Note to self: When a hot, country superstar calls, you answer the damn phone!
“I have a surprise for you,” Beau says early Friday morning. He has a concert tonight and will be flying out this afternoon to places unknown, but he scheduled a short session with each of us to prepare us for the next round.
“What kind of surprise?” I yawn before taking a sip of my French vanilla latte with a double shot of espresso and extra whip.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asks with that eyebrow and corner of his lip raised.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I mumble as I recall all of the destruction and damage to my hotel room two nights ago. Last night, finding sleep wasn’t much easier either. Every time I started to doze, I pictured blond hair extensions and red demonic eyes.
“You’re going to tell me about it later, but first I need to tell you which song you’re singing next week.”
“Oh, let’s hear it,” I say, sitting up straight on my stool.
“What do you think of Heart?” he asks with that sexy little grin.
“Are you kidding me? They’re my favorite!” I tell him, wide eyed.
“I figured. You look like you’d enjoy the Wilson sisters,” he chuckles.
“I will take that as a compliment,” I say. “So which song?” I encourage.
“‘Crazy On You’,” he says with a big grin.
“Shut up! I fucking love that song,” I exclaim as I practically bounce in my seat like a toddler, unable to control my face-splitting smile. Finally, something that feels like home.
“So I made a good call?” he asks as he hands me the music sheet. “We have ten minutes before I have to head out, so let’s run it once so I can hear it.” Beau pushes a button the machine next to him and the start of the song fills the room. “We’ll have to cut the intro down for the band, but that’s not a problem.”
I don’t even have to look down at the music in front of me. I know these words like I know the back of my hand. “We may still have time, we might still get by…”
As soon as I get through the song, I burst out laughing. Images of Shawna going crazy on my stuff the other night, fill my head. Beau looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and honestly, with the lack of sleep, I kind of feel like I have.
“What?”
“It’s part of the story I’ll tell you later,” I say through my big smile. A smile that I try to contain, unsuccessfully. Something about being near Beau makes me break into a high school crush, giddy smile.
“You should do that more,” Beau says as he gathers up his stuff.
“What?” Confusion mares my features as I struggle to figure out what he’s talking about.
Before I know what’s happening, Beau is standing directly in front of me. His captivating steel eyes are boring into me like heat-seeking missiles. “Smile.” Shudder.
I gulp so big that I can hear it in the quiet of the room. I have to physically restrain myself from swooning which kind of ticks me off since I’m not the kind of girl to swoon over a guy. Any guy. “Come on, give me one little smile before I go,” he whispers with encouraging eyes, trying to control his own handsome smirk.
Our eyes remain locked as we stare at each other. Crazy sexual tension crackles and sparks around us like sparklers on the Fourth of July. The smile I give him starts small until I’m awarded with one of his great smiles back. Then, my smile seems to take over my face. Can you say cheesy?
“Thank you,” he whispers with a wink. “That memory should get me through my weekend.”
“Beau, are you ready?” an older man asks from the doorway. I didn’t even hear him come in.
“Yep, ‘bout ready. Give me your phone,” Beau orders as he extends his calloused hand.
“Why?” I ask, digging my phone out of the messenger bag that I use to carry my music and supplies.
“‘Cause I said so,” he replies with an ornery, lopsided grin.
His fingers fly over my screen before he hands it back to me. “What did you do?” I ask curiously.
“Put my phone number in there and sent myself a text so I have your number,” he says with a shrug like it’s no big deal. Sure, no big deal that an award winning Nashville recording superstar just put his cell phone number in my phone. “I want to know that story.”
*****
“Do you want me to get on a plane and come kick her ass?” My mom’s angry face fills the computer screen through Skype.
“Absolutely not. You’d probably twist your ankle fighting for a cab at the airport,” I tell her and manage to contain my grin.
“Oh, don’t think a little sprain is going to keep me from defending my little girl,” she adds fiercely.
“I’m not in third grade anymore, Mom. I can fight my own battles.”
“Yes, but it sounds like someone needs to teach that girl some manners.”
