Chapter 15
Naomi reminded herself for the tenth time that she had nothing to be nervous about. And for the tenth time, she stopped herself from sending a text to Chance telling him to forget about the dinner.
Getting through the hour that morning with her mother at the party supply store had been absolute torture. First, there was the question about what she intended to wear to dinner. When Naomi asked why her wardrobe for a casual family meal mattered, her mother changed the subject. When conversation swung to the oh-so-subtle topic of women having difficulty getting pregnant once they reached their thirties, Naomi had changed the subject.
By the time she’d dropped her mother at home and drove off with a hellish headache, Naomi considered changing her phone number and running off to a deserted island. Although something told her that no matter where she chose, her mother would get there first, and be waiting with a mai tai and Neal Nelson dressed in a tuxedo.
“I can’t believe you didn’t spill,” April said, from her position on Naomi’s bed. Thanks to a water leak in the ceiling of her apartment, April was spending the weekend with her best friend. “Snoop Doggy Dawn must be slipping.”
April had given the Mallard matriarch this nickname upon hearing the trials of Naomi’s seventh-grade year, when her mother had sussed out the hidden location of her daughter’s diary no less than five times.
“I nearly cracked when she brought up adding an extra place setting at the table. I paid Baker twenty bucks to tell her he was bringing a date so that Chance would have a place to sit.” Naomi dabbed foundation across her forehead. “I offered ten, but that little shit talked me up to twenty.”
“That’s my boy.” April turned the page of her entertainment magazine. “Do the paparazzi follow Chance around? Am I going to see you in these pages next month?”
“You know as well as I do that Nashville is the one rare safe havens from paparazzi. At least most of the time. And Chance is still considered old news, at least until he releases another album. That’s why we’re working so hard to get him any attention at all.” Naomi contemplated her eye shadow choices, settling on a deep gold tone. “So no, there are no cameras following Chance around.”
April flipped another page. “That you know of.”
Naomi nearly took her eye out. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Those lenses are long. They could be camped out on a rooftop snapping pics like some gossip-mag sniper.” She jammed another pillow behind her back. “I’m just saying. You never know where a photographer might be lurking these days.”
What if they were following Chance around? What if pictures of the two of them walking the downtown streets were being cropped and manipulated right now? Naomi stared at her half-made-up face in the mirror, considering the possibilities. And then she went back to doing her makeup.
“That actually wouldn’t be a bad thing. So long as they don’t post a picture of him taking a drink, I’d be happy for the free attention.”
April tossed the magazine aside. “Do you always wear that much makeup to a family dinner?”
Naomi froze, mascara wand hovering before one eye. On a typical Sunday, Naomi didn’t bother with makeup at all. So what was she doing getting dolled up as if she had a hot date?
“I should wash this off.” She reached for the washcloth hanging from the towel bar. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
April darted into the bathroom and snatched the washcloth away. “Oh, no you don’t. Fake or not, a date is a date. Any man willing to meet your family deserves at least a little eyeliner. And if the night goes the way I expect it will, possibly a blow job on the way home.”
Naomi shoved her way out of the bathroom. “Why do I let you in my house? That’s disgusting.”
“Right. Like you’ve never gone down on a guy in a car.”
Dropping onto the bed, Naomi dragged a black knee-high boot over her skinny jeans. “What happens on spring break stays on spring break. And are you forgetting who we’re talking about here? This isn’t just any guy. It’s Chance Colburn. The Chance Colburn.”
“Yes. The Chance Colburn.” April leaned against the door frame. “The guy who ruined you for every man who came after him. Who broke your heart and made you cynical about love. He’s also the chart-topping megastar who is spending a Sunday evening pretending to be your boyfriend, just to keep your mother from pairing you up with a successful doctor. Tell me you see the story arc in that scenario.”
Tugging on the second boot, Naomi rejected the insinuation. Yes, it was possible that Chance had grown up. That maybe the selfish, heartless cheater who’d destroyed her confidence, shaken her sense of self-worth, and made her question every instinct she’d ever had no longer inhabited the man picking her up in ten minutes. She’d already considered that possibility, and had no problem giving him the credit he deserved for turning his life around.
