Chapter Six
The darkened club was crowded and hazy. Hannah gripped her fruity pink drink and studied the mating habits of the couples around her. One table over, a blonde coquettishly batted her eyelashes at the beefcake beside her. As she confidently skated her fingertips down his arm, he rewarded her with a masculine smirk of approval. Beyond her at the bar, a brunette pressed her ample chest against the arm of a man in a dark fitted shirt, using a brazen smile and feminine wiles to keep his attention fixed.
Eyelashes, confident wiles, and boobs. Yep, Hannah was definitely out of her element.
In her mind, a perfect night involved soft cotton pajamas and cuddling with Deacon on the couch. No heavy bass music, no push-up bra, and no questionably sticky floor required. Of course, the old PJ and couch routine was exactly what she’d been doing ever since the tour began…and throughout most of high school. Look where her so-called element had gotten her. A big fat pile of nowhere.
If you want a different outcome, you must make a different choice.
That’s what Savannah Gamble advised on her blog, 12 Steps to Mr. Right, and in Hannah’s mind, that woman was the Oprah of the dating world. If Savannah wrote it, and Sherry seconded it, then Hannah was ready and willing to try it. Even if it’d most likely result in an addition to her Journal of Embarrassment.
“Okay, let’s go over the rules!” Sherry yelled close to her ear, leaning in to be heard over the thumping music. On the ride over, she and Arabella had dubbed themselves Hannah’s official Flirt Squad, and tonight’s lesson was learning the art of the flirt.
“Guys are easy to talk to,” she told Hannah, casually glancing around the room while she sipped at her water. “They want to please. Just touch their arm, or maybe their knee when you’re talking. If you’re feeling particularly randy, gently slide your hand along his thigh. They eat that stuff up.”
At the look of pure panic on Hannah’s face, Arabella squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re not trying to hook up. We still want you with Deacon, not some random guy in a bar.”
Hannah blew out a relieved breath, and she smiled affectionately. “The point is to test out your flirting skills on someone who doesn’t matter. Then, once you’ve gotten your feet under you, you can work your magic on Deacon. It’s okay if you stumble here, because these guys don’t matter. At least not in the long-term sense. But if any of them get too handsy, or you decide you want out, just send us the abort signal. We’ll jump right in and whisk you away.”
Hannah nodded stiffly and tried to psych herself up. Admittedly, she wasn’t eager to flirt with anyone other than Deacon, but she could see the merit in a little harmless practice. Lord knew she could use it.
Sherry cleared her throat, continuing with the lesson. “Lean in to be heard,” she advised, demonstrating the move. “It makes sense in a crowded club anyway, but it also creates a sense of intimacy. It shows the guy that you’re interested in what he has to say. Then, give him a compliment, something about his eyes or his cologne or something you find attractive, and then stand back and smile. I’m telling you, it’s like taking candy from a baby.”
Hannah scrunched her nose. “Have you ever tried taking candy from a baby?” She shook her head and waved her drink in the air. “I’ve never understood that analogy. Kids are like women with PMS—if you try to take away their candy, someone’s gonna get a fat lip.”
Arabella snorted and shook her head. “Focus, sweetie,” she told her, and Hannah felt her cheeks get hot.
“Sorry.”
“Another good idea to keep in mind,” she went on, glancing at the couples near the bar, “is to already have a drink in your hand. That way, the guy knows you aren’t looking for him to pay. If things go well, he’ll be more than happy to buy your second one. But even then, only accept it from the bartender.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. Yes, she was a flirting novice, but she wasn’t a complete idiot.
Still… “I don’t know, guys.” Tugging on the hem of her dress, Hannah gave the heady room another thorough sweep. “I’m still not sure about this. I mean, I get the whole ‘upping my confidence and practicing on random guys’ thing, but isn’t it also sort of wrong?” She bit her lip and winced. “Isn’t it sort of using them?”
Sherry scoffed. “A pretty thing like you giving them attention? Even if you were using them, which you’re not,” she said with added emphasis, “trust me, they wouldn’t mind.”
“Especially not if you buy your own drinks,” Arabella agreed. “You’re not leading them on or promising anything. It’s only conversation. Some innocent flirting and a little fun. That’s all.”
Lifting her drink to her mouth, Hannah’s lips rooted for the straw.
That made sense, and hey, they were the experts. That was why she’d placed her very unimpressive love life in their hands—she couldn’t back out now at the first sign of discomfort. That was her old MO. Besides, the hope of Deacon was worth a little mortification, especially now that they’d shared a couple moments with real promise. Who knew? Maybe Sherry’s list of flirty tricks would be the key to finally getting through to him.
