“If this is relaxed, I’d hate to see uptight. You are not even remotely relaxed. That’s changing tomorrow. I think we should start over. Pretend we don’t know each other. Like we just met.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “That is not possible. You can’t put sand back into an upside-down bottle. You can’t unknow things, or unsee them, or unfeel them.”
“Those are not real words.”
“See? Would you say that to someone you don’t know? My assumption is you’d be more polite.”
“I said we’d start tomorrow. Tonight I want to share that big old bed and enjoy some conjugal rights.”
“You’re not in prison.”
How could he explain to her that he did feel like he was in prison? Like his life was a box he’d been shoved in at five years old. He could still hear his father’s slurred voice. Play the guitar for my buddies, Chance. Show them the old man only produces hits. He’d been another title in his father’s library, nothing more. A party favor.
“I’m here against my will, aren’t I?” He was kidding. Yes, Ginny had pressured him, and he hadn’t trusted himself alone with Jolene, but he was here. No one could make him do anything he didn’t agree to on some level. He owed the label an album, and he would deliver it because he believed in keeping his word.
But Jolene sighed. She took a sip of her wine and shook her head. “Then just leave, Chance. Go home. It’s not worth it. I don’t want to spend a career dragging you kicking and screaming behind me. I’m twenty-five and I’m already tired. I can’t do this. I’ll just do a solo album and hope for the best.”
He wasn’t expecting that. He didn’t like it. “Is that what you want?” he asked, shocked.
She stared him down defiantly. “Yes. Just go. Take my truck. Ginny can pick me up tomorrow.”
Because he hated that answer and because he really did not want to leave her company, he dug his heels in. “No. I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“I’m fine. I’ll lock the door after you leave.” Her nostrils were flaring. “Beat it, Rivers. I’m done with this. It is not worth the aggravation.”
That would be his pride being pricked.
And his heart. He wasn’t going to lie. Not to himself, anyway. He’d lie to her plenty if it meant protecting himself from being hurt or humiliated. Given her current mood, he wasn’t about to confess deep feelings. He leaned in close to her.
“This…” He gently stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. “Isn’t worth the aggravation?”
“No.” Her eyes were snapping, but her body leaned in closer to him, ever so slightly.
“Come tuck me into bed.” If she thought he needed a mother, then he’d use that to his advantage. “Rock me to sleep, Jolene.” His tone was mocking, he realized a heartbeat too late. She was going to resist. It was there in her eyes.
“You’re a big boy. Just climb in bed and close your eyes.”
She stood up and went in the house. He followed, picking up their glasses and his guitar, but when he got to the bedroom, the door was locked.
“Damn it.” That was enough pushing for one night. Calling to Dolly, he settled on the couch, his dog at his feet.
The couch reminded him of sinking inside Jolene just a few hours earlier. Which gave him a hard-on. Which made it impossible to sleep. He had a feeling their session on the couch would be his one and only time with Jolene this trip. Or the rest of forever.
“This sucks,” he told Dolly, turning on his side and punching the throw pillow. Dolly’s ears went up before she sighed and settled back down, taking at least ninety percent of the couch. His phone was dinging, but he ignored it.
Now that Jolene had brought it up, he couldn’t stop thinking about their initial encounter. Ginny had called and told him she wanted to see if he’d be willing to work with a new artist. He’d been holing up a bit, hadn’t heard much about Jolene. Then he’d walked in and bam. That was it. Everything had changed.
She still had that impact on him.
He lay there, imagining he could hear Jolene in the bedroom, but he couldn’t. Then he pictured her in there, naked, touching herself beneath the sheets.
Shit.
Chance was in prison, all right. Singing the blue-ball blues.
Chapter 8
Jolene slept like a baby. Waking up every two hours and wishing someone would come and pick her up for a cuddle. Or a very specific someone, anyway. She tossed and turned, her thoughts racing, wishing she had answers. How could she crave the man who aggravated her so damn much? The bed was lonely, and she spent the night questioning why she was being so stubborn.
So while she was now tired as hell and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her normal optimism had returned. They could do this. She didn’t need to banish Chance from the house or her life. They had a career, together, and it was what it was. She’d have to find the fun in songwriting with him again, or life was going to be a whole lot harder than it needed to be.
She was pulling her hair up into a knot when her sister called. “Hey, what’s up, Elle-Belle?”