However, no amount of change in Chance would be enough for Naomi to put her heart on the line again. Growing up was one thing, but Chance still carried enough emotional baggage to scare off any sensible woman.
Boots in place, she remained on the bed, eyes on the floor. “April, he’s a recovering alcoholic, barely holding his life together.” She looked up to meet her best friend’s caring gaze. “I’ve seen his hands shake. Watched him struggle to control his temper. Seen the demons lurking in his eyes, always hovering beneath the surface, ready to push him over the edge. Does that sound like a man you’d want to get involved with?”
April joined her on the bed. “Maybe not. But it does sound like he could use a friend. I know from personal experience that you’re an awesome one of those.”
“Now you’re getting mushy on me.” Rising to her feet, Naomi shoved the jeans down into her boots before tugging the sleeves of her white sweater down over her hands. “How do I look?”
“Casual yet sexy,” April said. “Snoop Doggy Dawn would approve.”
Naomi tossed a pillow at her friend’s head. “One of these days, I’m going to tell her you call her that.”
The blonde stood, towering over her friend despite the three-inch heels on the black boots. “So long as I’m a continent away, go for it.”
To Naomi’s surprise, her doorbell rang. The two stared at each other, wide-eyed.
“Do you think that’s him?”
“Would he come all the way up here?” Naomi whispered, as if the person on the other side of the door could hear them from the back of the apartment.
“Only one way to find out.” April sprinted from the room, with Naomi trailing after her.
He’d stood center stage at the Grand Ole Opry, played Nissan Stadium in front of sixty thousand screaming fans, and walked the red carpet for the biggest award shows in entertainment. Yet meeting Naomi’s family felt more daunting than all of those experiences put together.
As Archie had pointed out, Chance didn’t do family dinners. He’d never even done his own family dinners. Thanksgiving had been on TV trays in front of the Cowboys game, hoping America’s team would win so Wayne wouldn’t be in a pissy mood for the rest of the weekend. Shelly had once received an invite for Chance to dine at the White House. He’d laughed at the notion and turned the invite down.
So why the hell had he volunteered to have dinner with an all-American family who couldn’t possibly fathom the realities of his upbringing? Naomi’s father was a dentist, for Christ’s sake. You couldn’t get more normal than that.
Before Chance could change his mind and head back the way he’d come, Naomi’s door flew open and a towering pillar of woman greeted him.
“Howdy, cowboy.”
Well, shit, he’d thought he remembered the apartment number. “I’m sorry. I thought this was someone else’s door.”
“It’s me!” Naomi charged around the taller woman. “It’s me. This is right. I live here.”
Chance hadn’t expected quite this level of enthusiasm. “Good to know I didn’t knock on a stranger’s door.” He lingered on the threshold as the odd pair watched him, wearing matching goofy grins. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“Oh yes. Just let me grab my purse and my phone.”
She disappeared inside, leaving him alone with the woman who stood nearly eye to eye with him in her bare feet. “I’m Chance,” he said.
The gawker nodded. “I know.”
“And you are?”
“April. April Pitz.” Tossing a thumb over her shoulder, she added, “I don’t live here. I’m just staying for the weekend.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “But I can make myself scarce tonight, if necessary.” Slim brows wiggled up and down.
Maybe she knew something he didn’t. “Okay, then. Good talking to you.” Chance backed up to lean on the railing behind him.
Naomi’s apartment complex was set up like a motel, with all the apartments opening to a triangular courtyard housing a pool and tree-lined sidewalks. The place looked exactly as he remembered, which had helped him pinpoint the correct door to knock on.
“Got my stuff.” Naomi joined him outside the door. “Ready to go.”
They headed for the stairs as April yelled, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Pretending her friend didn’t exist, she hustled down the two flights of metal stairs. At the bottom, she said, “I’m guessing we’re in a taxi? You should have sent me a message when you were almost here. I’d have come down and saved you from having to pay for the extra time.”
Where did she get these ideas? “When a man picks up a woman for a date, real or not, he doesn’t honk from the drive and wait in the car. He goes to the damn door. And there’s no taxi. I rented a car.”