Finding the straw, she wrapped her lips around it and recited the steps in her head. Touch their arm. Lean in. Give them a compliment. Have fun. She took a good, strong pull of her drink, and when the sharp tang of alcohol hit her tongue, she cringed and nearly choked.
Was she having fun yet?
…
A tornado had touched down in the tour bus. As bad as it’d been before the girls left, it was nowhere near the annihilation that surrounded them now. How it happened in just two short hours, well, that’s what made it truly impressive.
The proof of complete and total anarchy littered every surface. From the walls with splattered food, to the floor covered with toys, and every spot in-between, including the counters, table, and even the sofa the children were laying on, glued to the movie that Deacon had finally had the good sense to put on.
Thank the sweet Lord for Disney.
“Hannah is a freaking saint,” Charlie declared, bringing the trash can over to the table. With one fell swoop of his arm, cheese crackers, raisins, and candy wrappers flew into the bin.
On second thought, filling the kids up with candy had been a tremendously stupid idea.
“Amen to that,” Tyler agreed with a huff, dropping dishes into the sink. “And just think, another baby is gonna join this circus soon.” He sighed wearily and tilted his head toward Deacon. “That woman deserves a raise.”
Deacon smiled at the well-earned praise. It felt good hearing his friends appreciating on his woman. Well, not his woman, obviously. But his best girl. His best friend.
His Hannah.
“Yeah, she has a gift all right,” Deacon said, arching his back to crack it. Countless piggyback rides up and down the hall hadn’t been that smart of an idea, either. “A gift of patience. I don’t think anyone else would’ve done as good a job. I’m telling you, it was a blessing in disguise when that other nanny dropped out.”
Tyler nodded in agreement, then gripped the countertop behind him. “So, you asked her about staying yet?”
Deacon cringed and dropped his gaze to the floor.
Last week, Tyler had suggested he be the one to bring up Hannah staying on for the international leg of the tour, now that she’d passed the trial period with flying colors, and Deacon had agreed. It should come from him so she knew how much he wanted her there. Needed her, even. But it wasn’t that simple. He wanted to wait for the perfect time to bring it up, preferably on a day when the kids had been angels and no toy-bombs had exploded.
“That’d be a no,” Charlie answered for him, lobbing one of Lizzie’s stuffed animals at Deacon’s head. The frog missed, hitting his shoulder instead, before falling to the ground. “Dude, what are you waiting for? She’s your lobster, or whatever the hell it is the girls call it.” He glanced at Tyler and asked, “Is it is a lobster, or a squid?”
“Why in the hell would it be a squid?”
“I don’t know. Why in the hell would it be a lobster?” Charlie scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, then shook his head. “Anyway, the point is, Hannah’s your person. She’s part of us now, and you need to do something sooner than later to lock that up.”
Deacon ignored his friends and focused instead on the Lego town he’d built with Max on the floor. Scooping up the tiny pieces that doubled as razor blades to unsuspecting feet, he dumped them into the assigned bin Hannah had prepared and pretended he didn’t notice the look Tyler and Charlie exchanged when they thought he couldn’t see.
Everyone on tour seemed to think he and Cherry were the next Tyler and Sherry. Or even the next Charlie and Arabella. They didn’t understand that two people could be as close as he and Hannah were and not be remotely romantic.
With absolutely zero sexual fantasies, unwanted thoughts, or attraction what-so-ever…
Another stuffed animal hit him in the head, this time a lamb, and Charlie fell onto the kitchen bench. Deacon covertly flipped him off, making sure Max didn’t catch sight of the hand gesture he’d definitely repeat—but when his friend didn’t repeat it, or even acknowledge the gesture, Deacon studied him closer.
His motorcycle boots tapped an unsteady rhythm against the floor. Mouth pinched, he scratched the back of his neck like he was digging for gold, and his eyes had a glazed over, lost-in-thought type of look. The man was flat-out wigging, and it clearly had zip to do with Hannah.
“Hey, what’s up, man?”
The bassist raised his eyes from his bouncing knee. He looked at Deacon and then switched his gaze to Tyler. “I’m asking Ella to marry me.”
The declaration fell like a snow day in Hawaii.
Deacon and Tyler stood there, clearly in shock, but their front man snapped out of it first. With a wide, genuine smile stretching his face, Tyler reached over and grabbed his best friend’s hand, yanking him up for a hug.
“Dude, that’s awesome. It’s about time your decrepit ass settled down.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie shot back with a roll of his eyes. He was only twenty-eight, but until this last summer, he’d acted a hell of lot younger—at least according to the tabloids. The dig was a longstanding joke.
