Music Notes (15 page)

“I’ll call you,” I tell her with the shake of my head. After a few seconds of waves, I finally sign off.

Note to self:  Do
not,
under any circumstances, let your mom loose in LA without checking her bag for brass knuckles.

*****

I’ve spent very little free time with those few people I call my friends on this show. For the past several days, we’ve all been busy at individual practices with one of the many show vocal coaches. Since all four of the professional coaches have busy careers that require them to perform to legions of fans, we practice from time to time with other coaches. They don’t offer as much input and advice as our coaches do, but it still allows us to practice and receive feedback from someone within the industry. Even if that person is just a high school music teacher.

I personally enjoy the one-on-one time with someone other than Beau. For one, I can actually concentrate. I don’t have to worry about amazing gray eyes and a killer smile distracting me to the point of insanity. Then there’s the fact that my assistant coach is just an everyday, regular Joe. Like me.

Not a Grammy winning mega country star who looks amazing in a pair of tight jeans.

It’s almost five and I’m just getting ready to leave the practice studio. It’s Sunday night and I promised Corie that I’d join her at the studio gym tonight. I’m hoping she’ll find us a nice, easy little yoga class or at least a beginner’s Pilates class.

But knowing the feisty little redhead, I’ll probably be suckered into a self-defense or an advanced spinning class.

Note to self: Practice your fake sick cough.

As I’m stepping outside, preparing to walk the six blocks back to the hotel, my phone pings signaling a text message. My heart skips a beat and then does the tango in my chest when I see Beau’s initials on the screen. I noticed he put his initials instead of his name. I’m assuming it was for anonymity. I quickly slide my finger across the screen with a slight tremble.

BT:
Hey. Hope practices are going well. You busy?

My fingers fly over the keypad as if completely on their own as I type back my reply.

Me:
Just leaving studio. Walking to hotel.

I stare at my phone with bated breath as I wait for his reply, but it doesn’t come; at least not in the form of a text message. Instead, my phone starts ringing and displays Beau’s initials in the middle of the screen.

Note to self: Breathe.

“Hello?” I answer, hoping that the slight tremble in my voice isn’t noticeable.

“Hey,” he says with that deep Southern drawl. “You’re walkin’ to the hotel?”

“Yeah, I haven’t even crossed the street yet from the studio. What are you doing?”

“Just finished a sound check in Boise. I’ve got an hour to kill before I have to be ready for the Meet and Greet so I thought I’d call ya and get that story,” he says, voice thick with rich tones and long syllables.

“Oh, that. It’s not anything to worry about,” I tell him, not really wanting to relive my crazy night with Shawna.

“I didn’t think it was somethin’ to worry about, Layne. I thought it was a funny story, but now I’m startin’ to believe it’s not really funny at all. Am I going to like this story?”

“Probably not any more than I like telling it,” I respond.

“What happened?” he asks, firm and direct.

“The night after the vote off, Shawna sort of trashed our room. I walked in when she was mid-tizzy fit, and she tried taking my head off with something breakable and probably expensive. Fortunately, I own nothing of that nature so it wasn’t mine. Though a good chunk of my stuff in the bathroom didn’t survive the temper tantrum.”

“Are you kiddin’ me? Did you report it?”

“Yeah, Troy took me down and we called a producer. He came and smoothed things over and got me a new room, but she brutally stabs me with eye daggers every time I see her.”

“She’s still on the show?” he asks incredulous.

“Of course. She said she was sorry and didn’t mean it and blah blah blah. They don’t want to let her go because she’s a shoo-in to get picked up by one of the other teams this week.” At least that was the opinion of Ben when we discussed it Friday night.

“It’s all political network bullshit, darlin’. It pisses me the fuck off that she’s still potentially on the show and you have to deal with her every day. They should have packed her bags for her immediately and sent her expensive perfumed ass steppin’. I don’t like the fact that she’s here and could potentially hurt you again just because you beat her fair and square in a head to head competition.”

This possessive side he’s displaying used to always turn me off faster than a unibrow, but for some reason, possessive Beau? Well, that’s hot. Damn hot. I stumble over a non-existent crack in the sidewalk as my body flushes with heat.

I clear my throat and try to clear the mental images of a half-naked Beau that my mind conjured up completely on its own. “So, you’ll be back tomorrow?” I ask, steering the conversation back to a safer topic.

“In the morning. I’m takin’ a very early flight from Idaho to LAX and should be back at the studio around eight.”

“I don’t know how you do this constant travel. Just flying from Chicago to LA was taxing for me. And I’ve only done it twice.”

“You get used to it. Eventually your life becomes one big blur of airports, tour buses, and hotels. As crazy and drainin’ as it can be at times, I wouldn’t want it any other way. I couldn’t picture myself doin’ anything else with this life.”

For the first time in so long, I get that itch. The itch to experience the lifestyle he’s talking about. Singing on stage every night and not just the local sports bar karaoke. I mean to sing, really sing up on stage to a crowd of thousands who are screaming your name and singing along with all of your songs. I haven’t thought much about the dream in a few years. Not since I had Eli and that dream transformed into a softer, tamer one. One with diapers and cartoons. Sleepless nights and baby strollers. That’s the dream I’ve been living the past few years. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

But now? This entirely different lifestyle is being dangled before me like a carrot. What will I do if I actually win this competition? Hell if I know, but it’s something I’m going to have to think about in the near future. Of course, if I don’t make it past the next round, then I guess I don’t have to consider that future, right?

“What?” I ask into the phone, realizing that Beau was talking and I wasn’t listening.

“I asked what you were doin’ tonight.”

