Whisky Moments

by Bowie, Emily

  “It will be a song about a girl who steals souls for trophies.” Even drunk, he is an ass. He deserves that picture to be shown to the world.

  “I only steal kisses,” I reply, going on my tippy toes to kiss him jokingly. His lips are softer than I anticipate, causing me to lose track of my idea. Bringing my phone out, I take a picture of our lips connecting. For a man who pretends to have the world at his fingertips, he seems to be afraid of what I could do to him. I hope this scares the shit out of him.

  “I’ve kissed better,” he tells me, chuckling. My eyes go wide, reminding myself he is the enemy. “This is me.” I look up to see we are standing in front of a hotel.

  He stumbles to the door, and I wait till he’s inside. At least he won’t pass out here in the dark where who knows what could happen to him.

  “Goodnight, Steele. Enjoy your morning.” I’m already messaging my picture of him being a homeless person on the streets of Nashville to Charlie, my friend at TMZ. It pays to have people on the inside sometimes.

  “Ms. Black.” I jump at the sudden voice, making my screen turn black.

  “Dick, you scared me.” My hand goes to my chest, feeling it pump against my hand.

  “You know, if you accepted my original offer to be your manager, tonight could have gone differently.”

  I consider what he says. There are too many unknowns to confirm his idea. He had offered to represent me even before I won my first album contract, but I turned him down. He didn’t feel like a good fit at the time, and that was before I was aware he represented Rhett.

  “I guess we’ll never know. Rhett’s done good with you. The two of you seem to work well,” I compliment, as I start to step backward to finish my message.

  “If you ever need me to get him to play nice, let me know.”

  “I appreciate that.” I nod, taking another step back, hoping he continues on his way.

  “If it’s any consolation, I like your song better.” He gives me a wink before leaving through the same revolving door as Rhett.

  Even if it’s a nice thing to say, I don’t take his words to mean anything. It’s all lip service. I’ve learned that the hard way in this industry.

  CHAPTER 6

  The past

  My airway is constricted from the tight black leggings and long-sleeved shirt that cling to my body like a second skin, leaving zero to the imagination.

  “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Kellie hisses. She loves this every bit as much as I do. She’s had every chance to change her mind on the plane trip over here.

  “You were the one to tell me to fuel my plane,” I whisper as we stand on a back road in the middle of nowhere in Texas.

  “I swear this town should have water all around it. Three Rivers should have three rivers, right?” she prompts, pulling at her shirt to give some breathing room.

  “How do you know it doesn’t?” It’s not like we’ve explored the town. This is a quick in-and-out mission.

  Plenty of light is still seen as the sky just starts to enter dusk. We couldn’t chance getting lost in the dark, with the limited timeframe we have. My hand holds up a camera that I’ve had since high school. It’s small, compact, and takes great pictures. It’s all we need.

  This is my revenge on Rhett for stealing my song. I haven’t been able to get over it. It’s impossible when I hear it every time I turn on the radio. I can’t get away from him and that voice of his. There are already rumors of him getting a nomination. I keep telling myself that once I do this, Rhett and I are even.

  Then I can finally stop thinking about the huge, sexy pain in the ass. I can put this little feud in the ground.

  “Doesn’t a feud need to be a two-way thing?” Kellie asks nonchalantly in a low voice, making me realize I was talking to myself.

  “He took my song on purpose.” I narrow my eyes at her, causing her to laugh. It’s one of the first things I realized I loved about her. She is always happy and laughing. I have never seen her unhappy or in a bad mood. She grounds me, making me realize the larger picture most of the time.

  “I’m just here for the fun,” she states, shaking her head.

  “Let’s go.” I nod toward the long and narrow driveway. Overhead is a large wooden sign reading Steele Ridge Ranch.

  Staying by the trees and bushes lining the gravel road, we sneak into his property. There is a large red barn and an even larger house with a wraparound porch. Out beyond that, there are fields and trees that line the property. The area seems to cover hundreds of acres.

