by Bowie, Emily
I play the part of a country singer, wearing my black cowboy hat, dark navy denim, and a plaid red shirt. It’s mostly for the PR stunt I’m about to pull. I need to look like the image I’ve built my career on. My stomach twists, as a fluttering thought crosses my mind that maybe this is not right.
Any girl other than the so-called Black Widow would have jumped at the chance of going on a date with me, so really, what I’m doing can’t be that bad. I’ll make sure she has the date of her life, and then we’re even. Maybe she’ll see I’ve been right straight from the start.
“Are we going or what?” she walks past, looking over her shoulder at me. She has this fire that I seem to be drawn to.
“Did you see that pic of us?” she questions as I open my car door for her.
I feign innocence. “I haven’t seen the one of you dumping your drink on me. I thought you surprised them and no one could get the shot.”
I know she’s talking about the picture of me holding her. Come to think of it, that’s when I started getting this vibe when I’m around her.
She makes some adorable grunting sound as I slowly close her door, allowing her to correct me, but she doesn’t. Walking around, I get into my side and pull out onto the road.
“Why are you lying to me?” She turns her whole self toward me, the intense look in her eyes searching me for any clue.
Her body is radiating with the need to tell me off. I can sense her heartbeat pick up, preparing to fight. This girl doesn’t run from anything; she fights for what she believes in.
Shrugging, I decided to own it rather than lie. “Thought you might hit me over the head with your purse, accusing me of something that’s not there.” Well, it’s a half-lie. I have no doubt she has an arm on her that can do damage. But we have a connection. It’s buzzing to life right now, making me hyperaware of her.
Her eyes narrow on me. “What’s your ploy here? You don’t even like me.”
“I like you just fine.” I glance from the road to her before trying to hide the smirk that wants to take up residence on my face. I do love sparing with her.
“You could ask any woman out on a date and she would say yes before you finish asking. So why me?”
“What can I say? I’m a man who likes a good chase.”
Out the corner of my eye, I see her contemplate my words. “I don’t think that’s it.”
Camilla is street smart and business savvy; I’ve seen it in play. Out of nowhere, I start to wonder how she grew up. What made this sexy lady spark the way she does? She seems to have no silver spoon shoved up her ass.
“How about you tell me your theory?” I suggest.
“I don’t trust you,” she flat out states very seriously.
“Good, you shouldn’t.” Dick would have my head hearing me right now. I need her to help finish off my comeback. Winning that award was my first step.
She turns her head, looking out the window. I can’t tell if she’s trying to hide what she’s feeling, or if she just got tired of talking to me with all of my bullshit. She confuses me. I don’t want to lead her on or lie to her. I’m trying to be honest as much as I can, but I need her. She may think this is a one-time deal going out with me, but I’ve made sure it’s not. I need more time to re-establish my image, and she is my key to doing that. This is the only way to solidify that she will be seen with me in public again.
Taking in a breath, I know she will hold this against me. I hope it’s short-lived. What scares me, is how she plans to retaliate against me. My heart picks up again as I anticipate her next moves. I shouldn’t like this feeling. I feel more alive than I have in the last few years. It’s like I’ve just found the stage, and I love it.
“Where are we headed?” She doesn’t look at me as she asks. I would love to know what’s going on in her head right now.
“You’ll see.” I can’t help my smile, thinking I’ve planned the perfect date. It’s something I’ve never done with a date before. Typically, I just head to a fancy restaurant then the rest is easy flowing. Hell, a lot of times, we never make it to eat.
I can’t see Camilla going for that. In my own warped way, I would feel like I was disrespecting her if I did. I have always been upfront with my expectations. I don’t lead people on. Those women always knew, and they were more than happy to oblige.
Camilla is different. It’s fucking with my head, making me feel like one of those guys who aren’t upfront. I push down my gut check. She would never go along with the plan if I asked her. This is payback for making me look like an idiot at the awards. There is nothing more to this.
CHAPTER 12
My body is restless. I keep moving my hair over my shoulder to back behind it. This man is nothing but bad news. I can’t figure out his ploy. Sneaking a glance his way, I can’t help but notice how he radiates confidence in this sexy way.
We head farther out of Nashville into the small suburbs before I see a lone food truck parked in a parking lot. The truck is bright red with a white maple leaf on the front. In bold words, it says 50 Flavors of Poutine. I think I’m the only Canadian who doesn’t like the fries, cheese, and gravy combo.
“Poutine?” I try to keep the smile off my face, thinking this is a little too cliché. He jumps out, starting to go for my door, but I step out, not waiting for him.
“You excited?” He jumps up, his hands showcasing the food truck. “I searched around, and this is listed as one of the top twenty-one food trucks in the Nashville area.”
I nod, finding it hard to tell him the truth. He looks so excited.
There’s a chalkboard standing by the truck with the fifty different types listed. There is the Quebec poutine, the typical traditional one. Mexican, which is loaded with sour cream and salsa. The “hungry man,” which looks like a lot of meat loaded on fries. And the list goes on and on.
He pauses, looking at me. “What’s wrong?”
