Note to self: Kick ass and take names.
At the end of that fourth week, the voters saved me for once again. Speculation about the budding relationship between Beau and me has remained front and center everywhere I go, in everything I do. Throw in speculation about Ben’s kiss on the show that fateful Wednesday night, and collectively, we’ve remained a hot topic around water coolers. We’re holding strong on all of the entertainment news shows and over social media. The reality show threesome. Shawna still holds the big spoon, stirring the pot and keeping the drama-train rolling full steam ahead.
Slowly over the last three weeks, we’ve continued to dwindle down until only four contestants. Four contestants and two weeks. It’s hard to believe I’m still in this competition, fighting every week for my position on this show. And it hasn’t been easy.
Two weeks ago, I said goodbye to my Mom and my son. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, watching them walk through the airport, leaving me on one side of that velvet rope. I don’t know when the last time was that I cried that hard. My entire chest was gutted when I watched them walk around the corner and out of sight. Even the warm hand on my back didn’t seem to bring me much comfort. Beau held me the entire way back from LAX and even walked me up to my old hotel room. The room felt hollow, as if my extended week with my mom and son didn’t exist. He steered me towards my bed and laid next to me while I cried big fat crocodile tears. We fell asleep together on the top of the bedspread, fully clothed and holding hands.
When I woke in the morning, he was gone.
Today, we’re practicing for our coach’s duet. Yep, I get to sing with Beau this week. With only two weeks left, we’re down to the best of the best. Weird to consider myself in a class like that, but I’ve come to realize that I must really have something if I’ve endured six other vote-offs and am still here.
Three other contestants remain: Ben, Jamal, and Shawna. I said goodbye to Corie last week after an emotional performance with her before the vote-off. It was the first time we sang together, but had felt like we’d done it a million times over. Again, with the tears.
Note to self: Kleenex. How much is it to buy stock?
“Well, what did you pick?” I ask the cowboy on the stool across from me.
“Don’t you wanna know,” he sasses back.
“Yes, actually, I do.”
My solo performance this week is a hit straight from the nineties. I’ll be performing No Doubt’s “Spiderwebs,” and I’m stoked. I haven’t heard this song since I was younger and just the name brought a huge smile to my face. Who doesn’t love Gwen Stefani? This song is energetic and fun. It’s perfect for this week’s performance.
“Don’t You Wanna Stay?” he asks with a clever little smile.
“Are you trying to confuse me?”
“Jason somebody and Kelly Clarkson,” he replies, finally letting that smile fly.
“Ahh, gotcha. Do I get to sing Kelly?”
“No, you’re singin’ Jason somebody. I’ll be singin’ Kelly.”
“Good thinking. It’ll keep everyone on their toes. Plus, when you hit those high notes, it’s sure to put us right back into the spotlight. Page two just isn’t the same as front page entertainment news coverage,” I reply.
“True. I hate sharing pages with not-as-worthy celebrities.”
“So, let’s hear the song, I haven’t heard it in a few years,” I tell him as he pulls out his mp3 player.
I close my eyes as the words sung by Jason Aldean and Kelly Clarkson fill the room. The song is about a couple lost in a single moment together and not wanting to let it go. It’s a romantic ballad filled with that big romantic gesture, and honestly, it doesn’t surprise me that Beau would pick this song to sing together. In a way, this song represents us. Our journey. Even behind the scenes, we’ve embarked on a romantic journey filled with potholes and roadblocks. The biggest, of course, being the one thing that technically brought us together: the show.
We run through the song together several times, working on my runs of the high notes multiple times. Kelly Clarkson has an amazing range, and it’s one that you have to nail, because if you don’t, it’ll kill the song. And the last thing I want to do is be the reason we sound like crap.
“There. That time was better. Take a big breath before ya go into it and you’ll be fine. I’m not worried about ya,” he says confidently.
“Okay. I’ll run them tonight until they’re all I know,” I say.
