Music Notes (20 page)

“Beau? What did you think of tonight performance?” Becker asks the cowboy in front of us. My heart rate kicks up a few hundred beats per minute while I wait for him to critique me.

Clearing his throat before he speaks, Beau finally says, “After hearin’ ya sing that song, I feel like it was written just for you. Like you were meant to perform that song live on this stage. You have this natural ability to make any song your own without changing much. Your version was probably better than Nancy’s and way better than Jessica Simpson’s.”

“Well, there you have it. If you want to see Layne Carter next week, she needs your votes. Call 1-800-555-7006 or log on to rising star dot com and cast your votes there. Up next, Corie Brooks.”

And with that, my performance for tonight is complete.

*****

“Hey, Layne, great performance,” Ben says as we gather up our personal belongs after the show. The audience has finally cleared out and the stage crew is busy prepping the studio for tomorrow night’s vote off.

“Oh, thanks. You did great, too.”

“Layne, can I have a word, please?” I hear from behind. I don’t need to turn to see exactly who is standing behind me. If the deep twangy timbers of his voice didn’t give it away, the invisible electricity coursing through the air and shooting straight at me would do it.

“Sure,” I reply as I follow Beau towards a door at the end of the hallway.

I know instantly where we’re going. I’ve never been this far down the hallway, but everyone knows that the end of the hall is reserved for the coaches. Beau opens a door with his name on it, politely ushering me through. The door closes with a definitive latch, sealing us off from the rest of the contestants and production crew. Suddenly, I’m apprehensive about how it’s going to look to everyone else that I’m alone with this man…again.

“There are no cameras in here,” Beau states as if sensing my anxiety.

“Oh,” I reply, the word hitching in my dry throat.

“Are ya okay?” he asks, removing that trademark black Stetson and running his hand through his midnight hair.

“Yeah, why?” I ask as I shuffle from foot to foot, trying to figure out something to do with my hands. Something that
doesn’t
involve running my own fingers through those dark, dark locks.

“Well, I was informed of a rumor runnin’ around amongst the contestants.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, it’s fine. I imagine they just need something to talk about. It’ll blow over soon enough.”

Beau takes a step forward, so very close to invading the personal space that I want him to enter.
Oh, no you don’t!
“For your sake, I hope you’re right. I’m used to this shit, but you aren’t. Just don’t listen to the crap. They’ll say and do just about anything to get ahead in this game. That includes sabotagin’ your game to better their own,” he adds while giving me a pointed look as if to remind me of Monday night’s FUBAR.

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” I reply, willing my legs to stay planted and not step closer to Beau.

As if reading my mind, he steps forward once more until I’m consumed by his body heat. If it was anyone else, I would have stepped back and put some distance between us, but with Beau, I only want to greedily step closer yet.

“You did great tonight,” he whispers as he tucks a piece of my teased, hairsprayed-to-heaven hair behind my ear.

“Thank you,” I respond, feeling a slight blush creep in at the compliment.

Another slight step forward.

“I really, really want to kiss you right now,” he confesses as he runs his hand up my bare arm and lets it rest at my neck. His warm fingers kneed and flex as his thumb gently strokes my pulse point.

“I wouldn’t mind that…if we weren’t in the middle of this competition,” I state, hypnotized by those damn eyes of his.

“I know.” Beau rests his head against my forehead in the same manner he did the other night in the closet. We’re close, so close, but not quite close enough.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask, knowing that I need to know the answer to the burning question that has been nagging me since I heard the rumor before tonight’s show.

“Of course, darlin’.”

It’s now or never. “Last week, did you vote for me to advance to the next round because you’re attracted to me?”

Beau’s eyes darken instantly. I don’t know how it’s possible, but they do. His nostrils also flare out in a way that I would associate with anger or annoyance. “No,” he says decisively. “I voted ya to the next round because you were better. Having you here with me every day is just an added bonus because I’m attracted to ya.”

And then his lips are on mine. The kiss is hesitant at first, but as soon as I open my mouth, granting him the access he’s seeking, all bets are off. My tongue duels with his, sliding back and forth in the most delicious way possible. I thread my fingers into that black hair, tugging ever so gently, while he pulls me flush against his hard body. When he moans into my mouth, my knees buckle. Fortunately, Beau holds me with such intensity that I know I’m not going anywhere.

A knock sounds at the door breaking the spell of the kiss. “Shit,” Beau mumbles, yet not letting me go.

“I should go,” I whimper, trying to pull away.

“I don’t want you to go,” he declares, locking his arms securely around my waist.

“I have to.”

Beau leans forward one more time, placing his forehead against mine. The action has a calming response from me, and it appears to have the same effect on him. Our breathing starts to even out, but my heart rate is nowhere near normal.

“I’ll see ya in the mornin’,” he whispers before stepping back and away from me. The void of his body heat is felt instantaneously. I crave his touch, his kisses, his presence.

“I’ll be there,” I reply as he goes to open the door.

Gabby stands on the other side giving each of us a pointed, direct look. “Jackson is looking for you,” she says to Beau while bouncing her eyes from him to me. You can practically see the wheels in her head spinning.

“I’ll be right there. I was just discussin’ tomorrow’s performance with Layne,” Beau says casually. You’d have no idea he had his tongue down my throat thirty seconds ago. I just pray that my lips aren’t as swollen as I fear they are.

“Don’t be long. The other coaches are already there.” Gabby glances my way one last time before turning and heading back down the hall.

