Music Notes (12 page)

“You guys are so cute,” Corie hollers over the music.

“Who?” I ask her knowing exactly “who” she’s referring to.

“Duh! You and Ben. You’re like the perfect blend of country and rock. Classic and edgy. You two would make adorable babies,” she adds before taking another drink of her mixed fruity concoction. If I had to guess? Daiquiri.

“We’re friends,” I defend.

“Friends who get frisky on the dance floor?” she throws back at me.

“What?”

“Oh come on, the cameras were zoomed in on you two like you wouldn’t believe waiting for someone to make the next move. Our money was on Ben, but I was prepared for you to surprise us. You seem like the type to take what you want. Oh, you’ve got some killer dance moves, by the way.”

“I don’t want Ben,” I tell her quietly so that no one around us hears. When she arches an eyebrow at the ceiling, I add, “Seriously. Ben is a friend. I think he has a crush on me, but I’m trying not to encourage it. We danced the same way I’d dance with any of the guys.”

Apparently, I say that a little too loud because Hugo pulls me up out of my seat and leads me to the dance floor. He’s a saucy blend of Mexican and American with dark eyes and a gorgeous smile, though his grandfather–whom he’s named after–is full-blooded German. He’s an interesting mix, and an even more interesting soul. He’s funny and charismatic, and has a fashion sense to rival some of the leading magazines. I’ve gotten to know him well in the two hours we’ve been at the club.

After several songs, Hugo and I make our way back to the table. Eyes are starting to droop and I realize that it is somehow already after midnight. We’ve been here for several hours, dancing and letting loose. Everyone has danced and carried on, singing along to all the songs, even those we don’t know.

This time, I don’t even take my seat. Instead, I point towards the door indicating that we should go. Corie practically jumps up off her chair, leading the way towards the exit. I yawn widely as Troy takes his protective position next to me. Corie winds her arm through mine on my other side, and Ben seems to hang back with Hugo and the other two.

“Did you talk to him?” Troy asks just loud enough for me to hear.

“Yeah. I think I hurt him, though,” I tell him through the slightly alcohol induced haze.

“He’ll get over it. I’m just glad you said something before it got completely out of hand,” he says as he hails us a cab. 

Five people cram into the backseat, while two ride up front, as we make our way back to the hotel. I’m sitting on Troy’s lap which considering his height and size, is a difficult feat. My head is cocked to the side and smashed against the ceiling while my legs are pinned between the seat in front of me and Troy’s long limbs. It doesn’t help that Ben is sitting Bitch in the middle and I’m half sitting on his lap, too. Just a few more blocks.

When we arrive back at the hotel, we all break off and head towards our respective rooms. Shawna is sleeping beautifully in her bed–yes, she’s even beautiful when she sleeps–so I slip quietly into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

I can’t help but wonder what Beau is doing right now. Is he done with his show? Is he hanging out backstage? Is his movie star girlfriend, Penelope Shaw, there with him?

After I Googled his tour schedule, I searched for any sign of him and her together, but the only thing I found was the story in
Country Weekly
that speculated the relationship. They didn’t even have any photos to back it up. Yet.

I toss and turn for another half hour as I think about the two practices I’ve had with Beau, all of the helpful suggestions he’s given me so far, how things are going to play out with Ben, what my family is doing back home in Chicago, and even what I’ll say to Beau on Monday. Again, I have way more questions than I do answers, but the one thing I know for certain is that I can’t wait for Monday.

Monday means seeing Beau.

*****

When his eyes lock on mine, I swear they penetrate straight to my soul. He walks towards me, stealthy as a cat, with a look of hunger on his face. A hunger I’ve never seen direct towards me. He stops directly in front of me, his hard breath a slight pant against my face. His eyes devour me from head to toe, causing a flood of wetness to soak my panties.

What is it about the way he looks at me? So intense, intoxicating, consuming. As if I’m the only woman he can see, and he can’t wait to sink his teeth into me.