Beau doesn’t say anything, which draws my attention towards him. He’s staring at me, the small lift of the corner of his mouth the only indication that he’s smiling. The intensity in his face makes me squirm on my stool. There’s something brewing dark and dirty behind those eyes.
“Just so ya know, I’m going to touch you during our performance.” Air lodges in my throat as my eyes widen in surprise. He keeps those hypnotizing orbs focused solely on me as he gets up and stops directly in front of me. “This song makes me wanna touch you so don’t be surprised when I touch your face like this,” he says as he reaches forward and gently strokes my check. “Or if I touch your arm like this,” he says moments before he runs his warm fingers up my arms from my wrist to my elbow. My reaction to his words, his touches, is undeniable.
Every ounce of oxygen is sucked from the room like some lust-filled vacuum. Even if I could speak, I wouldn’t know what to say. We’re at an impasse right now. We both want something more, but something more isn’t an option at this moment. Instead, we indulge in those little touches, a few shared kisses, and a whole bunch of phone conversations. Especially when he’s on the road for appearances, we steal as much free time as we can spare over the phone and without prying cameras.
Of course, the rumors are still swirling. Well, I guess you can say that they aren’t technically “rumors” anymore. With the exception of us actually sleeping together, we have definitely formed a bond. A relationship. We just aren’t able to take it to the next level yet.
Damn it.
But in another way, that’s good. We’re learning so much about each other without involving sex. He’s shared his background with me, the troubles he’s dealt with in past relationships, and his dreams for the future. Funny, that some of those dreams are the same as mine. I try not to get too excited about that part, though. Once a cynic, always a cynic.
But I’m trying.
Later today, Ben is traveling with Beau to Salt Lake City for a concert. The whole thing concerns me a little since things between Ben and Beau have appeared a little tense since that on-stage kiss a few weeks ago. Ben will get to experience firsthand the excitement of the industry and performing on stage. Tomorrow, I fly out to Denver and do the same. Sunday, we’ll fly back to LA and jump right back into rehearsals for this next week. The other two contestants are all doing the same with their coach at some point this weekend, and the entire experience will be caught on camera and part of next week’s shows.
“So, you’re meetin’ me in Denver tomorrow afternoon. Ya already got the schedule, right?”
“Yes, Gabby gave it to me last night after the show,” I say as I gather up my sheet music.
“Good. Here, you need to learn this,” he says as he hands me another sheet of music.
“What’s this?” I ask, looking it over.
“That’s the song we’re gonna sing on stage tomorrow night,” he says.
“I’m singing on stage with you?” I ask astonished.
“Yep. Ben’s joinin’ me on stage tonight to sing ‘Whiskey Bottle,’” Beau says, referring to his first number one hit, a tidbit of information I learned only a few weeks ago. “We’re singing that.”
“You can’t be serious,” I say deadpanned.
“As a heart attack. Study up. We’ll only have a short amount of time to run it for sound check.”
I continue to look over the music sheet as Beau leans in. “I’ll call you later,” he whispers against my ear, sending little sparks of fire coursing through my body.
Long after Beau is gone, I sit on that stool and read the music. It’s a beautiful song, but I can’t think of where I’ve heard it before. Nothing sounds familiar to me. I’m sure it’s a country song, and Lord knows my knowledge of country music isn’t very extensive. I guess I’m going to have to fire up the laptop and do a little research.
Note to self: Grab some ice cream. A night of internet stalking is about to commence.
*****
I didn’t find the song and it’s driving me crazy. I searched all night in just about every lyrics website I could find. Even Wikipedia produced a big ol’ goose egg. Which brings me to the now where I’m following my driver at Denver International Airport as he weaves through the crowd and heads towards his waiting town car. Next stop: Pepsi Arena. And that much closer to Beau Tanner where I can hopefully get some answers.
When I arrive at the arena–and when I say I arrive, that means me and a camera crew–we are instantly escorted to the backstage area. I’m introduced to a handful of crew members, band members, and some of the management team for Beau’s label. I feel it instantly the moment Beau walks into the large room. It’s as if everyone else just fades away leaving only him and me.