“It wouldn’t do any good, Mom. Shawna isn’t the type of person to understand and appreciate life lessons. She’s the type to use whatever means necessary to get ahead. If that means throwing me under the bus or throwing a temper tantrum that rivals Eli at the toy store, that’s what she is going to do. That’s what spoiled, entitled brats do.”
“Don’t I know it, honey. I’ve met dozens of her kind in my life. Oh, did you see the picture Eli is helping me paint?”
“Yeah. It made me miss him so much I couldn’t sleep last night,” I tell her honestly. Being away from Eli has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done and definitely the hardest part of this competition. Even though I talk to him every night and kiss the computer or phone screen before we sign off, it’s not the same as holding my baby.
I’ve had to resort to sleeping with the television on every night. When I’m enclosed in the quiet of my hotel room, sleep doesn’t come as easy as it did when Eli was sleeping in the toddler bed across the room. It’s the little things that you take for granted. I never realized how silence could be so deafening. Maddening.
“He misses you just as much. We talk about you every night at bedtime. I think watching you on the show this past week helped, too. He was so excited to see you on the TV. I still don’t think he quite understands how he’s seeing you in that little box where the Bubble Guppies are,” Mom says, earning a chuckle from me. The Guppies are definitely his favorite show. He could sit there and watch them for hours on end. And as a mom, I rationalize his television consumption since it’s actually a really cute and very educational show. I’ve caught myself singing along to the “outside” bit on numerous occasions.
“Can I speak to him?” I ask as I steel my emotions for our conversation. The last thing I want is to tear up and cry before we hang up.
“Hi, Mommy!” Eli exclaims into the computer.
“Hi, baby. Are you being good for grandma?”
“Yep!” he says just before taking a bite of his cheese stick.
“Good. I miss you so much. You know that, right?” I all but choke on the last few words.
“Yep. We played with blocks today and built a fort and den blew it up with more blocks!”
“That sounds like fun. I wish I were there with you. I love you so much.”
“Wove you too, Mommy,” he says before kissing the computer screen. I watch helplessly as his lips smash down on the monitor leaving behind a trail of soggy cheese.
“We’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Mom says with a smile.
“Okay. Love you, Mom,” I tell her, fighting to keep the tears at bay once more.
“Love you, too. And if you need me to come out and whoop some country diva ass, you just call your mom. I’ve got ways of protecting you, you know,” she says with a serious expression and a firm head nod.
“I’ll call you,” I tell her with the shake of my head. After a few seconds of waves, I finally sign off.
Note to self: Do not, under any circumstances, let your mom loose in LA without checking her bag for brass knuckles.
*****
I’ve spent very little free time with those few people I call my friends on this show. For the past several days, we’ve all been busy at individual practices with one of the many show vocal coaches. Since all four of the professional coaches have busy careers that require them to perform to legions of fans, we practice from time to time with other coaches. They don’t offer as much input and advice as our coaches do, but it still allows us to practice and receive feedback from someone within the industry. Even if that person is just a high school music teacher.
I personally enjoy the one-on-one time with someone other than Beau. For one, I can actually concentrate. I don’t have to worry about amazing gray eyes and a killer smile distracting me to the point of insanity. Then there’s the fact that my assistant coach is just an everyday, regular Joe. Like me.
Not a Grammy winning mega country star who looks amazing in a pair of tight jeans.
It’s almost five and I’m just getting ready to leave the practice studio. It’s Sunday night and I promised Corie that I’d join her at the studio gym tonight. I’m hoping she’ll find us a nice, easy little yoga class or at least a beginner’s Pilates class.
But knowing the feisty little redhead, I’ll probably be suckered into a self-defense or an advanced spinning class.
Note to self: Practice your fake sick cough.
As I’m stepping outside, preparing to walk the six blocks back to the hotel, my phone pings signaling a text message. My heart skips a beat and then does the tango in my chest when I see Beau’s initials on the screen. I noticed he put his initials instead of his name. I’m assuming it was for anonymity. I quickly slide my finger across the screen with a slight tremble.
