Music Notes (11 page)

“I’m sorry, honey. I hate to hear you having to go through something like that. Just know that not all guys are jerks, okay? There are still plenty of good ones out there. My wife? She’s got a hell of a man, I tell you,” he says with a huge wolfish grin, and you can’t help but laugh. And it feels good to laugh, even when talking about something as painful as Colton.

Note to self: Laugh more.

I spend the next couple of hours in the empty dining room with Troy. He shares stories of his life in St. Louis, his job as a music teacher, and plenty of stories involving his children. He talks about the love he has for his wife, all of the adventures they’ve had together, and the dreams they share, and while it doesn’t completely restore my faith in the male race, it lightens my heart to know that goods ones do actually exist in this world. Whether or not I’ll find one? Well, the jury’s still out on that one.

Just before the lunch crowd starts to roll in, I share with Troy a few stories of Eli and my mom. It actually feels pretty good to talk about them. It’s as if they’re closer than they actually are. Sharing stories and a few laughs makes me feel relaxed for the first time since I arrived in Los Angeles.

“Promise me that if you ever find yourself in St. Louis, you’ll look me up,” Troy says.

“I will. As long as you promise to come and visit me in Chicago someday,” I agree with a smile.

“Deal. Patti and I have always talked about going and seeing the Sears Tower, or whatever it’s called now.”

I leave the dining room after lunch feeling lighter than I have in days. Troy is a great man and I can tell exactly what kind of husband and father he is just by interacting and talking with him. I hope his family knows how lucky they are to have him in their lives.

And I’m lucky to have him as a friend.

*****

“She hasn’t practiced at all, Beau.” Shawna screeches next to me at an ear-piercing volume, and I’m about point two seconds away from shoving my size seven up her ass. “She’s not taking this as seriously as I am.”

I exhale in and out, deeply. “I practiced all afternoon, but I’m having a hard time with this run,” I defend, looking up at our coach.

Beau is standing at his music stand directly in front of us with his arms crossed over his broad chest wearing his signature black Stetson, a tight white t-shirt, and those delicious Wranglers. He’s pure sex in his dark leather cowboy boots. He makes my girly parts stand up and salute every time we’re in the same room together.

“It’s a challengin’ run, Shawna. But I know Layne can do it. That’s why I wanted her to do this part,” he says in that sexy, deep southern accent. “Let’s run it again. Layne, I want you to take a breath here,” he says as he walks over and points down at my music sheet. “That should give ya enough juice to nail the run. Don’t think about anything other than those last two notes. You got this, darlin’.”

When he uses the term of endearment, my insides turn to gooey mush. Of course, I’m not the only one he calls darlin’ or sugar, but when he says it to me, I feel those eyes of his piercing my body with their intensity. And don’t get me started on his scent when he invades my space. Beau Tanner does things to my body that are illegal in half the states of this country.

We run through the troublesome part of the song several more times. Each time, I do what Beau instructed and clear my mind, concentrating on those last two notes. His tips and suggestions are welcome and definitely helpful. I’ve always enjoyed singing, but I have no professional education or training. It’s just something I’ve loved to do in high school plays or in the car. So, I feel like I’m way behind everyone else that’s here. It’s like they all know so much more than I do. We’re two days in and I’m already struggling.

“There. That’s better. You’re gettin’ it, darlin’,” he says with a smile and a wink. “Shawna, let’s run through the second refrain one more time before our time’s up.”

Shawna sings effortlessly next to me. She actually has a very beautiful voice, light with just enough of that southern twang. Too bad what’s on the inside is as ugly as dog shit. Messy too.

“I think we made great progress today, ladies. I’m flyin’ out tomorrow morning for shows and won’t be back until early Monday mornin’. We’ll meet on Monday here, and I believe Tuesday will be inside the arena we use for live shows. Gabby will probably get you the schedules soon,” he says. “Any questions?”

Hearing none, Beau indicates that he wants to speak with Shawna privately. Though I can’t hear what they’re saying, the sound of her teasing cackle sends an uneasy ripple through my body. It’s almost…jealousy. Which is completely crazy because I have no reason to be jealous. I am nothing to Beau, and he sure is nothing to me other than my coach. Right?

