I manage to hold out on calling him until after I’ve made myself a cup of coffee. It’s almost nine. He should be awake by now, right? If not, it’s late enough that calling isn’t ridiculous.
Except when he answers, his voice sounds sleep-roughened, and the image of him tangled in sheets, his scruff longer with his hair sticking out everywhere does things to me. Warm, tingly things that center between my thighs. Does he sleep naked? Or in underwear? What kind of underwear? Boxer briefs? Regular boxers? Or the sexy briefs you see on underwear models on Insta?
“Alexis? Are you there?”
Blinking, I realize I’ve been drooling over naked fantasies of my soon-to-be husband for real, even if it’s only on paper. “Yes. Yes. Sorry. I’m here. I was just, uh, distracted by my, uh, coffee maker.”
His raspy morning chuckle washes over me. “That sounds serious. Did it break?”
“What? Oh, no no no. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” The amusement in his voice is now tinged with concern. “You sound a little off. Is everything alright?”
Sighing, I close my eyes and force myself to take a deep breath. Center. I’ve spent every day for a week with Colt. He’s not going to freak. “Delores called this morning. My agent. She woke me up, actually.”
“Ah,” he says. Fabric rustles in the background, but I force myself to ignore the images the sounds conjure up. “That’s why you’re up so early.”
I force out a weak chuckle. “Yeah. She actually called a while ago, but I didn’t want to wake you, so I waited a bit. Sorry if I woke you up anyway.”
“It’s fine,” he says, his tone more brisk. Businesslike. And suddenly, I hate it. I liked the warm, raspy, sleepy voice. I want that back. “What’d she say?”
“Um …” I fiddle with the handle of my mug. I need to just spit it out. Hemming and hawing won’t change her suggestion. And it won’t change Colt’s reaction, whatever that might be. Closing my eyes again, I tell him. “She says we should elope.”
Silence greets my statement. That shouldn’t surprise me. That was pretty much my reaction too. But for some reason, I was hoping he’d be all over it.
He takes a deep, audible breath. “We should elope,” he repeats.
“Yup. She says she’s run the scenarios and public proposals are too opportunistic and a drawn out engagement isn’t the right kind of buzz but when your brother got married in Vegas it made a big splash and if he’d capitalized on it he’d be huge by now and …” I trail off, having run out of things to babble about. Colt’s still not saying anything.
“Are you still there?” I ask at last.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m just …”
“Yeah,” I whisper after a beat. “Me too.”
“Um, let me get up and dressed. I’ll come over. We’ll figure this out, okay?”
Relief and gratitude wash over me. “That sounds good. I’ll see you soon?”
“Yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”
Chapter Thirteen
Colt
I get showered and dressed on autopilot, barely acknowledging my mother when I come out to grab a quick breakfast.
I’ve been staying with my parents since I quit Jonathan’s tour. Mom knows I’m seeing someone and also that I’m planning on pursuing my own career apart from my brothers. She’s encouraging, but is also her usual bossy and demanding self. She wants to know what my plans are, what steps I’m taking, how I plan to break out of the rut I’ve found myself in.
As if she didn’t have anything to do with it. She’s the one who told Jonathan to hire me.
The last question is the one that kills me, though. “What are you going to do in the meantime?” Which translates to, What are you going to do if this doesn’t work out?
I’ve told her I’m working on new material. And she knows I’m seeing Alexis, because she follows the entertainment news closely and so she’s seen the pictures. But she hasn’t said anything. Hasn’t pushed for details or asked to meet her.
For now, she’s mostly leaving me alone. But her forbearance period will come to an end soon, and she’ll push for me to find a job of some variety. Some part of me has always wondered if the reason she pushed me to work for Jonathan was just to get me out of the house. I never planned to go to college after graduating from high school, planning on reclaiming my place in the spotlight instead.
Here I am, four years later, no degree and no spotlight to show for it.
But that might all be changing very, very soon.
When I arrive at Alexis’s apartment, she answers the door wearing her customary leggings and T-shirt. But these are more faded and threadbare than what I’m used to seeing. She also has on no makeup, and her hair, while neat, isn’t styled the way it normally is. And she stares at me with wide brown eyes, watching me like a bomb that’s liable to go off at any moment.
Once inside with the door firmly closed behind me, I wrap her in my arms, holding her tightly against my chest. I rub her back in small circles and take deep breaths. By the third or fourth breath, her shoulders relax, and her arms find their way around my torso, her fingers clutching the fabric of my shirt.
“Oh my god, Colt,” she whispers into my chest. “What are we gonna do?”
I give her a squeeze and drop a kiss on the top of her head. “We’re going to elope. This was the plan, right? If this is what Delores says will get us where we want to be, then this is what we’ll do.” I put enough space between us that I can tilt her face up so she’ll look at me. “We’re already spending every day together. This’ll just mean I don’t have to travel as far to see you.”
The corners of her mouth tilt up in a wan smile. But it’s not reassuring to me at all. And I get it. I’m kinda freaking out too. But we can’t both freak out at the same time or this will never, ever work.
Still, if she’s not on board this won’t work anyway.
I steer us to her loveseat and sit down, pulling her down next to me, wrapping her hands up in mine. We don’t normally touch this much, especially not in private, but she clearly needs some kind of physical comfort. I do too, if I’m being completely honest. Being with her makes me feel better about this whole crazy scheme. But not so much when she’s clearly scared out of her mind.
“We don’t have to do this,” I tell her, giving each word equal weight. “Just because your agent thinks it’s a good idea, doesn’t mean we have to do what she says. We can just get engaged. There’s nothing legally binding about a diamond ring. Hell, you can even keep it when all this is over.” I take a deep breath, bracing myself before offering the next option. “Or we can just call everything off. Go our separate ways. If this is too much …” I trail off, not able to verbalize the rest of the statement. Because I really don’t want her to pick that option, for so many reasons. I enjoy spending time with her. I like singing for her, singing with her. That duet has visions of performing together in venues large and small dancing in my head. Actually the most appealing fantasy is us in a small, pop-up concert somewhere. Intimate venue, us in a clear space at the front of a large room full of chairs and people who came just to hear us.