Addy didn’t show up. Not that I thought she would. Not after the way I treated her. I’ll be lucky if she ever speaks to me again, honestly. Still, I waited at my place where we were supposed to meet long after the agreed upon time before leaving for the airport and Houston. It’s a sad fucking day when Country’s Hottest Bad Boy gets stood up.

Tossing back the rest of my fifth bourbon of the evening, I pour another from the hotel’s well-stocked bar and think about skipping the awards myself but know Jimmy would probably quit on me as pissed as he is for lunch and the thing with Addy. I’m batting a thousand. Why I thought fucking around with Addy was a good idea I’m not sure. I should have known better. Best laid plans and all that shit.

I’ve never felt a pull like that before though. Couldn’t have denied myself even if I wanted to, and I didn’t want to. So I didn’t and now I’m paying for it. Showing up to this award show half in the bag is probably right up there with bad fucking decisions, but I’m about to do that too. Again. Thankfully this one isn’t the damn CMA’s or anything. Still a big deal with celebrating all of country’s biggest radio stations and TV networks. I’m just thankful Jimmy turned them down when they asked if I would perform. I think he was worried I’d show up drunk and fall off the damn stage. I’m supposed to present an award though, so I guess he wasn’t worried enough. The room phone rings letting me know that the driver has arrived. Grabbing the suit jacket off the back of the chair, I head down. Time to live up to this stupid nickname, I guess.

By the time we arrive at the theater, I’m more convinced than ever that I want to be anywhere but here. The paps are lined up shouting, cameras flashing, TV stations with mics hoping to catch an interview. I want to tap on the driver’s shoulder and tell him to just keep driving. The bourbon I had at the hotel, and the two I just downed during our drive over is too much and yet not enough to deal with this shit tonight. The limo rolls to a stop as we inch toward my spot in the queue.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I smooth down the short beard I’m rocking and slip into my jacket, grateful that I skipped the tie. Grabbing the pack of cinnamon gum from my inside pocket, I unwrap a piece and pop it my mouth. When the door opens for me to exit and start my trek down the carpet, I don’t even bother trying to muster up a smile. I just raise my hand and nod, giving them what I hope looks like some semblance of a smolder and not the man version of resting bitch face.

“Beau! Beau, over here!”

“Who’s the new girl?”

“Are you together?”

“Is she here?”

The questions come at me from all angles, I answer none. What am I gonna tell them? “Nah, she’s at home never speaking to me again because I’m a dick.” Bet they’d eat that up.

I’m about to start what feels a bit like a walk of shame or maybe a roadside sobriety test with everyone watching. The bourbon coursing through my blood tests my ability to walk a straight line. I can feel its mellowing effects in every one of my limbs, the now-relaxed set of my shoulders and that haze that takes over your mind and makes you do stupid shit.

“Beau! Hi.” A manicured hand lands on the sleeve of my black jacket. For half a beat I think it might be Addy, but my skin doesn’t light up like someone hit me with a cattle prod, so I know it’s not. I drag my eyes up the slender arm, over a bared shoulder, until I land on her face. Blonde hair, brown eyes, wide mouth…I can’t place her. I blame the bourbon.

“Tara Remy. We met briefly at the build in Liberty Hill. I’m with Country All Day Radio.”

Ahh, now I remember. The chick Addy shut down cold. “Good to see you.” I drop my gaze and let it travel over her in appreciation. She must notice because she pops her hip, letting her dress fall apart some to reveal a slit that goes nearly to her damn waist. First thing I notice? Her legs aren’t the same sun-kissed shade of tan as Addy’s. Shit. Tara loops her arm through mine, leaning into me so that she can be heard over the crowd.

“You here by yourself tonight?” There’s so much packed into that one question. Are you alone? Do you want to fuck me? Can I show you how good I am with my mouth? Will we get caught? All of this in those five words and the press of her tits against my arm.

Looking down at her, even through my alcohol fogged mind, I know the answer. “Yes.” Her grin is meant to seduce. Slow and sexy, with a hooded look full of invitation. It doesn’t. “But not by choice. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see a man about a drink.” Disentangling her arm from mine, I stride away, leaving her standing there looking stunned. I bet not too many men have turned Tara down in her lifetime. Hell, just a couple months ago I wouldn’t have.

