Sidecar Crush (Bootleg Springs Book 2)

by Claire Kingsley

  She cast me a sidelong glance. “Yeah, but half the town has been watching the show. They all saw that episode.”

  “I reckon it’s more than half,” I said. “But trust me on this, darlin’, Bootleg ain’t that gullible.”

  I pulled up to Scarlett’s house and parked among the rest of the cars and trucks. Music played, and someone had built a mighty impressive bonfire. Dev stood next to it with Scarlett in his arms, her head resting against his chest. All the regulars were here. My brothers, including Jonah. Cassidy and June. There was Nash, and Buck, and Opal Bodine, and a dozen or more other Bootleggers, clutching beers or plastic cups. Talking, dancing, laughing. Just another Bootleg summer night.

  Scarlett spotted us as we approached the crowd, her face lighting up. I winked, and she grinned back at me.

  “Hey, y’all,” she said, her voice carrying above the music, “look who’s here.”

  Leah Mae froze in her tracks.

  I put my hand on the small of her back and leaned close to speak quietly in her ear. “It’s all right, darlin’.”

  “Hey, there!” came the shouts from the crowd. People raised their cups and bottles to us.

  “I got something for all y’all,” Scarlett said. “Just hang tight.”

  Scarlett went inside while I nudged Leah Mae toward the fire. She kept close to me and it was all I could do to keep from putting my arm around her shoulders.

  “Cut the music for a minute,” Scarlett said, emerging from her door with Devlin just behind. The music quieted. She and Dev had trays with shot glasses lined up in neat rows, each topped with a dollop of whipped cream. “We all know what that piece of crap show did to Leah Mae here. So, to show that we stand in solidarity with our Bootleg sister, we’ve got blow jobs for everyone. Shots, that is!”

  The crowd cheered, the noise erupting into the night. Leah Mae laughed and the sound of it was like music.

  Scarlett brought the tray to her with a smile. “You first, Miss Larkin.”

  Leah Mae took one of the shots and held it up, casting a quick glance at me. Her green eyes shone in the firelight.

  “Bottoms up,” she said, and brought the shot glass to her lips. Tilting her head back, she swallowed the shot, then raised the empty glass above her head.

  Everyone cheered again, whooping and hollering. Leah Mae laughed as she put the glass back on the tray. She had some whipped cream on her lip and god, how I wished I could lick it off.

  Damn it. I had to stop thinking like that.

  “You’re next, Jameson,” Scarlett said.

  I took a shot and people gathered around to get theirs. When the trays were empty, we all held them up. I wasn’t one to speak up like this on most occasions, but this was different.

  “To Leah Mae,” I said, lifting my glass.

  “Leah Mae!” everyone replied.

  We all tossed back our shots. Leah Mae watched me with a smile on her face. I put the glass down and licked my lips. That whipped cream got everywhere. She still had a little bit of it on the corner of her mouth. Knowing I probably shouldn’t, I reached over and rubbed her lip with my thumb to get the last of it.

  She bit her lip and touched her mouth with her fingers. “Thanks. You, um… you have a little bit here.” And then it was her thumb sliding across my lip. That little touch made my heart race and a rush of heat hit my groin.

  The music started again, and Jonah handed us each a beer. A few couples started to dance, and someone called for another blow job, earning laughs from the people standing nearby.

  Cassidy and Scarlett pulled Leah Mae over to the other side of the fire. Talking girl stuff, I reckoned. I hung back and sipped my brew. Watching.

  A new song came on and I cringed. It was Brock Winston. I could tell by the look on Leah Mae’s face that she’d noticed. After the first few lines, the rest of the party seemed to realize who it was, too. A chorus of boos rose up, drowning out the music. Leah Mae laughed again and met my eyes. I gave her a little wink.

  By the time the boos stopped, someone had changed the song. Gibson sat near the fire and strummed along on his guitar. Bowie sat near Gibs, staring across the way at Cassidy Tucker. As usual. I shook my head, but I wasn’t one to criticize. I was the one stupidly falling for a girl who could never be anything but a friend.

  Figured. I’d kinda wondered if I was too broken to love someone. Maybe I’d done such a good job keeping people out, I’d never left a space to let someone in. Too bad the first time I thought it might be worth the risk, the girl belonged to someone else.

  I watched her over by the fire, a beer in her hand. The light of the flames reflected off her smooth skin. Flickered in her eyes. She smiled, and my chest felt like it might collapse in on itself. She was just so damn beautiful. It wasn’t fair. I’d never had a chance with her—not really—so I shouldn’t go beating myself up over not being the one who got to be with her. But staring at her across the way, watching the firelight dance in her eyes, made my soul ache something fierce.

  It made me wonder, if I ever did have a chance with her, would I take it? If she told me tomorrow that her engagement was over, the ring was gone, and she was staying in Bootleg, what would I do? Would I step up and take the risk? Tell her how I felt?

  I wanted to think I would. That I’d be man enough. But years of hearing my dad tell me I was too sensitive, too soft, too scared, had taken their toll. I’d retreated inside myself, and tried pretty damn hard to stay out of everyone’s way. Be invisible. My art was the only place where the real me showed true. I reckoned that was one reason I hadn’t turned out like Gibs—angry at the world. I had a good outlet. But it hadn’t made me any better with women than he was—not really, at least.

  Scarlett appeared at my side and nudged me with her elbow. “How you doing, Jame?”

  “All right,” I said. “Thanks for this.”

  “Sure,” she said. “It was fun. I hope she got the message.”

  “I think she did. Loud and clear.”

  “You know, you should just go for it.”

  “Go for what?” I asked.

