Chapter 17
“He is not preparing me for the cheating,” Charley argued for the fourth time in the last week.
“You’re deluding yourself, woman. Dylan flat-out told you that he’s going to see other women.” Matty tossed a handful of socks from the washer into the dryer. “How are you not seeing this?”
Lifting herself onto the counter, Charley continued to eat her chocolate ice cream. Which she’d been craving all day.
“I’m going to explain this one more time,” she said, tapping her spoon on the rim of her bowl. “He isn’t going to see other women. That’s the whole point. He needs to make it look like he isn’t seeing anyone, including me. Mitch has convinced him that playing up this ridiculous eligible bachelor thing is going to get him more attention and somehow translate into more sales and more . . . I don’t know. More whatever it takes to make it big.”
Truth be told, Charley didn’t like anything about Mitch’s idea, but she could understand the reasoning. A lot of male artists came into the business with a wife in tow, and even families, but these days everything was about image and tweets and likes. Gone were the days an artist could break through with nothing more than a nice smile and a great song. So she had to stay in the shadows for four months. Charley didn’t need to be in the limelight anyway. Though that trip on the red carpet had been fun.
“Right,” the cynical roommate replied. “You’ve given the man a free pass, Charley. No guy passes up a free pass.”
There was simply no convincing Matty that all men weren’t lying, cheating scum.
“When Dylan isn’t doing interviews, rehearsing with the band, or shooting a video, he’s with me. He doesn’t have time to see other women.”
Charley would have loved to have been at the video shoot earlier in the day, but since Mitch had lined up a special behind-the-scenes extra edition, she’d have had to hide from the cameras the entire time and miss all the action. Not a fun way to spend the afternoon. Plus, she’d worked a remote in Franklin during the morning.
Matty slammed the dryer shut. “What about when that reporter from the magazine spent the whole day with him? You weren’t around then.”
“Convincing a reporter that he belongs on a most eligible bachelor list would be a little difficult with his girlfriend tagging along.”
“I always hated that term. After a certain age, it sounds stupid.”
Rolling her eyes, Charley licked the bottom of her spoon. “Then what would you prefer I call myself?”
Two cranks of a knob, followed by the push of a button, and the ancient machine rolled into motion. “I have no idea. I haven’t been a guy’s anything in so long, I haven’t had to think about it.” Lifting a full basket onto her hip, Matty began loading the washer. “I can’t believe this doesn’t bother you. Sneaking around to see each other. Letting him tell the press that you two are just friends. All to con some teenage girls into dreaming they have a chance with him, hoping they’ll buy all his records and tweet about how amazing he is, and I think I just threw up in my mouth even saying that.”
“Did someone up your drama queen medication this morning?” Charley hopped off the counter and set her now empty bowl in the sink. “I’d better jump in the shower. Dylan is picking me up in an hour, and with him leaving for the radio tour in the morning, this is definitely a shave-my-legs night.”
Though Clay Benedict had mentioned his large investment in Dylan, that money apparently didn’t pay for five-star travel accommodations for a radio tour. Ten days in a van with Mitch, Casey, a driver, and a record label rep did not sound like a pleasant way to see the country. Hopefully, by the time the tour ended, his single would be climbing the charts, and all the hours on the road would have been worth it.
“You’re wasting those amazing legs on a man who doesn’t deserve them,” Matty mumbled.
Stopping on her way out of the room, Charley said, “You think I have amazing legs?”
A pair of black yoga pants flew at her head. “Of course I do, you little hussy. They’re almost as tall as I am, for crying out loud. I’d kill to have legs like that.”
In the short time she’d known her, Matty had never expressed even a hint of self-doubt. Except for the bit about men cheating on her. But when it came to looks, either the woman’s mirror was broken, or her eyes were.
“Matty, you’re like a Mensa poster child wrapped in the body of a beauty queen.”
“That explains why I was the president of the chess club and Miss Putnam County 2006,” she said with a perfect curtsy. “But that doesn’t change my short, stubby legs into those filly ones you’ve got going on.”
Carrying the yoga pants back to the basket, Charley helped bundle the rest of the clothes into the washer. “Right when I think there’s ice running through your veins, you go and say something nice like that.”
With a flip of her hand, Matty splashed cold water at her roommate’s face. “I’m still a bitch,” she said with a laugh. “A short, jealous one.”