Oh, how I wish…
“You’re here,” he says with a big smile. I take in his appearance. Still ruggedly handsome but gone is the cowboy hat and boots. Beau Tanner is walking around in a ball cap and running shoes. His usual Wrangler-wearing ass is covered by a pair of mesh running shorts and a loose fitting tank top is the only thing between me and the corded muscles of his tan chest.
And oh, what a chest it is. It’s the first time I’ve ever gotten to ogle him. He’s broad and muscular with ripples in all the right places. Plus, he has a tattoo. A big, dark tattoo with hard lines and dramatic shading. However, I can only see the top of it since it disappears below the neck of his shirt.
I feel eyes on me and realize that someone is talking, probably to me. I look up and my eyes immediately slam into the smiling ones and cocky grin. The damn cowboy just caught me ogling his body as I commit it to memory. Mother in heaven!
Note to self: When ogling, make sure the person you’re staring at doesn’t catch you! You’ll never hear the end of it.
I try to shake off my Tiffany-approved eye-fucking moment, but his gaze won’t let me go. I’m sucked in like one of those alien invasion movies.
“Did ya review the song?” he asks, that cocky smile not wavering from his too-handsome face.
“Yes, but what song is it?” I ask.
“Andrew here is going to give ya a backstage tour and show ya our set up. I’m going to take a quick shower, and then we’ll run the song on stage. Sound good?”
Andrew gently places his hand on my lower back and leads me down a long hallway, away from Beau. Which reminds me that he never answered my question about the song.
Andrew shows me several different areas of the backstage including a makeup and wardrobe area, warm-up room, and a meet and greet room. But the massive stage is what holds my attention right now. I feel so small, so minute while standing in the middle of the hard platform. It’s shaped like a W which gives Beau the opportunity to engage several sections of the arena, allowing the fans on the floor an up close and personal experience.
Someday…
Note to self: You’re allowed to dream. So dream big.
I walk up to a mic in the middle of the stage and can’t help but touch it. I don’t know if I’ll ever sing at a platform like this, but the fantasy is real. The desire to achieve that dream exists. When I hear the familiar clicking of cowboy boots, I turn around without dropping my hand from the microphone. Beau is there, watching me as if I’m the most fascinating person in the world.
“You look good up here. Natural.”
“I don’t know about that. Give it a few hours when these seats are all filled and I’ll be ready to pee down my leg,” I say with a chuckle.
Beau smiles before saying, “You ready to run the song?”
“Yes.”
Over the next hour, I work with Beau on the music and with a woman named Angela, who works as a stage choreographer for the crew. She tells me when I’ll enter the stage and from what angle. She shows me which mic I use and tells me at what part during the song I’m to move. She basically gives me a crash course on my positioning during the performance.
I watch from the side of the stage as Beau runs through his mic check. Each member of his band joins him and makes sure their instruments are tuned up and ready to go. The entire experience is a fascinating process. When I go to concerts, I just show up. I never knew all the different elements that went into the actual concert. It’s an eye-opener.
Shadowing Beau is easy. He’s a natural with his fans and does whatever it takes to make them comfortable and give them the best show possible. My first Meet and Greet is definitely interesting. Women have no qualms about throwing themselves at a country music superstar–not that I blame them. At first, it made me a little uneasy. Hugs aren’t just hugs when they involve groping hands. Kisses aren’t just kisses when they are placed on his lips. It is a hard pill to swallow. That is until I looked at him, and the look he gives me is for my eyes only. Like I need to hang a ‘Private’ sign on the doorknob. His eyes roam over my body, only straying long enough to take a quick photo or sign a t-shirt. Then, those amazing gray eyes are right back on me.
I’ve never had my own pre-show ritual. I haven’t needed one. So while the guys run through some warm-ups, I pull out my trusty mp3 player and find something to calm my racing heart. The song? Poison’s “Talk Dirty To Me.” I don’t know why exactly, but this song distracts me from what’s about to happen. Sitting on an old, lumpy sofa in the backstage area, I can finally feel my heart rate slowing.