My body is alive, fully charged and ready. My panties were rendered useless the moment my eyes look upon on his steel gray ones. I’m barely able to breathe, but somehow I lack the concern or the care. Being with this man, right here, right now, is my purpose.

Goose bumps cover my body the moment he touches me. It’s the slightest of touches; him grazing his pinky down my exposed arm, from my shoulder to my wrist. His touch seers my skin, branding me in a bold statement of declaration. It’s as if he’s claiming me as his own with just this one simple touch. A touch that I crave more than my next breath of air.

I’m on fire with desire. My brain is telling me to step forward, to touch this man. But my legs and my head aren’t communicating at this point. I can’t seem to move. I’m locked in a trance, pulled into an alternate universe, possessed by his dark eyes and smoldering heat.

Decisively, he steps forward, his mouth a mere whisper away from my own. I watch, helplessly, as he leans in just the tiniest bit. He’s going to kiss me. Finally.

Just before his lips touch mine, he pins me with a look of pure lust and proclamation. I can see my own desire reflected in his eyes. It’s a statement. A claim.

“Mine,” he growls seconds before his lips slam into mine.

The sound of my own gasp startles me from the beginning of what could very possibly have been the best damn dream I’ve ever had.
What the hell!?

I’m covered in sweat, the sheets are tangled around my body, and there’s a dull throb between my legs. I’ve never had a dream so real, so erotic that I’ve awoken in the dead of night raring to go. And it never got past the initial kiss.

Throwing myself to the other side of my bed, I try to find a comfortable position. However, the only thing I’m successful in finding, are soaked panties. My entire body is vibrating with need. A need so deep and so strong, I wonder if it’ll ever ebb.

I toss and turn for the better part of a half hour. Unfortunately, the constant replay of my dream keeps me from settling back to sleep. There’s only one thing to do.

I quietly slip into the bathroom, slide my fingers into my useless panties, and picture steel gray eyes, while pretending it’s his fingers and not my own. My orgasm is quick and gives me sweet relief from the ache left by the dream. The only thing that worries me is that the release will be short-lived. In a matter of hours, I’ll see those eyes once more. Only this time, it won’t be in my dreams. I’ll be standing before him and the only thing I’ll be able to picture is the look he gave me when he spoke that one word.

That one word that turns me on like never before.

Mine.

Note to self: Man invented deodorant for a reason. Use it.

These lights? Horribly hot. Like standing next to the sun and forgetting to wear your deodorant. I thought I put on deodorant this morning, but now I’m questioning that one little mundane task in my daily routine. I was in a hurry to get away from Bitchy Barbie, so what if I forgot? What if I was in such a big hurry that I forgot the one thing that would keep me from smelling like I just completed my first 5k?
Holy Hell!

“Let’s run it again,” Beau says from the coach’s table dead center in the massive studio. Right now, with the exception of a handful of the production staff and camera crew, the studio is empty, and surprisingly, that might be more intimidating. My words echo off the walls and the high ceiling. Hundreds of empty seats stare back at me, mocking me.

Sunday morning brought on my first hangover in I don’t know how long. I didn’t drink that much–or so I thought–but the headache that accompanied me pretty much everywhere I went that day, was miserable. What made it worse were the dye fumes I was forced to inhale all afternoon. I met with a stylist for the show who decided that I definitely needed a little color added to my hair. My locks are a caramel brown and when the sun hits them just right, you catch a glimpse of natural highlights. Staci decided that my hair needed color. After a very brief conversation, in which I had very little input, Staci started to cut dramatic layers in my long hair and dyed the underside a deep purple. As soon as I saw the finished product, I knew it was the perfect look for me.

Sunday also brought a little solo practicing in the studio before my appointment with wardrobe. We settled on a deep purple netted top over a black tank top with black leather pants–real leather, no less–and very tall spiky heels, much taller than the ones I’m used to. Throw in tons of walking around my hotel room in the death traps and a long, grueling practice with Beau and Shawna on Monday, and I’m already exhausted come Tuesday.

