“A surprise party? What am I, twelve? It’s not even my birthday.”
Robyn laughs softly and produces a bottle of champagne from behind her back. “The numbers just came out. Jase’s album went platinum and your single went gold.”
Whoa.
I can’t believe Mandy or someone from the label hasn’t called me. Hell, maybe they have. I forgot I turned my phone off when I got here.
“No shit?”
“No shit,” she says. “Congratulations, Dallas. Midnight Bay is throwing you and Jase both a celebratory surprise party next weekend the night before your show in Nashville. I’m in charge of setting it up. I leave first thing in the morning. Act surprised.”
I am surprised. I’m in fucking shock.
I have a gold single.
This is huge, and not just for me. Since she wrote the song, my sister will get a nice, fat royalty check, which, in a way, helps me feel like I’m still taking care of her as much as I possibly can.
Robyn is grinning like a maniac and I assume I am, too. But there’s something else in her eyes. Worry, or anxiety, or . . . something.
“So you have to go to Tennessee tomorrow?”
“Yep. I have one week to plan this thing so they want me on it as soon as possible. Tell Dixie I’m sorry. Katie will take care of the Midnight Bay and VIP sections tomorrow night. I’m hoping she’ll take care of my mom, too. She was really excited about meeting Jase.”
I let out a loud groan of protest. “God. Even Belinda likes him more than me? Christ. That woman used to make me grilled cheese sandwiches. I even ate them if she burned them black. Still, I come second to Wade?”
“Er, no, babe. I think you’re like fourth on my mom’s list. There’s Wade. Then Luke Bryan and George Strait.”
I hold my hands over my heart like I’ve been shot. “You are not funny.”
“I’m just being honest.”
“Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t ya?”
“You, Dallas Lark, are not down. Your single just went gold. We’re celebrating. And anyway, I prefer to lick a man while he’s down,” she says, catching me off guard by pouring a trickle of champagne down my stomach then licking it off my abs. And then lower. And then mother of all things holy, her sweet lips wrap around my cock and I slide my fingers into her still-damp hair. “Congratulations, Dallas,” she says seductively before taking my full length into her mouth.
I know she didn’t make my single go gold, but I’m overwhelmed with gratitude just because she exists. I came here feeling defeated and miserable and now . . . now I could take on the world. As long as she’s there beside me.
“Come here, baby,” I say, using brute force to pull her upward, past my cock, past my abs, and higher than my chest. When she yelps out a small sound of surprise at where I’ve placed her body, I let out a low, dark chuckle. “I never said thank you for the massage.”
“Yeah, it is. I know. I’m still in shock,” I say into the phone. “Thanks, Mr. Borscetti. I really appreciate that. Yes, sir. Sounds great.”
Robyn is already dressed when I disconnect the call with the head of my record label, which is a travesty since I had plans of reciprocation for how well she took care of me last night. I’ve never really had anyone else take care of me before. I’ve always been the caretaker. But last night Robyn bathed me, massaged me, and to celebrate my single’s success she blew my mind in ways I never thought she would allow. I’d hoped we could spend the day celebrating my gold single in bed but I’d turned on my phone and had a million missed calls to return.
And now she’s leaving, heading for Nashville while I’m stuck behind in Texas.
“This is a switch,” I say while walking out of her bedroom. “I’m staying home while you run off to the country music capital. Let me know if you decide to cut a record while you’re there.”
“I’ll do that. Have you seen my keys?”