  A guitar starts to take over the small sounds from the land, while we hear talking and laughing coming from behind the house.

  Like ninjas, we tiptoe behind the parked vehicles, hiding as we make our way to check out the back.

  “Mom!” A sound of a child comes from the house, making us curl up smaller by a back tire, hoping not to be seen.

  Looking from under the trucks, we watch a family of three walking away from the house hand in hand. Holding our breaths, we hope we’re not behind their truck till they round the corner and start down a path before they’re no longer seen.

  Another two couples come out from behind the house, each of them holding hands. “Thank you for driving us home, Sloan,” the women speak to each other.

  Softly, we start to back up toward the farthest of the trucks, having to go to the other side as they walk toward the one parked in front of the barn. A guitar can still be heard in the distance.

  Their truck grumbles on, and the sound of crushed gravel begins to get farther away.

  Staying crouched, we hold our breaths for what feels like forever. No more movement comes from the house, so we take our chance. Running to the side of the house, we find a new hiding spot as we head toward the back of the property.

  Dusk is starting to enter night, allowing us to blend in easier with the dark backdrop. Peeking around the corner, we see Rhett sitting by himself in front of a campfire.

  I’ve never heard this tune he’s playing; it sounds sad and lost. His fingers brush up and down the strings without any thought as he stares into the bright light of the flames.

  I’m entranced watching him. Slowly, we lower ourselves to the ground, sitting with crossed legs. Looking around the landscape, it reminds me of Alberta back home. I wonder what my parents are up to tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to them. I need to remember to call them when we get back to Nashville.

  When I need an escape, I typically go home. I wonder what Rhett is trying to escape from? Suddenly, I slowly start to get a conscience.

  What the hell am I doing out here, all for the hope of getting some pictures to make a headline? My songs are better than his anyway.

  His fingers start to strum, playing my song he stole. Making me realize this is more than revenge but closure for me.

  He pauses mid song as he takes his shirt off. I have to look. His chest is chiseled, making him look ruggedly handsome, like a cowboy on a calendar I used to have when I thought it was cool.

  I get it; it’s hot out, even in the dark. I’m sweating buckets being dressed head-to-toe in black. Maybe we should have gone with black tank tops instead.

  Kellie elbows me hard, as if asking if I’m watching this.

  He finishes my song before standing up to pee on the fire. My hands twitch, wanting to get a picture but knowing there will be a better chance. I have one shot—I can’t waste it.

  There are still red embers on the ground when he walks into his house.

  “Why didn’t you take a picture?” Kellie hisses in my ear.

  I place my finger up to my lips, signaling her to stop talking, until I see a light go on upstairs. I point to the tree near the window that now shines brightly, hoping I still have some climbing skills from growing up.

  Taking the tree branch by branch, I go to the top, trying to get close enough to the window. Rhett is standing there with his jeans low on his hips and goes to open his window. I wonder if they don’t have air cond
itioning.

  Then he walks out of the room and into an open doorway. The open window is too tempting. Sliding my body over the branch, I can get two feet from the house. Taking my chance, I lean my frame over enough to slide in hands first. My body rolls from a somersault out on the floor.

  I don’t move from the floor, waiting to hear any sounds. My chest heaves up and down, seeing if I’ve been found out. Other than my heart pounding, there are no sounds until water running from a shower overtakes my heart’s echo.

  Standing up, I have my camera in hand, ready to do what I came here for. I start counting down in my head, deciding to get a shower picture, knowing I will have more time to escape than if I wait for him to come back into the room.

  “Did you come, wanting to be manhandled?”

  In front of me is a very naked, very large Rhett Steele. He backs me toward the closed bedroom door and locks it. The click echoes around me, making me swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth.

  My mouth drops open and I’m left speechless. He looks at my hand, eyeing the camera. Taking the camera, he brings it up to take a selfie of me and his naked form before tossing it onto the bed.

