Page 38 of Princess and Country

“Hell yes,” Dahlia and I said at the same time. I clamped her hand and kissed the back of it.

“Then let’s go before Dad changes his mind and runs after us,” Carter said. I turned on the ignition and drove away from our parents’ house with my two partners in crime.

Spring Fling was just as I remembered. Fifteen to twenty-something-year-olds taking over the fairgrounds with live music and the punch probably already spiked by now. Addison and Phoenix, Dahlia and Carter’s friends, met us as soon as we parked the truck. Phoenix led Carter away, and Addison stuck with us. Brendan and a few guys from high school were on their way too.

I locked my arm around Dah’s waist and pulled her close to me. I’d missed her too much in the last few months to let her wander away from me, even if it was only for a few hours.

The night passed in a blur.

I dropped Carter home at eleven, wanting to spend a little time alone with my girl. We drove to an empty field a mile from our street. I hadn’t even killed the engine before Dahlia was on my lap, her tongue down my throat.

My fingers entangled in her hair.

Her hands slipped under my shirt and traced the ridges of my chest muscles. I shivered.

My mouth claimed hers, desperate to taste her lips.

Dahlia’s floral scent enveloped me. Every fiber of my body reacted to her closeness.

My hand traveled to her thigh, caressing the soft flesh under the hem of her dress. She tilted her head back, and I feasted on her neck.

“Touch me already,” she begged me. Her breathing hitched—and so did mine—as everything around us faded away.

Forty minutes later, I drove Dahlia back home. She wouldn’t let go of me, her cheeks flushed and her lips red and swollen.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Princess.” I dried a lone tear sliding down her face. “I’m not going away anymore. In one year, we’ll be living together. Hold on, okay?”

She nodded. And I kissed away all her pain.

* * *

Two weeks later, we were in Redfield, Kentucky. Carter Hills Band was playing at some musical fest. It wasn’t a big thing, but exposure was exposure. And I loved going on the road with Carter and Dahlia. Our parents trusted us to go by ourselves now that I was almost twenty.

Four days ago, I shot a message to that country music executive I met in Nashville. He and I talked a couple of times while I worked at the pub, and after I played some of Carter and Dahlia’s songs to him, he convinced a friend of his, a manager on the rise, to come to see them play. So here we were, early in the morning, the band getting ready to impress that Riley-guy.

My brother and girlfriend were jamming, trying new arrangements behind a big white tent when a guy with tousled blond hair and wrinkled, stained clothes walked up to us.

He came a few feet from Dahlia. She raised her eyes and studied him for a minute, a frown etching her forehead. “Are you the girl from Green Mountain Country Fest?” he asked. “The one in the parking lot who gave me stinky eyes?”

Dahlia’s lips pursed.

“It’s you. I swear it’s you. I was in a blue van—”

“I remember.” My girl brought her attention back to the guitar in her hands, ignoring him.

“Listen. I’ve been watching you play for quite some time. Oh, sorry. I’m Stud, by the way.”

Carter acknowledged him with a small nod.

“Anyway, I’ve been following you guys for a while. And I want to join your band.”

Carter burst out laughing. “You’re joking, right?”

Stud shook his head. “No. I think I can help you bring your music to another level. I’ve been a roadie forever. And I’m a huge fan, in case you wonder. You guys are the next big thing. I can tell. But you need my help. I’m the bandmate you never knew you needed. Just try me out.”

Carter shook his head. “Not today, buddy. Sorry. We have some guy coming to see us play later.”

“Gimme an hour. If I don’t convince you by ten o’clock, then I’ll never bother you ever again. Please, just give me a shot.”