After a few minutes, Beau sends Shawna out the door and meets me halfway across the room as I’m heading out. “Hey. Today was much better. Don’t let Shawna stress you out. You have exactly what it takes to be here, and you deserve it. I knew it the first note I heard come from your beautiful mouth,” he says, dropping that last part down to a whisper even though we are alone in the room. Well, alone except for the man holding the camera a few feet away. The fact that his eyes seem to be focused on the very mouth he was just speaking of, well that makes me all giddy. My heartbeat kicks up to a gallop and my breath gets lodged in my throat. Did he just say my mouth was beautiful? Is that a normal compliment? I’ve never been told my mouth was beautiful before.

“Uhh, thank you,” I mumble quiet. My words must snap him out of the trance he’s in because, suddenly, steely eyes are focused intensely on mine.

Beau steps in close, very close, and I can smell his soap or aftershave again. Whatever it is smells musky and wild, like sandalwood with a touch of spice. I have to physically restrain myself from leaning forward and running my nose up the enticing column of his lean neck, from his collarbone to his five o’clock shadow covered jaw. I shiver uncontrollably at the sudden need coursing through my blood. My entire being–everything I have and everything I am–was just set ablaze.

Beau stares down at my slightly agape mouth again. The strength of his eyes is so overwhelming that I’m actually very thankful that he’s not staring into my eyes. Talk about knocking me off kilter.
Holy hell, this man is dangerous
. Without even realizing what I’m doing, I lick my dry lips. His eyes widen and dilate until they’re practically black with desire. What I see there is unmistakable. I can see it as clearly as I see the man standing in front of me. Beau is reacting to me as powerfully as I am to him.

After several of the most erotic moments I’ve ever experienced, most of which have merely included our eyes transfixed on each other, movement out of the corner of my eye breaks the spell. Beau’s eyes finally snap back up to my eyes, guarded by the low bill of his cowboy hat. Probably for the best, anyway. I’m sure I read this entire exchange incorrectly, and the last thing I want to do is embarrass myself. There’s no way Beau Tanner was looking at me with anything other than professionalism.

Right?

I step back and throw my satchel over my shoulder. “Keep up the great work, Layne. You’re doin’ awesome, darlin’. I’ll see ya Monday,” he says, eyes burning into me once again.

“Yes. Monday.” The words are shallow as I take several steps backwards until the door is at my back. Without looking at Beau, I turn around and all but run out of the practice studio. 

Shawna and a handful of contestants are already in the van waiting. Looks of annoyance are sent my way as everyone waits patiently for me to get inside so we can get a move on. I’m quiet, lost in my own thoughts, as we make our way back towards the hotel. I barely even hear Shawna tell the man next to her about how unprepared I was for today’s practice.

Note to self: Concentrating on Beau’s lips is a great way to take your mind off Snarly Barbie.

What exactly was that in the studio? I know I feel this crazy, schoolgirl attraction to the man, but him? There’s no way. I’m a twenty-four year old bartender with a three-year-old son who lives with her mother. I get excited on the months I can make my portion of the mortgage, the phone bill, and the television payment all at the same time. I drive a used car, for God’s sake, and my detergent isn’t even Tide because Purex is cheaper.

But then I recall the intensity of his eyes. There was so much more there, deep in that slate gaze that I can’t explain. Need. Want. It was there. I know it was. And I can’t deny the way my body physically responds to him whether he’s across the room or standing right in front of me. I’ve never felt this pull, this connection before. It’s exciting and terrifying all at the same time. There are so many unanswered questions, and no real way to get the answers. He’s my coach. That’s it. End of story.

But that still doesn’t explain why I suddenly feel the need to explore this attraction, because that look he sent me will forever haunt my dreams. It isn’t one-sided.

I just wish I knew what all of this meant.

*****

Saturday night brings a five-dollar cover charge at a club in Hollywood. Several of us gathered after dinner and made plans for the evening. In addition to Troy, Corie, and Ben, three other contestants are with us at Club Z; all ready to let our hair down.