BT: Hey. Hope practices are going well. You busy?
My fingers fly over the keypad as if completely on their own as I type back my reply.
Me: Just leaving studio. Walking to hotel.
I stare at my phone with bated breath as I wait for his reply, but it doesn’t come; at least not in the form of a text message. Instead, my phone starts ringing and displays Beau’s initials in the middle of the screen.
Note to self: Breathe.
“Hello?” I answer, hoping that the slight tremble in my voice isn’t noticeable.
“Hey,” he says with that deep Southern drawl. “You’re walkin’ to the hotel?”
“Yeah, I haven’t even crossed the street yet from the studio. What are you doing?”
“Just finished a sound check in Boise. I’ve got an hour to kill before I have to be ready for the Meet and Greet so I thought I’d call ya and get that story,” he says, voice thick with rich tones and long syllables.
“Oh, that. It’s not anything to worry about,” I tell him, not really wanting to relive my crazy night with Shawna.
“I didn’t think it was somethin’ to worry about, Layne. I thought it was a funny story, but now I’m startin’ to believe it’s not really funny at all. Am I going to like this story?”
“Probably not any more than I like telling it,” I respond.
“What happened?” he asks, firm and direct.
“The night after the vote off, Shawna sort of trashed our room. I walked in when she was mid-tizzy fit, and she tried taking my head off with something breakable and probably expensive. Fortunately, I own nothing of that nature so it wasn’t mine. Though a good chunk of my stuff in the bathroom didn’t survive the temper tantrum.”
“Are you kiddin’ me? Did you report it?”
“Yeah, Troy took me down and we called a producer. He came and smoothed things over and got me a new room, but she brutally stabs me with eye daggers every time I see her.”
“She’s still on the show?” he asks incredulous.
“Of course. She said she was sorry and didn’t mean it and blah blah blah. They don’t want to let her go because she’s a shoo-in to get picked up by one of the other teams this week.” At least that was the opinion of Ben when we discussed it Friday night.
“It’s all political network bullshit, darlin’. It pisses me the fuck off that she’s still potentially on the show and you have to deal with her every day. They should have packed her bags for her immediately and sent her expensive perfumed ass steppin’. I don’t like the fact that she’s here and could potentially hurt you again just because you beat her fair and square in a head to head competition.”
This possessive side he’s displaying used to always turn me off faster than a unibrow, but for some reason, possessive Beau? Well, that’s hot. Damn hot. I stumble over a non-existent crack in the sidewalk as my body flushes with heat.
I clear my throat and try to clear the mental images of a half-naked Beau that my mind conjured up completely on its own. “So, you’ll be back tomorrow?” I ask, steering the conversation back to a safer topic.
“In the morning. I’m takin’ a very early flight from Idaho to LAX and should be back at the studio around eight.”
“I don’t know how you do this constant travel. Just flying from Chicago to LA was taxing for me. And I’ve only done it twice.”
“You get used to it. Eventually your life becomes one big blur of airports, tour buses, and hotels. As crazy and drainin’ as it can be at times, I wouldn’t want it any other way. I couldn’t picture myself doin’ anything else with this life.”
For the first time in so long, I get that itch. The itch to experience the lifestyle he’s talking about. Singing on stage every night and not just the local sports bar karaoke. I mean to sing, really sing up on stage to a crowd of thousands who are screaming your name and singing along with all of your songs. I haven’t thought much about the dream in a few years. Not since I had Eli and that dream transformed into a softer, tamer one. One with diapers and cartoons. Sleepless nights and baby strollers. That’s the dream I’ve been living the past few years. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
But now? This entirely different lifestyle is being dangled before me like a carrot. What will I do if I actually win this competition? Hell if I know, but it’s something I’m going to have to think about in the near future. Of course, if I don’t make it past the next round, then I guess I don’t have to consider that future, right?
“What?” I ask into the phone, realizing that Beau was talking and I wasn’t listening.
“I asked what you were doin’ tonight.”
