“Oh, no,” she demurred. “We came here to hear some music, not steal the stage. But thank you, you’re so sweet. We appreciate all the love.”
Chance handed the guitar back to the musician who had been performing and shook his hand. He reached out and indicated for Jolene to exit first, his hand on the small of her back. For all he had protested letting the media think they were a couple, he was awfully touchy-feely tonight. She was glad she’d taken some time with her makeup because a dozen people had just used their phones to record the impromptu performance. She gave it about three minutes before Ginny started blowing up her phone. Though she honestly did not give a damn what her manager thought.
But she did give a shit what Chance thought, and at the moment, there was no telling what was rattling around in that man’s head, if anything.
When they sat back down, she had her answer.
He leaned over and murmured in her ear. “Hey.”
“Yes?” If he started talking dirty to her, they would have to leave. She had a decent poker face, but he lit up her girl bits like a blowtorch when he got to talking nasty, and she couldn’t hide that from anyone, let alone a whole crowd of curious onlookers.
“I love you.”
Jolene reared back so fast she almost fell off her chair. What the hell? He had never told her that. Ever. Not once. Not even when she had felt it so hard and true and pure from staring into his eyes that she would have bet money on it. But he’d never said it. Not even when she had ached to reach out and pull the words from him so she could let herself go. Let herself fall totally and completely in love with him. But he hadn’t. So she hadn’t.
They never got there.
But now, sitting in the damn Bluebird, in full view of Nashville, he dropped an L-bomb on her?
“What are you talking about?” she managed to whisper, her heart racing erratically. She went to take a sip of her beer, but her hand was shaking, so she abandoned the attempt. The beer wasn’t what she wanted, anyway. She wanted a shot of whiskey and an explanation.
“I love you. I guess I always have, but I never realized it. Or wanted to admit it.” He skimmed a thumb over her lip and looked her straight in the eye. “I love you.”
She started to say something, she wasn’t sure what, but the band started playing and drowned her out. Thank you, baby Jesus in the cradle. She fell back against her chair, accidentally kicking Dolly. She reached down to pet the dog, needing to collect her thoughts, unable to look at him. Now he loved her? Seriously?
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” He had leaned in extremely close to be heard over the music.
Oh, she had a thing or two to say. “You’re about a day late and a dollar short,” she murmured back, suddenly irritated with him. So now he loved her, when it was pointless? Did he just want her to pine indefinitely? Was he trying to ruin her life and any future she might have with other men? “What am I supposed to say to that now, when we’re broken up?”
“How about you say we’re not broken up. How about we give it another go.”
She just stared at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying. She couldn’t read his expression. He was earnest, but otherwise, his eyes were hooded, his body close to hers but tense. “Are you serious? Is that what you really want?”
He gave her a slow, sure nod. Reaching out, he briefly touched her hair, his eyes sweeping over her face, his intensity relaxing into a soft smile. “It’s what I really want. I love you, JoJo. Damn, I do. I just love you, and I promise to be a better man this time around.”
Dang it. She was going to cry, a big old ugly cry right in front of the crowd. She was going to ruin her mascara and bawl like a baby in the damn bar. What a goddamn idiot he was for springing this on her right then, right there. He was so goddamn selfish and stupid and sexy and sweet, and damn it, she loved him. She loved him hard.
All she could do was nod, a rapid up-and-down indication of her consent.
This was stupid. It was a bad idea. If they had crashed and burned the first time, what would happen the second go-round? Nuclear meltdown. But they could talk, sort that out, try to be sensible and communicate and all that healthy shit.
Right now she didn’t care about healthy. She only cared about him.
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “Now get me out of here before I embarrass myself in front of everyone.”
“I haven’t finished my beer.” Immediately he put his hand up. “Kidding. I’m kidding. Of course we can leave.”
She knew his tricks. He was pleased by her words. He looked a little shell-shocked himself, like he hadn’t been sure she would respond in kind. So he fell back on humor to cover up. That was fine with her. For the moment. When she got him alone, she was going to smack him and kiss him and make him say he loved her about a million times before the night was over.
“My place or yours?” he asked. “I’m not hauling ass back to that cabin tonight.”
“Yours. It’s closer, and my sister isn’t there.”
He made a face. “I forgot about Elle. My place it is, then.”