Elle rolled her eyes, her many silver bangles clinking as she worked Dolly’s fur. The dog was lounging on Jolene’s bed, the only black in a sea of pastel floral bedding. Chance used to joke that making love to her there was like screwing in a garden. Lord, why did everything bring her thoughts back to Chance?
“Jolene. Get real. If you were being pragmatic, you’d just tell Chance to write whatever the hell he wants and you’ll sing it. You’d minimize contact with him. Not trot off to the woods on some bullshit quest for creativity. A hundred bucks says you come back knocked up.”
That distracted Jolene from her walk-in closet and its lack of practical shoes. “Now you’re the crazy one!” The thought of having Chance’s baby made her heart pound, and she wasn’t sure if it was entirely from horror. “We have a business relationship now, nothing more.”
Lies. All lies. But she wasn’t about to tell Elle that Chance had tossed out that nonsense about naked songwriting. Hell, he wasn’t even serious. He’d just been trying to get her goat. And she had to admit—he’d gotten it good. She had played it off, but inside she’d been a puddle of lust.
“You keep telling yourself that. Look, I get being attracted to the wrong guy. And being horny. I really get being horny.” Elle stopped petting Dolly and crossed her arms over her chest. Whereas Jolene was sequins and fringe, a bottle blonde, Elle was patchwork and knit, with glossy raven hair.
“I’m not horny.” Why she was even bothering to protest was just beyond her. Horny didn’t even begin to describe it. Eighteen-year-old boys on spring break wanted sex less than she did right now. There had been only that one horrible night with her bus driver since she and Chance had broken up. She and Duane had gotten drunk on fireball, and it had been a sloppy gropefest where she had taken advantage of the crush he had on her. In the end, both the whiskey and his awe of her had given him performance anxiety, and his erection had summarily deflated right inside her. It had been mortifying, unsatisfying, and one of her worst lapses in judgment in years. Poor Duane couldn’t even look at her now, even though she had repeatedly assured him it wasn’t a big deal, that they’d both been loaded. The memory made her no-nos shrivel up and die just a little all over again. “Okay, I’m lying. I am horny. But that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with Chance.”
“Sure you don’t. That’s why you’ve been staring at your clothes for ten minutes and nothing is in the suitcase. Admit it—you want to look cute for Chance.”
“Well, of course I do. No one wants to look like a troll in front of her ex.”
“The only thing you need to pack is lube and birth control.”
Sometimes her sister was just a little too much inclined to speak her mind.
“You’re tacky.” It was the only comeback Jolene had.
But the honest words had the effect of spurring her into action. Jolene started pulling jeans and yoga pants from drawers in her closet, along with loose skirts and sundresses. It was July, after all. Really, what did she need beyond some tank tops and plain white T-shirts? She wasn’t trying to seduce the man. This was about songwriting.
“Okay, Nashville Barbie, go on and call me tacky. But remember what Mama always said—the best way to get over a man is to get under another one.” Elle plopped down on the bed next to Dolly. “Not to sleep with the ex.”
“Mama never said that. Ever.” Jolene started stacking clothes in the open suitcase next to her sister.
Their mother was a sweet, naive, God-fearing woman with excessively poor taste in men. There was nothing calculating about her. She’d never taken up with a man out of revenge or the need to move on, even after their daddy had gone to prison for his version of doing God’s will by knocking their mama around. She’d just been the type of woman who had believed in love blindly, never seeming to realize after her divorce that the truck stop where she worked wasn’t the best place to find a monogamous man. Or even one without a criminal record. But she never quit trying.
“The principle still applies. Instead of going off to the woods with Chance, you should be making the moves on some hot cowboy.”
“We’re not talking about me, are we?” Jolene glanced wryly at her sister. “This sounds like your fantasy, not mine.”
Elle shrugged. “Maybe. But what’s a girl got to do to get a little action going?”
“The problem is everyone in this town is all about themselves, you know. It’s a steaming pot of talent and narcissism. None of the guys can stop looking at themselves in the mirror long enough to look at you.”