Sexy bastard. She couldn’t resist him. It was a bitch being so in love with someone.
She paused, wondering where that thought had come from. She wasn’t in love with Chance. She’d been in something with him. The precursor to love. She had been in lustful like. No time to actually fall in love. So she should be able to resist him. “Forget it. That’s insane. I need to communicate.”
“Chicken.”
“I am not falling for that!” She pulled out a grilled chicken breast and started sawing it in a manner than would have a chef wincing. “This is the only chicken around here. Now get the dressing and zip it.”
“Let’s eat outside.”
“Why, so you can steal my phone and throw it in the water? Do I look stupid? Besides, I thought you were worried about the media.” She gestured to the window. “Doesn’t sound like you mind getting a pic snapped now.”
He made a face. “I’d forgotten about our little friends watching us. Dining room it is.” He reached into the cupboard and pulled down two plates.
In another minute they were facing off over the table, Jolene tucking into the quick salad. She was starving. Sex would do that.
“I guess we should pull out your guitar and my notepad after dinner,” she said, trying to break the silence that had fallen between them, though she wasn’t sure why.
Chance had poured himself a whiskey and was mostly ignoring the salad, just sipping his drink in his underwear, watching her. He made a noncommittal sound, slouching back in his chair, the very picture of casual confidence. Sometimes he was so sexy she couldn’t think of a single word to say. This was one of those times.
Back as a kid in Starkey, she had watched the CMAs on network television, praying the reception wouldn’t be too terrible on their ancient TV or that Daddy wouldn’t come home in a drunk and decide to throw it out the window, which he had done on more than one occasion. But in those moments, crowded up on the old couch, their trailer stale from cigarettes and sweat, she and Elle had held hands and stared in awe at the beauty of the Grand Ole Opry and the pure glamour of female country stars.
Around the time she turned thirteen and puberty kicked in with a vengeance, she found herself watching the men of country music just as closely as the women. She developed a healthy crush on more than one star, along with a couple of band musicians. They were untouchable, the ultimate fantasy.
Her whole relationship with Chance felt that way to her. Like it hadn’t been real. No way this was real. How could she, of mediocre intelligence and talent, have landed a record deal and a smoking-hot songwriting legend? The answer was, she hadn’t. She’d had Chance’s body, then and again today, but she didn’t have his heart. She didn’t even have access to his thoughts. He was still as cool and sexy and elusive as all the men on the TV had been back when she was a scrappy teen trying to figure out how to clothe her new supersize chest with last year’s Goodwill T-shirts.
“When you first met me, what did you think?” she asked, then instantly regretted it. She just might not like his answer.
His eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Never mind.” She pushed her plate away. “I’m going to go sit out on the porch if you care to join me.” She felt restless, uncertain. She’d never been one to back away from confrontation or ugly feelings. She’d always faced them head-on with equal amounts of sass and laughter. It had driven her father nuts. Elle had been more reserved, more cunning, and Daddy had mostly left her alone. But he had always wanted to wipe the smile off Jolene’s face.
Funny thing—she’d never stopped smiling.
She sipped her wine and strode over to the front porch with emotions she couldn’t categorize tumbling around inside her.
Chance followed her out, ignoring the rocker and sitting down on the steps. There was no porch light on, and it had gotten dark outside, crickets chirping. Presumably the paparazzi had called it a night. The air was warm, enveloping.
“Why do you look so awkward and stiff?” he asked, glancing back at her.
“Because it’s awkward.” That was pretty damn obvious. Jolene pushed off the porch boards, making the rocker shift back and forth with a soft creak.
“I don’t feel awkward. I’m pretty damn content. A man only needs three things, and I’ve got all of them right now.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.” She paused, but curiosity got the best of her. “What?”
Chance almost laughed at how suspicious Jolene sounded. He didn’t like this uneasiness between them. If anything, he’d hoped sleeping together would erode the anger, remind them of their friendship, but Jolene looked like she’d been tied to a post, all rigid and quiet. It was unnerving to see her melancholy when she was usually so bubbly and full of life. He stretched out on the steps and raised his glass so Jolene could see it. “Whiskey.” He gestured in front of them. “A moonlit night.” Running his thumb over his lip, he gave her a smile. “And a gorgeous woman.”