I’m lost in the lyrics when I sense Beau’s presence. His shadow falls over me, but I don’t look. I’m too busy trying to keep calm. Beau pulls one of the ear buds from my ear and lifts it to his own. Glancing at him for the first time, the look on his face is priceless when he discovers what I’m listening to. His eyebrows shoot upward, completely hidden beneath the bill of his hat.
Plopping down beside me on the couch, Beau and I get lost in the hair band music pumping through the ear buds. When the song finally ends, I realize I’m as relaxed as I’ll ever be. I truly don’t know if it’s from the music or the man, but serenity has finally settled in, and I’m suddenly energized and ready for tonight’s performance.
Neither Beau nor I have yet to speak as the next song on my random playlist starts. Instantly, I recognize the intro since it’s one of my favorite songs. Poison’s “Lay Your Body Down” is cranked up in one ear, since the other bud is currently attached to Beau’s head. I hum along with the first few lines, closing my eyes, as I get lost in the familiar words. What happens next catches me completely by surprise. Beau starts to sing the lyrics. Keeping my eyes training on a chair in front of us, I listen to the smooth timbers of his voice as he sings the song about watching your love push you away.
After a few lines, I jump in and sing with him. We keep our volume low as the rest of the band mingles and preps for the show around us, paying us no attention.
Suddenly we’re at my favorite part of the song. Where he tries to convince her to stay. “So let’s draw the blinds, forget wasted time, and let them old demons die. Take ahold of my hand, then you’d understand, why love’s worth one more try.”
Beau reaches over and grabs ahold of my left hand that’s resting on the couch. When he links our fingers together, I feel so much more than his hand. I feel something so shocking and direct, straight to the heart of me. My entire world is rocked on its foundation, but then righted again. Almost like he’s the balm to heal my ache. And it’s right here and now that I realize that I want Beau to help me. I want him to mend my broken heart and help piece back together the tattered pieces. I want him to kiss away any doubt and uncertainty. I want him to hold my hand and show me that love is worth another try, just like the lyrics state.
I don’t even realize that a tear has escaped until he reaches over and wipes it away. I’m lost in a sea of steel gray eyes with more tenderness and softness in them that I’ve ever known. So much goes unsaid in this moment, yet I can see his feelings reflected in his eyes.
Our private moment is broken when movement catches my attention. The camera zooms in as close as possible, I’m sure, as the cameraman films our exchange. As if sensing my immediate uneasiness, Beau lets go of my hand, removes the ear bud, and stands up. He gives me his trademark cocky smile before slipping over to his band mates for the remaining few minutes before they go on stage.
What the hell was that? I have no clue. I do know that Beau knows the words to one of my all-time favorite songs–a rock song. And not even a popular one, at that. Beau definitely keeps me guessing. Just when I think I have him all figured out, he goes and does something like this. Knows my song and holds my hand through my favorite part. If this man isn’t perfect for me, then I don’t know who is. But then again, skepticism steps in, and I can’t help but wonder when the proverbial shoe is going to drop.
While Beau starts the show, I’m led to a dressing room in the backstage area where I find a short black dress with a big silver belt and black cowboy boots. The detail in the boots is exquisite. Silver and hot pink stitching in the form of angel wings on the sides. The entire ensemble puts a smile on my face as I realize that I’m about to wear my first pair of cowboy boots. On stage. With Beau.
A woman quickly styles my hair so that it’s pulled back and away from my face while still leaving it down with big curls. My eyes have that smoky, sultry look and are a tad darker than I would have liked. She assured me that they always go darker for the lighting.
I watch most of the concert from the side of the stage. Beau is electric when he performs, guitar in hand, as he works the stage. I can see why all the girls ages two through ninety-two love him. He’s drop dead gorgeous with a southern drawl that I never knew was so damn sexy, and he has moves that are all that and a bag of chips.