“Oh, Corie is dragging me off to our first class of some sort of physical torture at the studio tonight.”
“Physical torture?” he asks with a chuckle.
“You know, physical fitness. I have no clue what kind of class she has signed us up for, but I’ve been told to be ready at six o’clock.”
“Just don’t pull a muscle. I’d hate to see you waddling around stage in those sexy as sin heels while trying to sing with pulled muscles. Those hurt like a bitch without having to perform with one. Trust me.”
My brain is frozen. It’s sputtering, completely unable to process a thought. It’s a puddle of mush that keeps replaying his comment about my sexy as sin heels. Good God, my lady parts are all but bursting into flames and singing a hallelujah chorus.
I stop, realizing that I’ve already walked the six blocks back to the hotel. I stand underneath the shaded large brown awning, reveling in the cool breeze of the mid-May day. “I’m back at the hotel. Thanks for keeping me company.”
“You’re welcome, Layne. I’ll see ya tomorrow?” he asks, though it really isn’t a question. Of course he’ll see me tomorrow.
“Yes,” I whisper, suddenly my throat too dry to speak.
“Have a great night, darlin’,” Beau says before hanging up. I don’t even reply because I can’t seem to get past this crazy feeling I’m having. It feels like Beau was flirting with me, but I know that has to be just wishful thinking, right? Right?!
I step inside the lobby and head straight up to my room to get ready for yoga. Or pilates. Or bootcamp. I have no idea what I’m stepping into, but ever since my phone call with Beau, I’m okay with not knowing the direction we’re shortly heading in. I might actually be looking forward to releasing a little stress and working out.
Almost.
*****
“Mine,” he growls seconds before his lips slam into mine.
The kiss is possessive. Before I know it, I’m in his arms; the corded muscles of his arms wrapped tightly around my body.
He tastes like mint and a touch of something else. A taste that’s unfamiliar, yet so very familiar all at the same time. My body recognizes it and responds to his taste instantly.
Powerful hands thread into my hair and his lips plunder and devour mine. The slide of his tongue against mine sends another wave of wetness flooding from my core. He pulls my body flush against his, and there’s no mistaking the extent of his desire. It’s pressed firmly against my stomach.
My body aches in a way it never has before. I long to wrap my legs around him, grinding against his body, looking for any ounce of relief I can find. He must sense my need because he thrusts his erection against me, as if looking for his own slice of respite in the form of my body.
I claw my nails into the cotton of his shirt, pulling and digging my way to the bare flesh beneath. When I finally reach smooth, hot flesh, I almost come right there. He’s so hard, so hot, and so damn perfect.
Dragging my nails against his skin, he hisses against my mouth. His teeth latch onto my earlobe, the sting triggering me to emit a slight gasp. He uses his tongue to soothe the sensitive flesh, causing the ache to subside completely from my ear, and only to cause the ache between my legs to completely intensify.
He pulls away and looks into my hazy eyes.
“Mine,” he growls again.
And I am. His.
I grip my eyes shut, willing myself to fall back asleep. This can’t be happening again! Just when we start to get down and dirty in my dreams, I’m awakened and left so damn turned on, I’m practically a faucet beneath the sheets.
The throbbing is intense. My body craves the release that only Beau-inspired dreams can produce. Because I’ve been moved to my own room since my last lusty wet dream, I don’t even have to get out of bed.
My fingers find my soaked core immediately as thoughts of a certain handsome cowboy parade through my mind. Beau Tanner has completely wormed his way into my head and subsequently, my panties since they seem to be disappearing faster than a joint at a Tom Petty concert.
The orgasm sweeps through me, slowly washing away all of the details of my erotic dream. I’m left spent, yet slightly unsatisfied as I come down from the high of my intense masturbation session.
There’s no end in sight, is there? I’m going to keep dreaming of the one man I shouldn’t want, but can’t seem to let go of. He’s embedded in me like sand. He’s there. Maybe not on the surface, but deep down and slowly working his way to the top.
After washing my hands and cleaning up in the bathroom, I settle in for what will probably be a very long, sleepless night.