“Smart move there, Beau. That one will give ya something whiskey won’t wash off,” Arnie Platt, a respected older guy in the industry, says slapping me on the back as he slides past.

I shake my head and laugh. “That I don’t doubt.”

He stops and points to the paparazzi here, three rows deep. “They’re hungry tonight. Like vultures at a dead man picnic. They heard I was gonna be here I reckon.” He lets out a booming laugh that I can’t help but chuckle at. “You take care of yourself tonight, stay out of trouble. I like not seeing your ugly mug all over the grocery store magazine rack. Keep it that way.”

Knowing he’s right and knowing that it’s because of Addy that I haven’t been, I decide to keep it that way. Shaking his hand, I thank him and stride away from the red carpet and the entrance, back to have my car brought around. If I walk up on that stage drunk, it will be worse than me not showing at all. I don’t want to do that to myself or Addy.

* * *

I wasn’t able to get a flight out of Houston last night and I was in no condition to drive, so I stayed at the hotel, taking the first available flight out this morning. Hungover and ornery as hell, I slip my shades on my face and pull my baseball cap low as I walk through the airport. God bless anyone who crosses me today. My phone starts going off in my pocket, and I see that it’s Jimmy, and I send it to voicemail. I know he’s had to have heard about me being a no-show already, and I’m not ready to deal with all that yet. A few minutes later my phone starts vibrating again. I pull it out to see that it’s my brother.

“What’s up, Sealy?”

He answers with a too-loud laugh. “And just how much did you have to drink last night?”

“Fuck off,” I mutter, searching for coffee now that I’ve made it through security. “What do you want?”

“Just wonderin’ where you were and why Jimmy is callin’ me lookin’ for you?”

“Long story. Just tell him you haven’t talked to me but last you heard I was gettin’ on a plane and comin’ home.”

“You okay?”

“I am now. Or I will be. Just gotta get home and take care of some stuff is all.”

“Some stuff like Addy?”

“You Dr. Phil now?”

“You sure are cantankerous today, big brother.” He laughs. “I’ll see ya. Do you need me to come get you?”

“Nah. I’ll get there. Bye.”

I disconnect the phone and turn it off so that nobody else can call. Ordering a coffee, I find a quiet corner of the terminal and wait for my flight while I plan out all the things I may or may not say to Addy after I have a talk with my mama.

Heading to the exit in Austin, I see the paparazzi a second before they see me. They must have been tipped off in Houston. It happens all the time. An airline employee will call a magazine or radio station and tell them what time to expect me and where and they’ll make a few bucks. I wish they’d just let me pay them double and not make the damn phone call.

“Beau, Beau, over here!” they start yelling through the terminal. I catch the eye of an employee who nods in understanding and goes off to get security. I don’t like to travel with bodyguards, and I can usually just blend, but once they bring attention to me, it can get crazy.

Walking beside me now as I move through the airport to the exit, they have their cameras rolling. A young hipster looking guy fires questions at me. “Beau, how’s the new label?” “Do you have a stylist?”

I look at him like he’s crazy and he shrugs. I know from experience that they’ll just keep yelling out the most random shit until I start answering. “When’s the new album coming out?” “Is it true you might do a collaboration with Stone Lockhart?” I nod. “Maybe.”

“Who is your pick for the Super Bowl this year?”

“Season hasn’t even started yet, man.” I laugh.

Coming up on the exit, I see security rounding the corner to make sure everything is fine. “Tell us about the new girlfriend! We saw the pictures; you guys look great together.” He hollers this last question out right as security is ushering me toward a town car they must have had waiting.

“She’s hot, right?” I can’t help but tease. I’m not telling them she’s not my girlfriend or that she hates me right now. I just go with it.

“Not as hot as the last one!” the cameraman calls out as I’m ducking into the back of the car. Good thing because I might have punched his rude ass.

As we start rolling away, I lower the window when the driver stops to let people cross and tell the two guys still following after the car as closely as they can. “You better clean that lense, brother. She’s smokin’.”

Rolling up the window, I tell the guy where we’re going and thank him for saving the damn day and settle back for the short ride to my place. Wondering how much damage control I’m going to have to tackle once I start answering my phone.