  I haven’t moved, and his quirked brow shows me he’s noticed. I could have slipped under him and ran away, but I’m still here, where he moved me. His hands wrap around my hair and tug. My body betrays me by responding instantly.

  “We can start with you on your knees.”

  My eyes dart to his very erect, thick cock, and I want to touch it. Test to see if I could wrap my whole hand around it and flick out my tongue to see what he tastes like.

  A thump pulls both of our attentions to the window, with half of Kellie’s frame dangling, trying to worm herself into the room with us.

  I’m still frozen, watching her snatch up my camera before taking a picture of Rhett. Well, maybe about ten photos and laughing before I see her hop out of the window.

  It’s enough to get me moving as I pull out of his embrace, running toward the tiny exit, jumping out like I can fly, and hoping to hell I catch a branch or two on the way down.

  A week later, Rhett sends me a thank-you letter for his rise in popularity and my own signed copy of the magazine where the photos were published, along with a bouquet of white flowers with no card.

  CHAPTER 7

  Waking up from a night of celebration has my head throbbing. As I sit up in bed, I take the cup of water and Advil already on my bedside table and down them in one gulp.

  When jumping up from bed causes my head to throb, I realize my movements are too fast. My temple throbs in a pulsing motion, but I refuse to let it keep me down as I try to fight through it. Heading to my hotel room’s kitchen, I see the paper I was looking for already waiting for me, with a large bouquet of flowers.

  Rhett Steele should be the one asking Camilla Black for a date. He can only go up from here.

  Under the heading is a less than perfect picture of me with a sign asking for money, passed out in downtown Nashville and looking exactly like the picture portrays.

  A drunk, lost man.

  I flip through the paper. There is no shot of her dumping a drink over my head.

  Going to my laptop, I head to People, TMZ, and any other blog that might play a different story. Unfortunately, they all sing the same song.

  Dragging my hand over my mouth, my scuff scratches at my skin. My eyes land on the massive flower arrangement. My lips move back and forth as I wonder who sent them. I get a nagging feeling it’s none other than Camilla.

  Standing up, I walk over, plucking the tiny card from the middle. Flipping it over, in neat printing, it says, Thanks for one-upping me last night.

  My phone buzzes on the counter, my battery showing red from not charging it overnight. A message from an unknown number sits unopened. Tapping it, the text captions, A kiss of death, with a picture of her lips on mine.

  My fingers scratch at my throbbing forehead. Fucking Camilla Black. I can’t deal with this right now. Heading back to my room, I slip under my covers, placing all the pillows around my head to keep any light away from me.

  *

  I’m dreaming I’m back at home in Three Rivers and a horse is nudging me to move forward. I can feel my whole body moving with each nudge. Slowly, I begin to come out of my sleep, only for my body to feel like it’s being nudged again. And then I hear Dick’s voice.

  “Stop sleeping your life away. We need to talk about damage control.”

  Groaning, I turn over, happy to notice the throbbing is gone. My room is dark, and I can hear the rain pouring and blowing against the windows and walls.

  “Isn’t that what I pay you for?” I croak, still trying to wake up.

  “No, that’s what your nonexistent PR person should do. I think it’s time to get one.”

  Opening one eye, I look at him hovering over my bed. When did he and I lose our personal space with each other?

  “Give me a minute and I’ll be up.”

  He stands there, unmoving. “If I leave, I know you’re going to roll over and go back to sleep.”

  It’s likely true. “Whatever.” I toss my covers, standing up naked, uncaring, as I stalk over to the dresser and pull out some clothes.

  He hands me a coffee I never noticed he was holding. Taking a large drink, I can feel the caffeine seeping into my body. It feels damn good. Closing my eyes, I take in the feeling.

  “Tell me about your plan,” I prompt, knowing if he woke me, he has an idea. Dick is very good at his job. It’s why I don’t need a PR person. He does everything to perfection.