“Oh, Corie is dragging me off to our first class of some sort of physical torture at the studio tonight.”

“Physical torture?” he asks with a chuckle.

“You know, physical fitness. I have no clue what kind of class she has signed us up for, but I’ve been told to be ready at six o’clock.”

“Just don’t pull a muscle. I’d hate to see you waddling around stage in those sexy as sin heels while trying to sing with pulled muscles. Those hurt like a bitch without having to perform with one. Trust me.”

My brain is frozen. It’s sputtering, completely unable to process a thought. It’s a puddle of mush that keeps replaying his comment about my sexy as sin heels. Good God, my lady parts are all but bursting into flames and singing a hallelujah chorus.

I stop, realizing that I’ve already walked the six blocks back to the hotel. I stand underneath the shaded large brown awning, reveling in the cool breeze of the mid-May day. “I’m back at the hotel. Thanks for keeping me company.”

“You’re welcome, Layne. I’ll see ya tomorrow?” he asks, though it really isn’t a question. Of course he’ll see me tomorrow.

“Yes,” I whisper, suddenly my throat too dry to speak.

“Have a great night, darlin’,” Beau says before hanging up. I don’t even reply because I can’t seem to get past this crazy feeling I’m having. It feels like Beau was flirting with me, but I know that has to be just wishful thinking, right? Right?!

I step inside the lobby and head straight up to my room to get ready for yoga. Or pilates. Or bootcamp. I have no idea what I’m stepping into, but ever since my phone call with Beau, I’m okay with not knowing the direction we’re shortly heading in. I might actually be looking forward to releasing a little stress and working out.

Almost.

*****

“Mine,” he growls seconds before his lips slam into mine.

The kiss is possessive. Before I know it, I’m in his arms; the corded muscles of his arms wrapped tightly around my body.

He tastes like mint and a touch of something else. A taste that’s unfamiliar, yet so very familiar all at the same time. My body recognizes it and responds to his taste instantly.

Powerful hands thread into my hair and his lips plunder and devour mine. The slide of his tongue against mine sends another wave of wetness flooding from my core. He pulls my body flush against his, and there’s no mistaking the extent of his desire. It’s pressed firmly against my stomach.

My body aches in a way it never has before. I long to wrap my legs around him, grinding against his body, looking for any ounce of relief I can find. He must sense my need because he thrusts his erection against me, as if looking for his own slice of respite in the form of my body.

I claw my nails into the cotton of his shirt, pulling and digging my way to the bare flesh beneath. When I finally reach smooth, hot flesh, I almost come right there. He’s so hard, so hot, and so damn perfect.

Dragging my nails against his skin, he hisses against my mouth. His teeth latch onto my earlobe, the sting triggering me to emit a slight gasp. He uses his tongue to soothe the sensitive flesh, causing the ache to subside completely from my ear, and only to cause the ache between my legs to completely intensify.

He pulls away and looks into my hazy eyes.

“Mine,” he growls again.

And I am. His.

I grip my eyes shut, willing myself to fall back asleep. This can’t be happening again! Just when we start to get down and dirty in my dreams, I’m awakened and left so damn turned on, I’m practically a faucet beneath the sheets.

The throbbing is intense. My body craves the release that only Beau-inspired dreams can produce. Because I’ve been moved to my own room since my last lusty wet dream, I don’t even have to get out of bed.

My fingers find my soaked core immediately as thoughts of a certain handsome cowboy parade through my mind. Beau Tanner has completely wormed his way into my head and subsequently, my panties since they seem to be disappearing faster than a joint at a Tom Petty concert.

The orgasm sweeps through me, slowly washing away all of the details of my erotic dream. I’m left spent, yet slightly unsatisfied as I come down from the high of my intense masturbation session.

There’s no end in sight, is there? I’m going to keep dreaming of the one man I shouldn’t want, but can’t seem to let go of. He’s embedded in me like sand. He’s there. Maybe not on the surface, but deep down and slowly working his way to the top.

After washing my hands and cleaning up in the bathroom, I settle in for what will probably be a very long, sleepless night.

Note to self: Never trust a redhead with a friendly smile and sparkling eyes.

“It’ll be fun, she said. Fun my ass. My legs burn in places that I didn’t even realize I had muscles. And don’t get me started on my ass,” I mumble as I chug more water in between practice runs of the song that I’ll be singing this week.

Beau’s face lights up with laughter at my discomfort before taking a long, perusing glance down to my butt. His eyes linger longer than I’d ever expect which makes me squirm that much more.

“I don’t see anything wrong with your ass,” he whispers with that half-smile that melts my defenses like butter in a frying pan.

“You can’t see my aching muscles,” I reply as I try to will the blush away.

“No, but I could massage them for you,” he offers with the gentle raise of that right eyebrow, causing it to disappear completely beneath his hat.

Tempting. Oh, so very tempting.

“Anyway,” I start as I clear my throat. “My point is that I will never trust Corie again. She said spinning class is great for beginners and that I’d love it. She lied. It was horrible and the only thing I loved was when he said it was a wrap.”

Beau laughs that deep, intoxicating laugh that makes me think of honey and sex, though not together. “Can’t say I’ve ever takin’ a spinnin’ class before. I’m more of a free weights kinda guy.”

Don’t I know it. I’ve had plenty of opportunities over the past two weeks to check out the way his plain t-shirt molds to his biceps and chest. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Beau Tanner takes excellent care of his body.

“So, who am I up against on Wednesday?” I ask.

Beau stares at me for several heartbeats before answering. “Troy.”

Shit.

“Troy? Are you serious?” I ask, my heart instantly dropping down to the toes of my black leather boots.