Music Notes (23 page)

BT:
That’s when James Rollins walked into the club I was playin. He offered me a shot and I’ll forever be grateful to him.

Me:
Sounds amazing.

BT:
Can I call you?

I’m throwing on my pajamas as his latest text message arrives. I quickly scrub off the remnants of my makeup and type out a quick reply.

Me:
Aren’t we talking?

BT:
Yes, but I need to hear your voice.

Well, then…

Before I can reply, the phone sitting next to the bathroom sink is ringing. Sharing my life with Beau has been easy all night, but now to hear his voice? My heart rate kicks up a few hundred beats per minute before I even pick up the phone.

“I didn’t say yes,” I tease in way of greeting.

“True, but this way, ya don’t have the chance to say no.”

“I would never say no,” I tell him, knowing that I mean so much more than just referring to his offer to call me.

“That’s good to know. So, what are ya doin’ now?”

“Getting ready for bed,” I tell him as I take my phone and plop down on the mattress.

“Well, I should probably let ya go,” he quips with a yawn.

“Sounds like you could use a bed yourself,” I reply, yawning myself since yawning is always contagious.

“I could. I’ll be back on Sunday afternoon, and I’m thinkin’ I might need a few moments of your time. In private.” The underlying meaning is so obvious that a deaf man could hear it.

“Aren’t we supposed to be staying away from each other in private?”

“Yep, but sometimes I just need a quick little fix. You know, like a hit. A shot. Somethin’ to tide me over ‘til I can get my next fix of you, which won’t be too far off since I can’t seem to control myself around ya.” The honesty in his statement is like a gut-check. My stomach flops around like a fish out of water, and it’s good to know that he’s feeling the same things I feel.

“Your words are making it so hard to stay away,” I whisper honestly.

“Darlin’, you have no idea what
hard
is.”

I gasp loudly at his statement. Never before have I been so seduced by a few simple words. Even for someone who is affected by song lyrics on a daily basis, I’ve never been so intoxicated by words before in my life.

“I dream about you,” he confesses softly into the phone.

“You do?” I whisper as if concerned who might overhear.

“Yeah. Almost every night,” he adds after a pause. His confession rocks my very foundation.

“I dream about you, too.”

“Really? What do you dream about?” he encourages, a hint of a smile laced in his words.

“Stuff,” I reply vaguely.

“I dream about stuff too. Stuff like your lips and your mouth and the things I want to do to them. And then there’s your hands. I dream a lot about how your hands feel against my body. I wake up so fuckin’ hard, I have to jack off in the shower to images of your beautiful face.”

I gasp at his confession.

“I’m sorry. That was probably too much information,” he says.

“No,” I say quickly. “Actually, you’re not alone on the dreams.”

“Do you touch yourself, Layne? What do you picture when you close your eyes and touch your body?”

His words ignite something deep inside me. My body yearns for his. “I think about you. I picture you when I touch myself.” My confession takes me by surprise, but feels freeing to say the words aloud.

“Fuck, that is the hottest thing ever. Every time I see you now I’m going to picture you with your hands all over your beautiful body.”

“You have to stop that. I have a hard enough time concentrating when you’re in the room. The last thing I need is to think about
other
things in your presence. I’ll never be able to sing without blushing.”

“I promised that I would try to control myself when I’m around ya, and I will. But sometimes, I’m going to fall off the wagon. Especially when I imagine you lying on your bed in sexy lil’ pj’s and touching yourself.”

“But I’m wearing sweats,” I counter with a smile.

“A guy can dream, sweetheart, and right now, my mind is working overtime. Just let me have my thoughts. It’s all I have right now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

There’s silence as we both absorb our conversation. I want him. He wants me. Yet, neither of us is able to do anything about it. So, we’ll dream. Until this show is over, our dreams are all we’ll have.

“Go to sleep, beautiful.”

“You can’t say that, Beau.”

“Why? You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he tells me. His honesty courses through the phone, zapping me straight to the core.

“Because I can’t be distracted by your words. I need to focus on this show so I can provide Eli with a better life.”

“Eli has a better life just by
you
being a part of it, Layne.
You
are the reason he has an amazing life.
You
are the reason he is loved beyond his ability to even recognize it. And
you
are the reason I can’t stop thinkin’ about returning to Los Angeles. Not the show, Layne. You.”

I have no idea how to respond to that. If I was able to produce sounds at this moment, I’m not ever sure they’d be actual words.

“Go to sleep. Have sweet dreams. Dream of me, and know that I will be dreamin’ of you. Even though I’m not supposed to, my dreams are all I have right now,” he adds before telling me good night.

I mumble something incoherent and sign off. My head is a mess right now, his words affecting me in more ways than I ever could have imagined. Mostly because for the first time since I’ve been here, the competition is placing a distant second to what I’m feeling for Beau. He makes me want to throw caution to the wind and say forget it to this entire thing.

But I owe it to Eli and my mom to finish this out. I owe it to myself, and I even owe it to Beau. He has worked hard to prepare me week after week for the cutthroat competition that is
Rising Star
. I owe it to him to give it my all. And, unfortunately, giving it my all means no distractions.

Beau is a distraction.

So, for the thousandth time in the past week, I tell myself to forget about our attraction and concentrate on the prize at the end of the road. The record contract. The cash. It’s all there, just waiting for me to grab ahold of it.

I just pray that I don’t trip and fall on my ass on the way to the top.

