Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.
On the brink of my big break, the girl who wanted no distractions could be ruined by the biggest distraction of all.
A sex tape.
But it’s not the buying public I consider, who’d probably be titillated and maybe even more intrigued than ever. It’s not the good people of Glory Falls Baptist, who’d be scandalized to see Mai’s little girl getting herself plowed from behind. It isn’t Aunt Ruthie, who might not judge, but would probably never see me quite the same way. It’s none of those people, none of those responses that strike fear right down the center of my heart.
It’s Rhyson.
He didn’t even want to hear the details of what went on with Drex, the vermin who has been a pain in his ass and a thorn in his side since high school. The man screwed Rhyson’s girlfriend behind his back and sabotaged his first album release. How would he handle seeing me with Drex that way in dirty, living color? Could he ever scrub his mind completely free of it? Would it change how he saw me? How he loved me? Even if he said it wouldn’t?
All these weeks I thought his transgression was the thing that might irreparably break us.
Turns out it may be mine.
IF I NEVER WEAR ANOTHER PAIR of fake eyelashes again, it’ll be too soon.
I gently bat away the slim hand poised to apply the ridiculously long falsies.
“Not today, Ella.” I meet the makeup artist’s bright blue eyes in the mirror of my hotel bathroom. “I think my normal human-size lashes will be fine. It’s not the tour. It’s just radio.”
“One of the biggest radio shows in the country.” Ella sets the lashes aside and picks up her go-to mascara. “And it’s streaming to millions online so it may as well be your first TV appearance. Why do you think Malcolm insisted on hair and makeup for it?”
“Because ‘insist’ is the only gear Malcolm knows.” I grimace over his demands, which have only continued to increase. “He insists on my wardrobe. He insists on extra rehearsals. He insists that I get on Instagram and Snap Chat.”
“He knows what he’s doing, kid.” Ella rakes a hand through her short, crimson hair before scooping up a chunk of mine. “I have to disagree with his suggestion that you go blonde, though. This hair is gorgeous just as it is.”
“Me? Blonde? I can’t even—”
The chirp of Ella’s phone interrupts.
“That’s him.” Ella rolls her eyes and digs into the pocket of her plain black smock. “I assigned him his own tone so I’ll know when he’s trying to reach me. Look in your jewelry box to see if you’ve still got those big hoop earrings. They’ll be great with this outfit.”
While she responds to Malcolm’s text, I walk over to my jewelry box tucked in the corner of the bathroom counter. A sprig of fresh mistletoe rests right on top of the earrings Ella asked me to find. It’s delivered to my dressing room at every stop.
Rhyson.
Damn that man. Using my grandfather’s habit of keeping mistletoe for my grandmother to win me back. Clever? Evil? Sweet? The typical conundrum of contradictions I face with him. Most days I want to strangle him because of the control freak stunt he pulled with Total Package. A tangle of emotions paralyzes me. Hurt is right in front of me, and I still ache from his betrayal. Fear to my right, I’m afraid that contacting him could trip a wire and set off that bomb of a sex tape. To my left, that persistent desire that gets stronger every day to say screw it all and take him back. And where does that leave me? With my back against the wall. Trapped, and even though I’m in a different city every day, frozen in place. Unsure of what I should do.
So I’ve done nothing.
I twist the mistletoe between my fingers, memories of Rhyson in Glory Falls for the holidays crowding out everything else. Of singing Mama’s favorite carol with him on Christmas Eve and laughing over Christmas sweaters at the dinner table. We shared our first kiss on the front porch, steam rising from our lips into the cold night air. Every day these memories erode my anger. Every time the mistletoe comes, my fury ebbs a little more. I can’t forget what he did to jeopardize the thing I’ve worked for my whole life. He lied and manipulated me. But these memories . . . they make me miss him. If he were here now, I’d smack him one second and kiss him the next.
God, if he were here now . . .
“That from him?” Ella pockets her phone and nods toward the mistletoe trapped between my fingers.
“What?” I drop the mistletoe back into my jewelry box, grab the earrings and slam the lid. “Is what from who?”