Charley dabbed her face on her sleeve as she backed away. “There’s a heart of gold in there somewhere. You can’t hide it from me.”
“Don’t you be telling people that,” came a shrill voice from the kitchen as Charley hustled up the stairs. “I have a rep to protect.”
Dylan had never realized the benefits of being normal. No cameras. No photo shoots. And no pretending he didn’t have a beautiful girl waiting in the wings.
None of this was fair on Charley, and that’s why he’d insisted on having the night off before heading out on tour tomorrow. Visiting radio stations meant their days would start at the butt-crack of dawn, and it required reaching the first destination a day early. A Sunday drive up to Louisville, where the tour started, wouldn’t be too bad, but he was already dreading the longer trips.
The high from the video shoot still churned through his system. They’d worked long hours for two days straight and visited four different locations in and around the city before wrapping late in the afternoon. Thanks to shooting the outdoor party-in-the-sticks scene hours before, Dylan had been in dire need of a shower before racing off to Charley’s. As soon as he parked outside her door, his cell phone dinged.
“One night, people. That’s all I asked.”
Checking the screen like a good little artist, he saw the text from Mitch and swiped to read it.
We’ve got an opening gig. Tour kicks off 17th in Jacksonville. Runs three months.
Staring at the screen, he read the words three more times.
“I’m going on tour. Dude, we’re going on tour.”
He fired off a text to the guys, repeating the exact words he’d said aloud, and then jumped from the truck and ran to Charley’s door, ringing the bell three times before she finally opened it. Swooping her into his arms, Dylan spun circles on the stoop. “I’m going on tour, baby. We did it.”
Understandably confused, Charley braced her hands on his shoulders. “I didn’t know you were this excited about visiting radio stations.”
“No,” he said, dropping her to her feet. “A real tour. I’m going to be an opening act.”
“For who?” she asked, reminding him of a detail he’d missed.
“Shit. I don’t know.” Jogging back to the truck, he checked the phone and found the next message.
Wes Tillman twenty-year anniversary tour, and Clay is paying for a bus.
Turning to rush back to her, Dylan nearly knocked Charley to the ground. “Jesus, darling, I didn’t know you were behind me.”
She waved away the apology. “Forget that. Tell me. Who’s the tour with?”
“Wes Tillman.” A man Dylan had grown up listening to who’d won every award available and would likely be in the Hall of Fame within the decade.
“I thought he retired.”
“I guess he changed his mind.” Spinning her off her feet once more, Dylan hooted with excitement. “Do you realize how much I can learn from this? From Tillman? And how many people are going to see us?” He put her down and paced away. “Charley, this is what I’ve been working for, and it’s happening. It’s really happening.”
“I know! I’m so excited for you. When does it start?”
Checking the phone again, he said, “The seventeenth and lasts for three months. That’s three days after I get back from the radio visits.”
“Oh,” Charley said with less excitement. “I guess we won’t get to see each other much between now and Christmas, then, huh?”
Dylan didn’t like that part, either, but he was determined to make things work. “You can come see me on the road.”
“When? I work five days a week and run remotes on the weekends.”
“You can request one weekend off, can’t you?”
“I guess, but they earn me a hundred dollars a pop, so it would cost me money.”
Grasping her shoulders, Dylan locked eyes with hers. “This tour could take me to the next level, honey. Soon, you won’t need to worry about an extra hundred dollars a week.”
Charley backed out of his grip. “I make my own money, Dylan, and I have no plans to stop doing so anytime soon. You said you’d never ask me to give up my job.”
“No.” He shook his head, following her retreat. “That’s not what I meant. You’re a fantastic DJ, and I want you to do that for the next thirty years if that’s what you want. But that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you, right?”
“We’ve been seeing each other less than a month . . .”
“Feels a lot longer for me,” Dylan said, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “Look, Charley, we don’t have to come up with all the answers right now. Tonight I want good Mexican food with my girl and to show you exactly how much I’m going to miss those pretty legs of yours. Is that all right with you?”
To his relief, a hesitant smile brightened her face. “So you’re only going to miss my legs?”
Tipping up her chin, he said, “I’ll miss all of you, darling. From head to toe.” Lowering his mouth to hers, he took her lips in a slow, wet kiss that promised all the ways he planned to love her by morning. Charley kissed him right back, pressing against him with her arms draped around his neck. When they wound their way back to reality, the woman in his arms stared up at him with unease in her gaze.