Earlier today I had my first appointment with the stylist. The fact that she’s leaving my outfits alone and doesn’t seem to want to change them is a huge relief. I don’t know what I would have done if she would have wanted to turn me into some country belle like the others on Team Beau. That’s not me.

Zara is actually considering adding a strip of color to my hair before the first live show, which will probably make Mom happy. She wrote it down in her notebook with all of her other notes and measurements and will take it all into consideration before our meeting tomorrow afternoon where I’ll receive the outfits I was fitted for.

“What do you want to drink?” Troy asks as he uses his large body to protect me from the mass of people all pushing their way towards the expansive bar.

“Jack and Coke,” I tell him with a grin.

Even though this isn’t the type of place I frequent back in Chicago, I felt at home instantly when I stepped over the threshold. It’s still early enough that there wasn’t a line outside. Guys and girls are shoulder to shoulder everywhere you look, though. The dance floor is half full with sweaty bodies moving to the beat of the hip-hop music. My body instantly starts to move.

“Come on,” Corie yells in my ear. “There’s a table over there we can grab while they get the drinks.”

I follow the petite little thing as she pushes her way through the crowd. Elbows fly and toes are trampled, but we finally emerge victorious on the other side of the room and claim the small table with four chairs as our own.

  Ten minutes later, the guys and a few of the others make their way to our table. Ben instantly sits next to me as he places my drink on the table. He’s so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. I try to scoot my chair backwards a few inches to keep him from completely invading my personal space, but I end up hitting the chair of the guy behind me. These tables weren’t placed here with comfort in mind.

“Do you want to dance?” Ben asks, drawing my eyes away from the dance floor.

“What?” I ask, completely pretending like I didn’t hear his question over the loud thumping of the music.

“Dance. Do you want to dance? You’ve been watching the dance floor since we got here,” he yells and leans in even closer. His breath tickles my ear as he all but rubs his nose against the shell of my ear.

“Oh, no thank you.”

“Come on, Layne,” he says as he stands up, takes my hand in his, and leads me towards the dance floor.

When we get there, Ben finds us a small sliver of dance floor real estate and pulls me in close. The song is upbeat with lots of bass that vibrates the entire room, and even though I try not to, I find myself completely lost in the music. I’ve always loved to dance, but there’s something about being able to let loose after a stressful week that makes tonight so much more enjoyable.

I don’t even feel Ben’s hands on my hips at the end of the song when the upbeat number quickly fades into a slow number. I tense as he draws me into his arms, pulling my body flush against his. I hold my breath for several seconds as I contemplate what to do next. I could excuse myself, making up a reason to use the restroom, or I could dance one slow song with Ben. He’s a great looking guy, and by the way his strong arms and hard chest are pressed against me, it’s obvious that he works out and takes care of himself.

But, he’s not Beau.

I mentally chastise myself for that thought. Beau has nothing to do with anything. There’s no relationship–not even the hint of one. Yet, I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. All last night, I laid in bed wondering where his show was until I finally got up and Googled it on my cell phone. Dallas. Beau was in Dallas. And tonight? Houston.

“Everything alright?” Ben yells as we move together on the dance floor.

“Yeah, I’m just getting hot,” I lie.

“We can go get another drink,” he offers, never taking his eyes off me. Everything I see there is clear. Ben has a crush. A big one.

“Can I ask you something?” I start, slightly hesitant. I have to do it. Troy’s comment about wondering if Ben knew that we were only friends keeps playing over and over again in my mind like some jacked up broken record.

“Sure, honey,” he says, dipping his head in so close his forehead is practically touching my neck.

“You know we’re friends, right?”

He looks up at me with slight confusion before his eyes take on a wounded look. I can tell he’s processing my question and doesn’t really know how to answer it. The hurt is evident to me, yet he masks himself quickly to guard his heart.

“Because I value you as a friend and I want to keep it that way,” I tell him honestly.

“Sure. Of course. Friends. Yeah, we’re friends,” he says standing up a little straighter. The moment bypasses uncomfortable and goes straight to awkward in about point two seconds. “So, how about that drink?” Ben says as he pulls back. Even though he pulls away from me on the dance floor, he still takes my hand within his and leads me back to our table.