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He grabs us one more drink, and we can’t quit smiling. My best friend is still here. That part hasn’t changed. In fact, it’s better. Dane as a boyfriend is everything I always knew he would be. If there were no basketball and NBA, or equestrian events, and it was just us, life would be simple. But that’s not our life. I know his ass is on the line when he goes back to campus tomorrow.
Two men in suits approach our table. “That was quite a performance.” Dane smiles and takes a pull of his beer, and I just stare, lost in my boyfriend.
“Oh, thank you. We were just fooling around,” I say.
“Do you mind if we sit?” Dane glances at me for my approval, and I shrug. “We’re from GFI Records. We’re interested in representing you.”
Dane chokes on his beer and covers his mouth quickly. “I have an agent.”
“Oh, who are you with?”
“Michaels-Rawls Sports Agency.” These guys have no clue that Dane is projected to go high in the first round of the NBA draft. “I play for the Stallions.”
Unaffected, the man with the salt and pepper, slicked-back hair flips a card onto the table and then pushes it toward us. When I pick it up and read it, my jaw drops. They’re not lying unless they’re trying to pick us both up.
“Could you do one more song for us? We’re looking for a duo who can perform and sing the upbeat songs, which you obviously can, but we’d like for you to sing this heartbreaker. See if you can pull it off.”
Well, Dane Greathouse never backs down from a challenge. “Sure. Lettie and I can do anything as long as we’re together.”
My head is spinning, after slamming that last margarita. What? We’re singing for music executives. Dane gives me a wet smooch, grabs my hand, and we wait for the guy in front of us to finish, who receives a nice round of claps.
We take the stage once again and sing a song that rips you in half. I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I never want to feel the pain of breaking up and trying to move on. The emotion in Dane’s eyes signals he feels the same way. We come chest to chest with our microphones in hand and belt out the last heart-crushing line.
His thumbs wipe away my tears as he whispers, “It’s just a song.”
“I know.” But the thought of living without Dane Greathouse is terrifying.
“I love you.” He pecks my lips to a standing ovation.
The men meet us as we exit the stage. “That was phenomenal.” He takes our numbers and says, “We’ll be in touch.”
Dane shakes their hands, and I nod with a tight pull of my lips. “Are you ready to celebrate at the hotel?” Dane asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Are we celebrating a record deal or my event performance?” I ask, sobered by the hit sad song, knowing I wouldn’t survive a breakup with Dane. The thought sours my stomach on a night that should be the best of my life.
As we exit, I notice the camera crew that Dane brought with him, filming. And all of my insecurities creep up my throat. With every story, there will be more scrutiny, and the last thing I want people to know is about my drug-addicted parents or that Dane and I are on opposite sides of the socioeconomic class.
Once we’re back at the hotel, I say, “That was fun.”
“Do you mean until the last song?”
Yeah, he knows me too well.
Chapter Thirty-Five
DANE
“The crowd was totally swooning over you. They were thinking life isn’t fair—he’s gorgeous, carved from a master craftsman, and he can sing. Totally fucking unfair,” she says as she turns away from me, toeing off her shoes and dare I say avoiding me.
I snake my arms around her waist and speak softly into her ear. “Don’t forget taken. He’s taken by the girl that let him braid her hair. And you sing like an angel except when you’re rapping.” Searching for the right words that reflect my truth, I unbutton my shirt and place her hand over my heart. “This is only for you. My heart has belonged to you before I even knew what that meant.”
“Well, you’re clueless when it comes to women.”
“Are you ready for me to prove you wrong?” My hands skate under her dress, and the fabric bunches on my forearms before I pull it the rest of the way off.
“I think I am,” she rasps.
She’s needy and not physically. The song we sang for the record executives has her mind spinning. Unless I’m completely off-base, she needs to feel emotionally connected, so instead of screwing her until she can’t walk, my lips move across her skin painstakingly slow.