“Go to your starting positions,” Beau says as Shawna and I each take opposite corners of the stage.

The band starts the opening notes of Miranda’s song and I slowly start my strut across the stage, belting out the words I now know by heart. Two days of wearing these shoes have me practically walking like I’ve been doing it for years. I don’t even feel the need to constantly look down at my steps anymore. Plus, they do incredible things for my confidence.

Note to self: Buy more sexy heels.

I finish my first solo and flip my flat, limp hair out of my face. I feel like a big sweaty sausage right now. Unforgiving, bright lights are positioned from every angle on the stage front and are stationed from metal rafters throughout the large studio. If I’m this hot already, I can’t image what it’s going to be like when the room is filled with bodies. Of course, it doesn’t help that I look over at Shawna as she sings and notice that she still looks fresh and perfect.

Again, I question my lack of deodorant.

“That was better. Remember to work the stage–don’t be afraid of it. Stage presence is a huge part of what the audience will see, not just your ability to sing. Shawna, remember to hold your position until it’s your turn to sing. Layne gives ya the spotlight when it’s your solos, so don’t crowd the stage front when she’s singing,” Beau says.

Shawna smiles an impish little smile that tells me exactly how she feels about giving me the spotlight. Obviously, her immature stage hogging wasn’t done by accident. “Of course, Beau. Whatever you say, darling,” she coos at the handsome cowboy as she runs her hands down her side to land on her thin hips.

“Our time is up. You gals are goin’ to do great tomorrow. I’ll meet ya backstage early, and then I’ll be up at the table when ya go on. Don’t be nervous,” he says with the raise of the corner of his lip. It’s a smile I associate with casual, yet flirty Beau.

“Thanks, Beau. I’m so honored to be on your team. I know we’re going to go a long way together,” Shawna coos as she runs her manicured hand up Beau’s forearm. Then, before I even have time to process what’s happening, she leans forward and places a gentle, lipstick kiss on his scruffy cheek. The shock on his face must mirror my own because he doesn’t even pull back. I start to wonder if he enjoyed her kiss. Except the way his mouth opened and closed a few times before settling into a thin, grim line, I can tell it wasn’t something he was pleased about.

Unless it’s an act for the show’s–and my–benefit. I mean, he’s not allowed to have relationships with the contestants so it’s not like he can show his pleasure at Shawna pawing him and kissing his cheek. And honestly, what man would be put off by Shawna showing him some attention? Hell, there’s a hotel full of men falling all over themselves to try to get just a little bit closer to her.

“Okay, well, I’ll see ya tomorrow,” Beau states matter-of-factly as he starts to straighten his papers on the table.

I quickly turn away and go to gather my bag and take off my heels. I can’t wait to get out from underneath these harsh lights and into a little fresh air. Plus, stretching my tired, sore feet is pretty high up on my priority list right now. God, what I wouldn’t give for a foot rub.

“There will be cooler air pumped into the room tomorrow,” I hear from behind. The hair on the back of my neck prickles as I stand up and turn to face Beau. “I know it’s super hot in here right now, but it’ll be better when we do the shows. They just don’t crank up the air until show days,” he adds with that half grin.

Great. Beau notices how ungodly hot I am. I can imagine the lighting only illuminated the sweat marks on my lower back and under my arms. “Hot Mess” doesn’t even come close to describing me right now.

“Yeah, it’s a little warm,” I reply as casually as possible.

“You’ll get used to it,” he says stepping in until he’s invading my personal space. Instinctively, I almost step backwards. Then, I mentally smack myself across the face for even thinking of doing such a thing. Hell no, you don’t step back when Beau Tanner invades your space. “Don’t be surprised when Shawna completely tries to take over the performance. You’re goin’ to have to be ready for her monopolizing the routine and doin’ everything she can to be center stage.”