“I need to go and catch up with the others. I don’t need to give them anymore reason to question me,” I say.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I confirm, taking in his heated gaze one more time before turning and walking out the door.

Damn. It’s been two days since the closet incident and I’m already failing. And, miserably, at that. I’m never going to make it another five weeks. I’m not going to be able to resist him.

But I have to.

My life on this show–my career–depends on it.

Note to self: Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

We all gather on stage for the big reveal. I’m wearing yesterday’s ensemble like the other fifteen contestants on stage, huge smile plastered on my stiff face. Stiff because I’m wearing a quarter of an inch of putty–also known as makeup.

“Tonight, we’ll have team performances for two of our four teams, plus a special performance from our musical guest, Carrie Underwood. We’ll also reveal the fate of our sixteen contestants. Four will go home this evening, but right now, I’ll reveal the first two saved contestants who will return next week.” Becker pauses for dramatic effect before reading the card in his hand. “Our first contestant who is safe another week is…Shawna Reece! Our second contestant who is safe is…Ben Atwood!”

The audience cheers for both Shawna and Ben, while I reserve my accolades for only Ben. Getting rid of Shawna would have been a dream come true! Especially since the whispers after last night’s performances about Beau and I only grew louder and more predominant.

Up next is our team performance, and I’m super nervous to perform with Beau and the rest of my group. Add in the fact that my fate on this show still hasn’t been decided, and I’m jittery like a bouncy ball let loose in a confined space.

Chelsea and I head into a small dressing room and throw on our next outfits. After a quick spin in the chair to refresh hair and makeup, we’re meeting up with the guys at stage right. When a member of the production crew gives us the sign, we all head out to our places on the darkened stage. We only have to wait a few moments before the commercial break ends and Becker starts to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Team Beau performing ‘Love Shack.’”

Beau counts down the beat with his drumsticks, and starts us off. “
If you see a faded sign at the side of the road that says fifteen miles to the…”

“Love shack! Love shack, yeah.”
I belt out.

“I’m heading down the Atlanta highway,”
Chelsea sings.

There’s something about this song that makes you want to stand up and sing. You can’t sing it without picturing the B-52’s video: the big hair, the big car, and the party atmosphere, and the crowd gets into the performance right along with us. By the time I make my way up the stairs towards Beau, I’m practically pulsating with excitement. Or maybe I’m actually pulsating because the closer I get to Beau, the more aware I am of his presence. He watches me from underneath his hat as I approach, never missing a beat as he plays his drums. I sing my next line from my position next to him, vibrating from the electricity coursing through the metal risers. The smirk he gives me almost melts me like an ice cube on a hot July afternoon. Those lips should come with a warning label.

Warning: Deadly weapons with the intent to render any woman speechless, immobile, and ready to drop her panties.

My body moves in rhythm to the song. I sing my part for the crowd and the millions of people watching through the television. I sing for my three-year-old son who is watching me from his position on the floor in our living room. I sing for the man playing the drums next to me. Why? I don’t know. I’ve never been concerned about what a man thinks of my singing, nor have I ever really sung for anyone. I sing for me. But tonight, I find myself singing for the man who intrigues me, intoxicates me, and consumes me. Tonight, I sing for Beau.

When the song is over, we all take our bows. Beau stands and waves his hands at each of us, giving us as much credit as he can. I’ll admit we have a solid team. Ben has that strong country voice that reminds me of Jason Aldean. Yes, I might not be a country fan, but every woman in America knows who Jason Aldean is. Same with Beau Tanner.

Chelsea is a cute little sprite of a girl, barely the legal age. She’s adorable in that overly endearing and peppy way that makes me want to vomit half the time. She’s tiny enough to fit in my back pocket. But what endears me the most to Chelsea is that she’s surprisingly
not
one of the people I hear constantly talking about the rumors. If she’s talking, she hides it well.

And then there’s Maxwell who I haven’t really had much of an opportunity to chat with too much. He has a country vibe to him with a hint of classic rock, which might be why Beau gravitated towards him as his final pick for his team.

Either way, our team will suffer a loss tonight.

I just pray it isn’t me.

*****

As I stand up on stage with seven other contestants, Chelsea directly to my right, I hold my breath as I patiently await the verdict of my future on the show. We’re down to the final two for each team, and I’ve never been so nervous in my entire life.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to reveal which contestant is saved from each team and which one will be saying goodbye tonight.” Becker grabs the envelope and rips it open in a dramatic fashion.

“Team Sophia. The contestant who is safe and will return next week is…Kristie Maloney! That means Brock McMillan will be leaving us tonight.”

After departing hugs are given to Brock, and Kristie joins the saved contestants on the opposite side of the stage, Becker returns his attention to his envelope. “Team JoJo. The contestant who is safe and returning to the competition next week is…Philippe Consuela! Jess Johansson, I’m sorry but your time on
Rising Star
is over tonight.”

Again, more hugs and tears are shed at center stage. I glance over and see Troy with his big grin plastered on his face. He looks cool, calm, and way more collected than I’m sure I do right now.

“Team Felix. The contestant who is safe another week is…Marcus Hogan! Unfortunately, that means Troy Cartwright’s time on
Rising Star
has come to an end.”

I think Becker says something else, but I don’t hear it. As soon as Marcus’s name is read as the safe contestant, my entire body sinks down into a pool of sadness and loss. I knew that Troy and I couldn’t both be here until the end, but it was a beautiful pipe dream that I would have loved to continue. Tonight, I say goodbye to the first person I met on this show. The first person I connected with. My friend.