Suddenly, my time is upon us. Beau talks to the crowd for a few moments, getting them all riled up before his band starts the now familiar melody. The song is slow and packed with meaning. The whole thing screams sexual tension. While I wait for my cue to step out on stage, Beau starts to sing.
“From that first moment, I knew there was somethin’
Somethin’ bout you that speaks to me so true.
Every moment with you makes me alive,
Every beat of my heart for only you.
Your skin against my skin, your lips against my lips,
Your touch is my undoin’, I crave you underneath my fingertips.
Stay with me tonight, Stay with me tomorrow.
Stay with me forever, until the end of time.
Just stay with me
Stay with me.”
And that’s my cue to step out onto the stage. The lights are blindingly hot and remind me of the ones on the show. The crowd is there, yelling and cheering, yet I don’t see them. I only see the man in front of me at the front of the stage. I bring the microphone up to my mouth as I reply to his words.
I’ve been hurt so many times before,
And I’m afraid to move too fast.
Letting go is never easy,
But when I’m with you I forget the past.
You make the fear disappear and my smile feel brand new,
I want your arms wrapped around me, a touch from only you.
Stay with me tonight, Stay with me tomorrow.
Stay with me forever, until the end of time.
Just stay with me
Stay with me.”
We sing together, our eyes locked in the middle of that stage, as if no one else in the world exists. This song feels eerily familiar, yet the words are so new. Beau touches my face as he sings; the intimate gesture that he warned me was coming. Even with thousands of fans watching, along with a camera crew documenting this entire experience, I don’t mind. His hand on me feels right. Just like the words I sing.
“It’s you and me against the world,
But it doesn’t matter as long as you stay.
Right by my side, just stay beside me.
Stay with me.
Yeah, stay with me.”
Before I know it, my time on stage is done. The song is over, yet I can’t seem to walk away. Our eyes are locked as I register the screaming fans surrounding us. My breath catches in my throat, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. The look in his eyes is fierce and primal. I lick my lips in anticipation, but the moment is severed when the band starts the intro for the next song.
“Ladies and gentleman, Layne Carter,” Beau says into the microphone without taking his eyes off of me.
And just like that, with the super-human strength I didn’t even know I possessed, I walk away.
*****
“You’re already checked in. Here’s your room key,” Andrew says as he escorts me into the hotel in downtown Denver.
“Thank you,” I reply as I wheel my overnight bag towards the elevator.
“If you need anything, just buzz the front desk. A car will be here at ten in the morning to take you and Beau to the airport for your flight back to LA.”
The elevator deposits me on the top floor of the posh hotel. Inside, the suite is massive. It’s quite probably twice the size as the suite I stayed in with my mom and son while they were in LA. This one has a full kitchen, an office, a massive sitting room with more gadgets than an electronics store, and two huge bedrooms. Two bedrooms? Why in the world am I staying in such as large suite? It’s the kind of suite that’s reserved for presidents and millionaires. Not bartenders with musical aspirations.
Just as I get ready to phone the front desk, the door opens. The sight before me steals my breath and unravels every brain cell I possess. Beau walks in. When our eyes meet–mine filled with shock, I’m sure–he gives me a small smile.
“You’re here?”
“I am,” he says as he drops his duffle bag on the floor at his feet. “But just so you know, Ben and I shared a suite last night, too. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done to not punch him in the face every time he opened his mouth.”
“He’s not so bad, you know. If you got to know him, you’d probably like him a bit,” I say, feeling the need to defend one of my friends. Even if that friend likes to cross the line a little.
“He had his hands and his lips on you. I hate his fucking guts,” Beau replies seriously.
Well, then…
“Which room is mine?” I ask, steering the conversation towards a safer topic. Sleep. Yet, something feels so intimate about that too.
“Either one. I’ll take the small one if ya’d like,” he says and starts to walk towards the door behind me.
“No, I’ll take that one. You’re the star here, not me.”