Two steps more and Chance realized he was walking alone. Turning back, he found her staring in disbelief. “You don’t have a license, remember? You can’t drive a rental car.”
Was there any limit to the sins she would continuously place at his feet? Closing the distance between them, Chance took her by the hand and pulled her along. “That’s why I hired a driver to go with the car. Now could you stop assuming the worst every time I open my mouth?”
Naomi nearly tripped in her effort to keep up, and Chance slowed his gait.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But when you say rental car, I think . . . well . . . rental car. Go up to the counter. Hand over a credit card. Take the keys.” She stopped again when they reached the parking lot, nearly ripping his arm from the socket. “You rented a limousine.”
“That’s generally the kind of car that comes with a driver.”
He tried to put them back in motion, but she wouldn’t budge. “We can’t show up at my parents’ house in a limousine. Are you crazy?”
Chance had considered choosing the basic sedan, but upgraded to a limo at the last minute, figuring what he lacked in breeding and good manners he could make up for with money.
“It’s just a car, Nay. It’ll get us there and back, and Victor will have a nice long nap while we eat.”
Victor smiled from his position next to the open rear door. “At your service, ma’am.”
She slowly advanced, as if the car might explode at any second. “My mother is going to have a cow.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Chance asked.
“Could go either way.” When they reached the car, she bent to tuck her head inside. “It’s beautiful!”
Victor grinned with pride as Chance admired the view. The dark denim hugged her curves in all the right ways. “Yes, it is.”
Once she climbed inside, Chance followed suit, settling in beside her on the black leather seat as Victor closed the door.
Accent lights lining the top of the windows illuminated her hazel eyes. “I can’t believe you did this. The neighbors will be talking for days. Maybe weeks.”
He’d done it for her. Naomi deserved to travel in style, if only for one night. “That’s always been my motto. Give ’em something to talk about.”
The window that separated them from the driver lowered. “If you’ll give me the address, we’ll be on our way.”
Naomi supplied the info requested, and the window slid back into place.
“Can he see us?” she whispered.
“Why? Are you planning to do something you don’t want him to see?”
A deep blush pinkened her cheeks. “No . . . I . . . I just wondered, is all.”
If Chance didn’t know better, he’d swear she was lying. “That window is pretty dark. I bet he can’t see a thing.”
In truth, Chance knew otherwise, but he wasn’t above a little fib if it meant loosening Naomi’s inhibitions. She’d been on his mind a lot since Friday morning. Especially after Archie’s little warning. Everything that went wrong seven years ago had been Chance’s fault. Naomi had gotten too close and he’d panicked. For months after, every time he’d closed his eyes he’d see her expression that last morning. The hurt. The confusion. The disappointment.
He’d drank to get her out of his head. And then drank more to silence the guilt. The drunker he got, the louder the voices grew.
She deserves better.
You’re nothing but a worthless piece of shit.
No one wants a loser like you.
“Chance?” Naomi waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you still with me?”
He blinked the memories away. “Yeah. Did you say something?”
She leaned on the armrest between them. “No, I didn’t. Where did you go just now?”
“Nowhere.” Rubbing his palms on his denim-clad thighs, Chance buried the past where it belonged. “Are we almost there?”
Naomi chuckled. “We’ve barely been on the road three minutes.”
“Right.” The limo suddenly felt as if it were closing in on him. “We need music.” Chance pushed a button above his head and the front window lowered again. “Turn on some country music, Victor.”
“There are controls in the armrest, sir. We have all the streaming options, as well as traditional radio stations.”
Locating the small lever that released the top of the armrest, Chance was greeted with a rectangular screen that glowed to life. Impatient, he picked the first country station he could find. Keith Whitley filled the speakers with “I’m Over You,” a classic tune Chance had played in Texas honkytonks a thousand times.
“They’ve thought of everything in these cars,” Naomi said, watching him closely. “Are you sure you’re okay? If you’re having second thoughts about this dinner, we can turn around now.”
Chance sought to reassure her. “I’m good. How bad could one dinner be?”
Naomi melted into the seat. “You have no idea.”