  “You have to date Camilla Black.” His face is stone-cold straight. His eyes are sharp and serious. Choking on my coffee, I spit it out, thinking I’ve misheard him.

  “The Black Widow? She sucks everyone to the grave, and you want that for us?”

  Could I still be sleeping? I give myself a pinch and twist at my skin. It fucking hurts.

  “Rhett, you’re not dreaming.”

  I look up at him, and his eyebrows are arched at the top of his crinkled forehead as he shakes his head at me.

  “Look, it’s a win-win. She does lots of good for communities, and it would help with your image.”

  I grunt out my response. I haven’t heard any of that. I think Dick is starting to lose it, but he continues on.

  “If you do fuck up, then she gets the blame. No matter what, it puts you in the positive light.”

  “You’re serious.” I can feel my face contort in disbelief.

  “Never been more serious. You need to have this happen like yesterday.”

  “She hates me. Never mind that I go out of my way to poke her. We can’t even be in the same room together, and you want me to date her?”

  “Looks like you’re going to have to play nice.”

  I laugh out loud. I don’t think I have it in me. I would never admit this to Dick, but I don’t hate the woman. In fact, I thoroughly enjoy our interactions, and I would like to keep it that way.

  “Even if I was up for this, she would never in a million years agree to it.” I try to think of all the scenarios, and none of them is with her saying yes.

  Dick pats me on the shoulder. “You’re a smart man. I’m sure you will figure it out. If not, you might as well pack up and head back home to that small-ass town you promised never to return to.”

  We both know that’s not an option for me. I swear my nose starts to close up just thinking about all the animals and their hair and dandruff. I never knew what breathing was like until I moved away from all that. I swear my dad still thinks I’m making up my allergies. He grew up in an era where those things never existed.

  Me moving back home would be like telling everyone I couldn’t cut it. It would be me admitting it finally got to me like everyone said it would.

  The only good thing would be seeing my family again. It’s strange how when you don’t see people for so long you forget you miss them. But as soon as you see them again, it hits you a hundred times harder. It�
�s one of the reasons I stayed in Three Rivers for so long this summer. I used the excuse I was helping them rebuild and family-first bullshit.

  “Make it happen, Steele.” Dick pins me with a look that he means business. I nod, exhaling, wondering how in the hell I’m ever going to pull this off. The woman hates me like Katy Perry and Taylor Swift hate each other.

  CHAPTER 8

  It kills me that I’ve had to resort to stalking Camilla Black. Really, I’m asking for a death sentence. No man in history has come out on top after setting their sights on this gorgeous woman. Maybe I’m the exception to the rule.

  Seeing her step out from her modest home, I watch as she takes off down the street on her regular morning run. I don’t mind running, but I prefer group sports that make the time go fast, like football.

  Putting on my aviators, I walk down the street, already knowing her route. I take a seat on the park bench, bringing out a book to shield my face in case she looks my way. Just before she slips out of my view, I check my watch. She’s three minutes faster than the other day for this section.

  Heading down the opposite street, I go into the small cafe on the corner, grabbing my morning coffee before taking a seat on the outside patio. The air is crisp, and I’m thankful for the outdoor heater above making the chill feel nonexistent. It’s honestly the perfect running weather.

  “What the hell is your deal?” The sudden sound shatters my peaceful morning coffee. Taking an uninvited seat is Camilla, flushed yet looking perfectly edible in her short running shorts and workout top that showcases her hips and sides from the missing midsection of her shirt.

  “Tell me, did you buy that shirt on clearance?” I eye her, and damn if she’s not sexier when she thinks she’s on to something.

  Rolling her eyes, her lips purse as she looks at me square in the eye. I can see why people find her intimidating. I wait for her to crack, refusing to back down, neither of us blinking in our stare-down.

  “This is the third day you’ve watched me run.” Holding her head up high, she accuses me confidently. Her nod forces her dark ponytail to rest over her shoulder.