Beau stops directly in front of me. His eyes search my face before he replies, “There is no star here tonight. Just a man and a woman. Sharing a hotel suite.”
The underlying meaning slams into me with so much force, it almost knocks me on my ass. Tonight, Beau and I are sharing a hotel suite. Albeit different rooms, but we’ll be sleeping in close proximity. His head resting on his pillow mere rooms away. His body wearing nothing but a sheet or maybe a pair of silk boxers. Yeah, there’ll be no sleeping tonight.
“Go get ready for bed and then come back out and we’ll discuss the show,” he says as he heads towards the smaller of the two rooms which is still twice the size of my bedroom back at home in Chicago.
I’m left alone in the main seating area so I quickly gather up my luggage and head into the master suite. Gasping when I step inside the room, I didn’t even know they made beds that big. What’s bigger than a king size bed? The bedspread is white and satin with huge, fluffy, luxurious pillows. There’s a beautifully delicate dresser and a matching wardrobe along the back wall, but the best feature is definitely the massive French doors that lead to a private deck. When I slide open the door, I’m shocked to find a hot tub, cover off and lights shining as if it’s ready to go.
Okay, I’m definitely using that before bed.
As I run my fingers through the water, I’m startled when I hear Beau’s boots behind me. “There’s another door,” he says, pointing to the doorway that leads to the sitting area with his hand holding a tumbler of something dark.
“Oh,” I reply. It’s all I’ve got.
“Why don’t you get in?” he asks before taking a sip of the amber liquid.
“I didn’t bring a suit,” I tell him.
“Who said anything ‘bout a suit?” he asks, that dark eyebrow disappearing underneath the brim of his hat.
Tingles of anticipation skitter through my body. I’ve never been skinny dipping, and the thought both excites and terrifies me. Do I want to take this step with Beau? The line is drawn in the sand, and I fear that once I step over it, I’ll never be able to turn back. Can I risk my entire future, a recording contract with a major record label, for Beau? It doesn’t even take me a nanosecond to know without a doubt that the answer is yes. I was fine before the show without a recording contract, and I’ll be fine afterwards without one as well.
I kick off the tennis shoes that I chose to wear for travel. They’re comfy and familiar, and make it easy to maneuver in a crowded airport. Beau’s eyes darken even more, if that’s even possible. I don’t say a word as I grab the hem of my sweatshirt and pull it up and over my head. The cooler night air kisses my already heated body, resulting in immediate goose bumps. I stand before Beau wearing a blue lace bra and my jeans, arching my eyebrow at him as in challenge.
Beau answers immediately by removing his Stetson. He throws it down on the chaise lounge and bends down to remove his boots. When he pulls his tucked shirt out of the top of his jeans, my entire body ignites with awareness. We’re really about to do this.
Standing before me, bare-chested with that tattoo on full display, Beau waits for me to make my next move. I reach down and unsnap my jeans. I slowly–seductively–shimmy out of the tight material until they’re piled around my feet. I rip off my socks next, leaving me standing before him in a blue lace bra and matching boy cut panties.
Beau’s eyes flare with passion as he drinks me in. They roam over me several times as if committing to memory every curve, every stitch of fabric. My heart rate beats so fast in my chest that I’m sure he can see it from his position in front of me.
I watch, helplessly, as Beau reaches down and unsnaps the button on his worn Wranglers. My mouth goes dry as he slowly lowers the zipper and starts to push them down his strong legs. Dark hair sprinkles his powerful thighs, extending down his well-defined calves.
Here it is. This is the moment we both decide if we’re going to cross the line.
I can head back to my room, pull the covers up to my chin, and try to forget about everything. We can go back to being coach and student. No lines have been crossed, and no contracts have been broken.
Or I can forget the show, forget everything, and just be. Be with the man I’ve wanted since I first laid eyes on him. Be with the man who wants me so fiercely in return that he’s willing to risk everything–his reputation, his contractual obligations–for me.
Do I stay or do I go?