic. You don’t need that kind of speculation, particularly considering … well, I’m sure I don’t need to spell that out. People elope when they’re caught up in a fit of passion and worried about money or disapproval. There’s a certain naughty romanticism to it. It’ll raise your profile in the press and it’ll show that you’re in a committed relationship. Which is what we want, right?”
“Right,” I agree weakly.
“Well then. That’s settled. Let me know when you’ve told Colt, and I’ll make the arrangements. Let’s shoot for next week.”
“Next week?” I squawk, but she’s already hung up before I finish getting the words out. I stare at my phone for a long time, stunned.
I knew getting married was likely going to happen before this was all over. But next week?
Suddenly this just got a lot more real. And a lot more complicated.
After wallowing in my bed for a while, I get up and take a shower, my mind racing. I obviously need to call Colt, but it’s early, and I don’t want to wake him up. Except I do want to wake him up, because I want him to tell me that this is fine, this is what we’ve been planning, that it’s all going to be okay.