Note to self: When your world starts to crumble around you, just keep smiling! And make mental note of names to add to the hit list.

I arrive at the studio at nine o’clock on Wednesday morning for my scheduled final stage rehearsal. Tonight is another live performance for votes before tomorrow night’s elimination round. I’ve been working with Beau and the show vocal coaches to perfect my song for this evening, and feel confident and ready for the performance. Since our team performed as a group last week, the other two teams are performing group performances tomorrow night. Beau has hinted that next week’s shows will start contestant duets, and I can’t wait to see what that’s all about.

“Layne, they’re looking for you in conference room A,” Gabby says moments before I step out onto the stage to run through my song one final time with Mallory, the choreographer.

“Who’s looking for me?” I ask, confused about who would pull me away from my final practice.

“Everyone. The network,” she says with a pointed ‘I told you so’ look.

The network? Oh my God, this can’t be good, can it?

My legs are numb as they carry me towards the network executives. Gabby doesn’t say anything else as she leads me through a series of hallways, past offices that I didn’t even know were here. After a quick knock on the closed door, she opens it and allows me to enter.

Inside the room sit about six men and women all dressed in professional suits and dresses. Sitting at the end of the conference room table is the man with the starring role in my dreams. Beau Tanner. I swallow the golf ball that’s suddenly lodged in my throat and return my focus to the man standing at the opposite end of the table.

“Layne, it’s good to finally meet you. I am Jackson Zimmerman, President of the network. Please have a seat,” he says, motioning to the empty seat next to Beau.

I feel all eyes on me as I make my way to my seat. I was just about to step on the stage for my final dress rehearsal so my attire isn’t exactly “executive” appropriate. The tight leather dress and blood-red pumps don’t do much for my confidence as I stare down the faces of the handful of people who could decide my fate on this show. The
real
people who decide if I even perform tonight.

“Miss Carter, I’m going to be frank with you. We’ve had concerns from other contestants as to the extent of your relationship with your coach, Beau Tanner. This is something that we take very seriously. Contracts were signed by all parties at this table–namely you and Mr. Tanner. Now, while we encourage you all to continue to live your lives, we can’t have relationships between the coaches and the contestants. You recall signing the agreement, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply through my dry throat.

“You don’t need us to produce the document you signed? Margaret from Legal is here and would be happy to show you the document with your signature,” he states, indicating towards the woman to his left.

“No, sir. I recall the document.”

“Good. Now. We have a slight dilemma with this entire situation. We’ve had a lengthy conversation with Beau and he ensures us that your relationship is purely friendship and in no way breaks the contracts that you’ve both signed. Is that how you’d describe it?”

“Yes, sir. Beau and I are friends, nothing more.” I don’t dare risk a glance over at him. I don’t know what would be worse: seeing him so casual at this moment or him seeing straight through the lies.

“That’s good. But, here’s the dilemma. Apparently, America loves the thought of you two together.”

I’m startled by his words, looking up at him with big, shocked eyes. Now, I look over at Beau for the first time since I’ve sat down. He’s staring at me with those intense eyes that hold a hint of laughter.

“The website, which hosts the Behind the Scenes videos, has increased traffic ten-fold. Social media is abuzz with speculation about your relationship. The network has done extensive polls on the topic in recent days and it seems that America wants to see more of you and Beau, Layne.”

“Sir?”

“So, while we’re in no way condoning the breach of your contract with us, we are maybe encouraging you to…
tease
the audience a little more.”

“What do ya mean by that?” Beau asks, speaking up for the first time since I walked into the room.

“Oh, you know, little touches here or extended glances there,” the woman on the right of Mr. Zimmerman says.

“So you want us to flirt?” Beau asks.

“Yes,” she confirms.

“It’s all about giving the viewers what they want, and right now…they want more of you two.” Six sets of eyes bounce between Beau and me. “We want you to tease the audience. Leave them speculating. Make them want to come back for more. That’s where tonight’s special performance comes into play,” he says with a big wolfish grin.

Oh, shit. I look around the room at the brightly smiling faces and twinkling eyes. Something tells me I’m not going to like this. Not one bit.

*****

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to
Rising Star
. Tonight, we have an exciting night of performances lined up for you as each contestant performs for your votes. All twelve contestants are ready to go this week, but at the end of the night tomorrow, only ten will stay. That’s right, this week the
two
contestants with the lowest number of votes will be sent home, missing out of their chance to be the next
Rising Star
. Are you ready?” Becker asks the audience who is on their feet, cheering.

“Tonight, we’re going to kick off our show with a special performance. Social media has been abuzz lately with speculation about a certain contestant and her coach. To set the record straight, let’s hear it for Layne Carter,” Becker says as the spotlight shines brightly, illuminating my position on the far corner of the stage.

After this morning’s meeting, I wasn’t a fan of their master plan. In fact, I hated it. I don’t want to be treated like a chess piece, strategically moved from place to place for the benefit of the network, for the show. But, here I am. About to perform a song that can only be labeled as “a cock tease.” There is no way that this song performance will set the record straight. In fact, it’ll probably only confirm everyone’s assumptions. Right or wrong, they’re going to be led to believe one thing after this song.

Beau met me in the hallway after the meeting. His attitude towards the entire situation appeared too casual. It was like he was happy to be a performing monkey for these yahoos. But then he looked at me and said, “Now, I get to touch ya and I don’t have to worry about what they’ll say.”