  “It,” she said, emphasizing the word, “with Leah Mae. Lord knows you like her, and she obviously likes you back.”

  I took a swig of my beer and glanced at Leah Mae again. Thought about denying how I felt. There wasn’t much point in it, though. Just like there wasn’t much point in having a crush on a girl I couldn’t have. Didn’t matter that she was here, in Bootleg Springs, standing by my sister’s bonfire. She might as well have still been off in L.A. Didn’t change the facts.

  “Can’t,” I said.

  “Come on,” Scarlett said. “Yes, you can.”

  I hated saying it out loud—made the ache in my chest hurt worse. “She has a ring on her finger, Scarlett. And it ain’t mine.”

  Suddenly, I didn’t much want to be here. I wasn’t going to leave Leah Mae, but I didn’t want to keep talking to my sister, either. I took my beer and walked down by the water, putting distance between myself and the crowd. Felt better that way. Safer. Where no one could see the hurt that lived inside me. Where I could be alone for a spell, and just feel what I had to feel.

  There was nothing else for it. Leah Mae couldn’t ever be mine.

  14

  Leah Mae

  The Lookout wasn’t crowded. It was early evening, and a Wednesday. A few barflies held down stools at the bar, and a handful of people were playing pool. But other than that, it was fairly quiet.

  I wasn’t here to drink, necessarily, so I ordered a club soda with lime and chose a table. Scarlett had texted me earlier, asking if I’d like to meet her. I was grateful for the invitation. Not just for the excuse to get out, but because it felt good to be included. Like I was connected to more than just my dad here in Bootleg Springs.

  The next episode of Roughing It had aired, and it had been worse than the last. I hadn’t watched, but a glance at the celebrity gossip columns told me everything I needed to know. The producers had edited the footage
to make it look like Brock and I had hooked up again. In a bed this time.

  To make matters worse, Brock and Maisie had broken their social media silence. Brock had issued a public apology to Maisie, and she’d been posting things like relationships are hard work, and true love wins over adversity.

  Brock’s apology was vague, not confirming he’d cheated with me, but not denying it either. It was ridiculous, but I knew he was trying to stay within the terms of his contract. He wanted to get paid. We were paid a portion at signing, and more at the conclusion of filming. The rest of our earnings were being held in the form of a bonus that we wouldn’t get until after the last episode. It was how the producers ensured our good behavior while the show aired.

  I hadn’t said anything about Brock on social media. It wasn’t about the money. At this point, I’d have been happy to give up my earnings from the show to get my reputation back. But I didn’t think it would help. It would just give the public more content to gossip over. And if I broke my contract with this studio, I ran the risk of being blacklisted all over Hollywood. My career might be able to survive some bad press. That was all on the surface. But it wouldn’t survive a blacklisting.

  I took a sip of my club soda, the bite of carbonation tickling my tongue. Maybe I should have ordered something stronger. I kept hoping that if I laid low for a while, people would tire of the story and move on. I just had to get through the summer, and the show would be over.

  Being in Bootleg made that easier. I wasn’t exactly hiding, but I wasn’t making it known I was here, either. And the town seemed to realize I needed the safety of semi-secrecy. I always ran the risk of nosy tourists recognizing me and taking my picture, and I’d taken to wearing a hat and sunglasses when I went out. But I felt protected here.

  The door opened, letting in a rush of fresh air. I glanced over, but it was a young couple I didn’t know—not Scarlett. I smiled down at my drink, thinking of her bonfire last week. I’d been so apprehensive about going out, but all that anxiety had melted away with those blow job shots. Jameson and Scarlett had turned the whole thing into a joke, and it was clear they—and Bootleg—were on my side.

  I’d had a great time with Scarlett and Cassidy that night. Jameson, too, although he’d been quiet. But I liked his reserved nature—always had. I felt comfortable around him in a way I didn’t with many other people.

  When he’d taken me back to my cabin, late that night, I’d caught something in his eyes. I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it, but he’d looked sad.

  Since then, I’d been spending time with my dad, helping him out around the house. Thankfully, he was starting to get better. According to Doc Trevor, he’d be off oxygen soon.

  My mom had called yesterday and at first, she’d pushed for me to come stay with her in Jacksonville. I knew she was worried about me, but I’d assured her I was fine here in Bootleg. It had been a relief to hear she and Stan weren’t watching the show. She was livid over how I was being portrayed, and refused to watch.

  I sighed and took another sip. I felt stupid for having agreed to the show in the first place. At the time, Kelvin’s insistence that it was a great opportunity had seemed to make sense. But even if the show hadn’t created this stupid scandal, I didn’t see how it would have led to any real acting gigs. How many reality TV stars wound up with long-term careers? There were probably a few. The rest either did more reality TV shows in an attempt to stay in the limelight, or faded into obscurity.

  The truth was, I’d gone along with it because I’d wanted it to be a good opportunity. Not because I’d believed it was. Deep down, I’d known. But I’d been so worried that with my modeling jobs becoming fewer and further between, and no acting gigs materializing, I’d wind up out of work. Then what would I do?

  It was something I was still pondering, and the questions were bigger than I really wanted to admit. Why had I wanted this so badly? I’d wanted to be famous for as long as I could remember, but why? What good was fame? Being on the brink of fame as a model for so long had been fun at times. There had been a thrill to seeing my face on advertisements, and even on a few magazine covers.

  But did that momentary thrill outweigh the long hours, travel, and constant scrutiny and criticism? I hadn’t felt like I was in charge of my own body since I was seventeen. I had to be careful about what I ate. Couldn’t gain weight. Couldn’t change my hair. My life was dictated by the brands and designers who hired me. I was hardly a person to them—just a face and body they could use to sell their products. