Chapter Twenty-Three
In some ways it was like he’d never left.
After the initial buzz, things seemed to have settled. There was still the occasional…flurry when he ran into a fan. He’d gotten pretty good at recognizing the sincere ones and what they’d called the bandwagon ones, the ones who only wanted to be part of the latest big thing. Then there were the musicians, real and wannabes, who wanted to talk about his playing. Those he didn’t mind so much, especially if they had some knowledge.
And then there were the girls with other things on their mind. The occasional guy who needed to know personally he was straight, but mostly the girls. He tried to be gracious, not offend anyone, but sometimes they made it difficult. At meet and greets after a show there had been security to keep things moving, but when they’d just been out on their own, it had been trickier. The guys had known that when he gave the signal—ramming both hands through his hair—it was time for one of them to call his phone and give him a tactful excuse to bail. But he didn’t have them anymore.
And you don’t have to be polite, they’re fans of something that doesn’t exist anymore.
As soon as he thought it Aunt Millie’s voice rang in his head, telling him that while he didn’t have to be conventional, he did have to be civil. She didn’t require perfect manners, but disrespect was unacceptable.
He most liked the times when he ran into people who had known him before. To them he was still that kid who grew up here. They might admire his success, but they also remembered the rather withdrawn kid he’d been, even before that night, and didn’t hold it against him.
And they treated him that way, at least enough of them that he felt almost…normal again. And it felt better than he’d ever imagined it could.
So he signed a few autographs, posed for a few selfies, and while he wasn’t up to smiling mindlessly he kept a frown off his face and waved for the cameras in the hands of those too shy to approach him. Since he’d once been one of those, he understood.
But just as he was walking toward the grocery store—the old fridge still worked, amazingly enough—thinking this was going to be a snap, he heard a car door slam and quick footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering what local was going to either welcome him home or rag on him for staying away so long. Instead he saw a vaguely familiar female hurrying toward him. He frowned, trying to place her, and couldn’t.
But he could place her style; her whole look screamed L.A. She was dressed for a night out on the city, here at ten in the morning in Whiskey River. She couldn’t have been more out of place had she carried a sign saying, “I don’t belong here.”
He had no doubts, but a quick glance at the car she’d emerged from confirmed his guess with rental stickers out of Austin. Damn, had she flown all the way here for…him?
Rein in the ego, boy. Lots of reasons she could be here.
“Jamie! I was starting to think I’d never find you.”
Then again…
He had no idea what to say. In context, in a line after a show, he had the patter down as he thanked them for coming out. And he was, so he’d been told, good at making each one feel like they’d mattered to him in those few moments. And they did, so he always tried. With a few of the genuine ones he let it go even deeper, spent some time actually talking, about real things. Because they were the ones who mattered most, the ones he tried to reach.
And then there were the…Kims. Her name came to him suddenly, both from the times she’d draped herself over him for photos taken by friends, and cooed in his ear, and from the warnings from Rob that she was well known on the L.A. concert circuit, as a rich girl with more money than she knew what to do with. And she had apparently chosen him as her next target.
Rob’s words played back in his head. You’re not the sort, Jamie boy, but I’ll warn you anyway. One hint of encouragement, and she’ll have your engagement the headline on every entertainment site on the internet. All so she can ceremoniously dump you for the next one.
She was running toward him now—a not insignificant accomplishment in those stiletto-heeled boots he supposed were her idea of Texas footwear—and he had bare seconds to think.
One hint of encouragement, Rob had said.
Okay. Right. You didn’t remember that name.
“Hello,” he said, working hard at putting the right amount of puzzlement into his voice as she came to a breathless halt in front of him.
“I looked for you all day yesterday.” She sounded as if she were trying to be teasingly pouty. It grated. “I couldn’t believe I couldn’t find you in this little place.”
She looked around, and he had the sense the wrinkling of her nose was real. Whiskey River was like a foreign country to her. She would never understand the hold this place had on the people who loved it.
He was carefully polite when he said, “I’m sorry, I know I’ve seen you before, but…” He let his voice trail off.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. As if she’d said it, he knew she was pondering if she should play it insulted. Apparently, she decided to go for the cooing.
“Oh, you poor thing, you must be so devastated after Derek. I was so worried about you, I came all this way to help.”
“You want to help? Good, I’m heading out to a friend’s horse rescue. She can always use help shoveling the manure.”
The woman blinked. Drew back for a moment. But she clearly wasn’t one to give up easily. She reached out and put an arm around his shoulder, stepping forward to stand close. Too close.
“Horses are so pretty. I’d love to see a real one.”