Do I tell him? “It’s not really my thing.” My face scrunches, knowing he must have really thought about this date in order to come up with this. Waiting for his reaction, I begin to do a loose braid to the hair that hangs over my shoulder.
“Too bad. I was looking forward to us popping my cherry with this.” He appears more entertained than deterred by my confession. Giving me a wink, he steps into my space, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. His warmth is welcomed in the cooling November air.
“You cold?” He looks down at me, his finger sweeping down the side of my arm. His emerald eyes scream determination while he appraises me. A shiver shoots right down my spine, having him hold me tighter in his embrace.
“Sorry, I didn’t expect a meal outside this late in the year.” I feel a need to explain myself, and me telling him to fuck off is the furthest thing from my mind, even though I know it would be the safest response.
“Is it the food truck that’s putting you off?” His voice is low, and I wish I wasn’t getting turned on by this man. This man, who made it his mission to ruin me since the day I stepped on stage. I wish his voice, this date, belonged to anyone but him. I wish I would stop being pulled in by this sexy asshole who plays with my heart and doesn’t even realize it.
“No.” I shake my head, not wanting him to think I’m some stuck-up princess. I honestly don’t care what we eat. But I had expected a nicer place. That’s why I dressed down. I was hoping to get some sort of reaction. Instead, he just stares like he wants to rip my clothes off my body.
“Rhett! Camilla!” Our names are called, and I see a man with a fancy camera in front of his face.
“Can I get the status of your relationship?” we’re asked.
I’m ready to turn around and ignore them when Rhett stays in place, holding me strongly in his grasp. When I look up at him, I expect to see anger that he’s connected to me in that type of way. I know my reputation.
But he just smiles, holding onto my waist tighter. Butterflies swarm me, thinking he’s going to stick up for me. I half expected to have to hold him down, not wanti
ng him to beat up someone in my presence. I can already see the headlines. Instead, he does the unthinkable.
He bends down, his lips coming down onto mine. I can feel his hand slip over my midsection, turning me into him. I stare dumbfounded, with my eyes wide open, watching it happen like some unkissed girl. His lips are soft, his hands rough. It takes nothing for my mouth to open before him, allowing his tongue access. He sweeps in as my eyes slowly close, giving in to the kiss. It’s slow and sensual, throwing me off.
Damn, he’s a good kisser.
He continues to tease me, making me want to deepen the kiss. I hear myself moan and then gasp that I’m kissing Rhett, the king of assholes. But that doesn’t stop me. No, he kisses me deeper, and I let him.
He finally breaks our embrace, and I’m breathless and confused. I’ve never been kissed like that.
“Are you official?” I vaguely hear the paparazzi.
“You wouldn’t have a picture of us kissing if we weren’t. She loves me,” he replies, and I look from the camera to Rhett, and he winks at me. “We’re moving in together.”
I can’t be hearing this right. He gives me this corny knuckle thing to my chin as my mouth hangs open, still dazed from our kiss.
“We’re what?” I end up stammering out once it’s too late. The camera guy is strolling away, and Rhett has that look on his face like he just got away with a plan.
“I don’t even like you,” I state the obvious. “I’m here, because you’re forcing me.”
“That kiss didn’t seem like that was the case.” He lifts one handsome eyebrow, smirking at me.
“Why in the hell would you say we plan to live together?” I’m so confused trying to think what his angle is.
“My stuff is being moved in as we speak.” My face drops, my eyes widening at how casual he just said that.
“Excuse me?” I better not have heard him right. I agreed to one outing. “You best be joking.”
“Does this face look like it’s joking?”
I search his face for a little muscle twitch that says he’s lying. He better be playing with me. This has to be one of his pranks. Why the hell does Rhett Steele want to live with me?
“Listen, I need your help. I knew you wouldn’t go for it if I just asked.” He places his hands in his pockets, not looking guilty at all. In fact, he looks proud of himself.
“No. Just no.” I begin to stomp away, needing to run home. I need to see for my own eyes he’s pranking me.
Please let him be pranking me.
“Is that no to the food?” His thumb is out, pointing to the truck, looking like he really did want to eat some.
Good. I hope he starves.
“It’s no to everything.” I’m dead serious. I can feel myself starting to hyperventilate, because I believe him.
“We’re not going home yet, babe.” My head tilts at the nickname. “Or should I say… roommate?”
I bite my tongue until I taste metallic to be sure this is happening; this is my life right now.
“I promised you a date. You will love the next stop.” He winks at me, enjoying himself, ignoring the fact that I’m freaking out right now.
In three strides, he’s back to crowding my space. I hate that he smells so good. He allows himself to push against me as he opens my door. If he was any other man, I might swoon.
I’m silent as we drive, trying to calm myself down. This is Rhett. He’ll drop me off at the end of the night and I’ll go in alone. I fell for his trick. Calm down.
“Where are we?”
He parks his car in front of an older building. “We’re going to do a little hermit crab gambling.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Oh come on.” His broad shoulders allow him to wrap me unwillingly into his hard chest. “I promise you’ll have fun.”
My head is still spinning, making me dazed. It’s the only reason I’m still in his car, not calling Mindy to check on my house to see if I should be calling the cops.