They both turned to Deacon, who’d yet to react. Or say anything at all. He quickly shook off his surprise and slapped Charlie on the back. “Yeah, congrats, man. I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks.” Charlie’s lips twitched and he took a deep breath, releasing it as the anxiety visibly rushed back to the surface. He shoved a hand through his hair. “I just wish I could stop acting like a damn idiot. I’m so nervous I’m gonna slip and ask her to marry me over Cinnamon Toast Crunch that I’m afraid to say anything at all. This morning, I was this close to proposing in bed, and had to stuff it down. She asked me pointblank what was wrong, and I had nothing.”
“What’d ya tell her?”
“That I was worried about my niece, Abby, which doesn’t even make sense because Ella talks to her more than I do.” He scrubbed a hand across his face in frustration. “Everything has to be perfect for her, and all I’m doing is screwing it up.”
“It’ll be worth it once that ring is on her finger,” Tyler said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “When do you plan on proposing?”
“Next weekend at the Opry Birthday Bash.” Charlie sighed and leaned back in the seat. “When I called Ella’s dad last week, he asked if he could be there when I popped the question. As much as I hate the spotlight thing, my five older sisters and Sherry have taught me that girls go crazy for the grand gesture stuff, and Arabella deserves that.” His mouth curved in a smile. “She deserves everything.”
A hollow pang hit Deacon square in the gut, and he nudged the box of Legos with his boot. Clearing his throat to hide the discomfort, he thought about Charlie’s words and abruptly jerked his head up.
“Wait, go back. You actually did the whole ‘ask for her hand’ thing?” His friend nodded, but Deacon still felt the need to clarify. “With the Shark of Nashville?”
Charlie laughed, his wide eyes saying exactly how fun that conversation must’ve been, and Deacon laughed with him, impressed.
Arabella’s father was David Stone, the most ruthless man in country music, and CEO of Belle Meade Records. Otherwise known as the man who held Deacon’s future in his hands. David’s one-time low opinion of Charlie and his legendary playboy ways had been a major stumbling block for Charlie over the summer, keeping him from acting on his feelings for Arabella. Thankfully, the two men worked out their differences and now seemed to get along rather well.
Still, Deacon wouldn’t want the guy for a father-in-law.
“Dude, he’s scary as hell on a good day,” Charlie said with an amused shake of his head. “Try asking permission to marry his one and only daughter. But, I’ve got to say, he surprised me. Gave me his blessing and said to keep making his baby happy. I promised to do just that.”
As the bassist’s face relaxed in a lovesick grin, Deacon’s attention shifted back to the floor.
This was good news. Charlie and Arabella made sense as a couple. They complemented each other strengths, filled each other’s weaknesses. They deserved each other and a lifetime of happiness. Not to mention, with Stone now definitely going to the Opry event, Deacon had a solid chance to impress him. But he couldn’t deny there was a part of him that felt uneasy, too.
One by one, the band was marrying off. If he had to guess, their guitarist was next.
Miles had a girl back home, his former manager’s daughter. After a night of too much whiskey, he’d told Deacon that Lindsay used to be his Hannah—until a crazy weekend together changed everything. Now, the two friends rarely talked, and whenever they did, it always hit him hard. Miles went out with Nate and got drunk, pretending everything was fine, but Deacon recognized the look of regret in his eyes. Sooner or later, he’d wise up and go after her. Miles was a good man.
Nate was a different animal. Still a good guy, but he’d probably never settle down, so at least that meant another bachelor in the band. But while Deacon had written off the idea of women and relationships years ago, Nate went through them like water. Bolting after every show, staying out until the early morning, never going long without female companionship.
Which…in a roundabout way…left Deacon the actual sole loner of the group.
He swallowed hard. Then, one day, Hannah would leave him, too.
There wasn’t any doubt she’d find someone. She’d fall in love and marry some guy who wouldn’t even deserve the incredible creature he’d have won, because no man was worthy of her, and then he’d truly be alone. Like he deserved.
Like he’d been before Hannah Fisher ever walked into his life.
A glance at the clock on the wall showed it was ten o’clock. The girls had left over two hours ago, which meant Hannah could be out there right now, meeting the man she’d one day marry. Smiling that sweet smile, laughing at his jokes. Looking at him as if he’d hung the moon.
Deacon’s stomach twisted so hard he felt sick.
With a quick check on a slumbering Max on the sofa, Deacon raised his eyes and found Tyler already staring at him. Without a word, the lead singer handed him a yellow sticky note with an address on it, and Charlie nodded in approval.
“We’ll hold down the fort,” his soon-to-be engaged friend told him. “Go and get your lobster.”