She wasn’t giving up. Odd, it probably wouldn’t have bothered him in L.A.—it happened often enough—but here it seemed…wrong. He was starting to feel as if he was in over his head. He was off his stride, and with no insulation of roadies and the guys, he was drowning here.
“Hey, baby!”
The cheerful call from behind him spun him around. Zee. He felt suddenly like a guy who had realized the lit dynamite he held was stuck to his hand. He watched her walk toward him with that long, graceful stride, that sexy, tousled hair lifting slightly. She reached him and threw her arms around him. She was close, so damn close, he could feel her warmth, see the twinkle of mischief in her eyes. God, he’d missed that, missed sassy Zee. She was so—
She kissed him.
Her mouth came down on his and blasted every rational thought out of his head. Heat erupted in him, sending fiery threads along every nerve. And it suddenly changed from a teasing gesture to something more. Much more. Her lips were soft, warm, and giving. He felt the brush of her tongue over his lips and gasped. What had started as sassy Zee turned to sexy Zee so fast he couldn’t catch his breath.
The other woman said something. He didn’t hear what. Couldn’t even think. And when Zee broke the kiss, the only thing that mattered in that instant was that she looked as startled as he felt.
But being Zee, she recovered quickly. She glanced at the woman, smiled sweetly. “Sorry to interrupt. I know how these moments are for fangirls. But I wanted to make sure he picked up the eggs for breakfast. I’m tired of just toast.”
As a slap-down and a territorial claim in one, it was the best he’d ever seen. Stiletto woman sputtered. “Who are you? I’ve never heard or read about anybody he—”
“Bless your heart,” Zee said gently. “He’s mine. And he was mine before he ever picked up a guitar.”
Jamie fought down the leap his heart took at those words, knowing she was just playing a part at the moment. “That I was,” he agreed. “Lock, stock, and whiskey barrel.”
Zee laughed. “How very Texan of you, darling.”
Jamie fought down a laugh; Zee had never called anyone darling in her life with good intent. He looked back at the woman, who was now looking more like a foiled predator. As, perhaps, she was.
He looked back at the woman, who looked ready to use her not inconsiderable claws. “Still want to help with that shoveling? Or do you need to get back to L.A. in time for the Quake shows?”
The woman stilled. “What? They’re not—”
“They are now. Just booked three days down the coast, Ventura to San Diego. Justin’ll be disappointed if you don’t show up, I’m sure.”
He was able to say it with absolute sincerity, because if there was anyone who reveled in that scene, who would give her the visibility she wanted and would partake of all she was offering, it was Quake front man Justin Kramer. And Jamie was honest enough to know where he stood on that particular value scale; as big as Scorpions had gotten, Quake was a much bigger name.
“And,” he added in a low voice, as if he were letting her in on a valuable secret, “I happen to know he’s doing a private show tomorrow night. I’m sure with your contacts you could find out where and get in.”
The woman was on her phone before she got back in her rented car, with barely a goodbye wave.
“Did you just throw her to the wolves?” Zee asked.
“More the other way around,” he said. “But Justin can take care of himself. And he does like…her sort of attention.”
“She’s one of those, huh? One of the minions?”
He gave her a sideways look. Thought of the last time he’d asked her to go with him. I have loved you since I was fourteen, Jamie, but I won’t be one of those women, following a rock star around. I have a life here, a good one. “Is that what you call them?”
“It has a better ring than groupie. But I guess groupie implies some things minion doesn’t.”
Like sex?
He sighed, half wishing she’d just come out and ask him if he’d ever slept with the woman. Because he could honestly answer no. And that was because nothing had, or ever could, match the fire this woman started in him. It had only taken that dramatic, completely scripted kiss to prove that. Even knowing it was done specifically for the benefit of that predatory woman, Zee Mahan still sent him flying. She always had.
He rammed a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Zee—” He broke it off, sure she didn’t want to hear whatever would have come next. Which he didn’t know, since he’d had no idea what else to say.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
She looked as if she hadn’t expected that answer. And her voice went rather formal. “I’m sorry for the interruption, then. I thought you looked like you wanted rescuing.”
“I was grateful for it.”
She went very still. “Sorry about the kiss, then.”
Sorry? Sorry about the sweetest thing that had happened to him in years? “That’s what I’m mad about, all right. But not that way.”
“What?”
“I’m mad because you didn’t mean it.”
There. It was out. Zee stared at him, and he was suddenly very aware they were having this discussion in the town square, practically in the shadow of Booze Kelly’s statue.
“You’ve picked up a nasty habit, Jamie Templeton.”
“Probably a few,” he said wearily. “But which one chapped you this time?”
“You make a hell of a lot of assumptions.”
And then she was gone, leaving him staring after her, wondering if she could possibly mean what it seemed like she meant.
Ironically, that was one assumption he didn’t dare make.