CHAPTER 13
She eyes me cautiously. Clearly, she can’t tell if I’m serious or not. Placing my hand out to help her out of my car, she looks at it – then at me, before rolling her eyes. Ignoring my hand, she stands. Her pink lips are pursed as she overthinks everything about tonight. Instead of bumping into me, her body skims against the car door instead of us touching. I finally had her guard down, only to have her build it up twice as high. I’m not a bad guy, honest. But, I can’t do this without her.
At least she’s giving me the opportunity to let my idea run for now. I’m not sure how long she’s going to not fight me on this. I have to jump on the opportunity to show her the benefits for each of us. I hate fighting with her, but it’s better than us not talking at all.
“Hermit crab gambling?” she questions, looking unimpressed at the unknown bar with a huge sign advertising the activity of the night. Her body is radiating with frustration, the creases in her forehead still evident, since I’ve forced my way in as her newest roommate.
I try to hold back my smirk, loving the way roommate rolls in my head, knowing I’m going to enjoy our time.
“Oh, honey, you haven’t lived till you do this.” I love this place. I found this gem in my first month living here. It’s not fancy or on Broadway, but it’s always made me feel at home. The people here are good. I don’t have to worry about anyone taking photos or videos when they shouldn’t. Everyone just wants to have a good time.
She stands tall in front of the doorway, her indecision clear on her pretty face. Opening the entrance door, my shoulder gives her a little nudge for her to walk through. Taking a small step, she crosses over the threshold then stops, looking around, and I worry she might go running back. Taking the chance, I hold on to her hand, pulling her inside for a better look. I can see a little smile trying to escape, but she’s too stubborn to let it show.
I’m excited and nervous to show her this. I don’t bring people here. This is my place, where I’m free to be me. I have a feeling Camilla is going to love this as much as I do.
I think we’re both people who don’t care about expensive shit. I didn’t blow my money on extravagant things. I blew it on my friends and family, wanting them to have the best time possible. I spent my money on memories, I like to say. Ironic that most of those memories are a tad bit fuzzy. I had a little too much fun, one can say.
As I step inside, the bartender openly calls my name. “Rhett! Where’s that fancy trophy you won?” he asks, referring to my last award.
“I forgot it at your mom’s,” I holler back, needling him. It’s funny, because his mom is only about ten years older than I am.
“You had to go there…” His voice trails off as he realizes I’m dragging Camilla behind me.
I watch as his hand goes to the cowbell above him and he rings it. “Rhett brought a girl home!” he calls out to the bar. Most of the people here are regulars who know me and start doing a few catcalls, while others are yelling for her to run.
Finding a small table off to the side, we take our spots. She still looks angrier than hell at me. It makes me wonder why she’s still here.
“Listen, Camilla, I need you to be my Sharon Osborn.” I try to touch her hand again, needing the contact, but she moves it off the table to her lap.
Both of her eyebrows rise. “I love that woman, but what the hell do you mean by that?”
“I need your help to bring my image back. Make sure I don’t get stumbling drunk, keep my head clear, and inspire me to write some songs.” I say it all in one deep breath, hoping for once in her life she will be agreeable. I can see the benefits for the two of us. We need each other. Plus, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to spend more time with her.
“You want me to be your babysitter?” Her lip curls, sneering at the way I have described what I need. She’s rigid, her back perfectly straight, looking at me like she did the first time I spoke to her, crushing her world. For the first time, I think, No, I want you to like me.
“No.” I rub the back
of my neck, trying to come up with the words for her to understand while leaving Dick’s whole reason for picking her out of it. “If you fuck up again, they’ll blame her.” As for me, I’m starting to think Camilla and I could be good for each other. I’m liking her more and more with each interaction.
“Everyone else accepts my crap, enabling me. You hold me to a different standard.” I hold my breath, waiting to see her next response, trying to explain it in such a way that she will understand and say yes.
“And me being your fake girlfriend has what to do with this?”
I hate that I see the vulnerability there. Fucking chicks is a whole lot easier than this.
My hand leaves my shoulder, going to my forehead, knowing I’m not doing a good job of this at all. How I’ve explained any of this to her, wouldn’t convince me to help her if our roles were reversed. We’re not even friends, and at this point, I’d do anything to change that. By the way she’s looking at me, her hatred toward me is clear.
What makes me think she won’t go sell this story to someone?
“What makes you think you can trust me?”
I cock my head, wondering how she’s reading my mind. In all honesty, Dick’s counting on her nickname being our ammunition if this goes down badly. Saving me, not her. Her question should have been why should she trust me?’
“Name your price.” I see her face change as soon as I say it. I have meant this every time I’ve said it. She has no idea how far I’ll go to have her at my side, and none of that has to do with Dick. I genuinely like her.
“No. I know men like you. If anything goes bad, you blame it on me. Then you’re the hero, and I’m still back to being the Black Widow.”
“Listen, I can help you make your image better too. People just need to see that you can keep a boyfriend. Soon as they see us together for a significant amount of time, they’ll loosen up on the Black Widow name-calling. I can make them see you for the real you.” I’m grasping for her to agree to this. I can make the media like her. I know it bothers her more than she lets on.