“You won’t forget me when you’re out there with all those screaming girls, will you?”
Dylan squeezed her tight. “Nothing in the world could make me forget you, Charley Layton. Not ever.”
Charley’s appetite had not come along for the ride tonight. Not that the food at Mas Tacos por Favor wasn’t excellent, but the butterflies in her stomach left little room for anything else.
Dylan wanted to take care of her. That smacked strongly of long-term commitment and feelings that shot way beyond a casual dating scenario. But it wasn’t his feelings that scared her. It was her own. Because Charley could not deny a zing of elation when Dylan had tucked that hair behind her ear.
Feels a lot longer for me.
She felt the exact same way. Charley couldn’t believe that she’d met him only three weeks before. When she glanced his way, it felt as if he’d always been there. Holding her hand. Making her smile. Riding to her rescue.
The problem was reconciling her independent nature with Dylan’s white-knight tendencies. She did need him, but not to pay her bills or fix her car. Well, maybe to cook her a meal now and then. The one night they’d spent together during the week, he’d made some amazing fried chicken that she wouldn’t mind having on a regular basis.
In fact, the chicken had been so good, she’d nearly bragged about it to Grandpa on the phone the next day. She’d stopped herself in the nick of time. Confessing she had a new man in her life would result in both Grandpa and Elvis arriving at her door within days, demanding an introduction.
Tonight, to prove to herself that she hadn’t crossed some imaginary line long ago drawn in her head, Charley had insisted on paying for dinner. Until now, she’d let Dylan pick up the tab every time they went out. Which shifted the balance a little too far for her comfort. No matter the difference in their bank accounts, and by all indications, the difference was substantially in his favor, she needed to edge the needle closer to the middle.
And to prove that he understood her almost better than she understood herself, Dylan never flinched when she offered to pay. How could he know her so well so fast? Was it all an act? Was Matty right, that guys had some sixth sense, allowing them to say all the right things until they got what they wanted and moved on?
Cutting her gaze to the man in the driver’s seat, she searched for some sign of the truth. Some unforeseen fault that would prove he wasn’t as perfect as he seemed.
As if sensing her eyes on him, Dylan looked over. “You’re awfully quiet over there. What are you thinking?”
“That you’re too good to be true,” Charley admitted. “That I’m going to wake up one day and wonder how I missed the signs. How you tricked me so thoroughly into falling for you.”
Shifting his attention between her and the road, he said, “I like the falling for me part, but not the other. Where’s this coming from?”
Charley shrugged. “Survival instinct, maybe?”
“Are you sure that isn’t Matty’s voice in your head?”
“Could be some of that, too,” she admitted. “But doesn’t this scare you even a little bit? Or am I the only one freaked by the speed of this ride?”
Staring ahead, Dylan replied, “Men aren’t supposed to admit when they’re afraid.”
Leaning against the window, Charley crossed her arms. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
The passing streetlights illuminated his jaw, revealing a muscle tick below his ear. “Okay, then. Yeah. I’m scared shitless. About all of it. The deal. The tour. You. But that’s a good thing, right?”
In Charley’s mind, being scared was a sign to turn back. “How so?”
“The way I see it, if you aren’t scared, you aren’t living.” He turned the truck into the parking lot behind his townhouse. “So I’ll take scared over easy any day.”
When he put it that way, Charley felt like a coward.
“That’s deep, Monroe.”
He smiled as he cut the engine. “That’s what I thought when I read it in a fortune cookie.” Stretching an arm across the seat back, Dylan toyed with her hair. “We’ve got the place to ourselves tonight. What do you think we should do?”
Feeling generous, and a bit aroused already, she let the fortune cookie crack go.
“You said something about showing me how much you’re going to miss me.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“I do have something in mind, but it could take all night. And you might want to stretch first.”
Charley laughed as he leaned toward her. “Are you taking me to a Zumba class?”
With a nibble of her lower lip, he said, “Something better.”
Shoving her hands into his hair, she nearly dragged him over the console, offering a kiss that said she was up for anything he could dish out.
When the kiss ended, they were both a little breathless.
“We need to go inside,” Dylan muttered, pressing his forehead to hers.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Let’s go.”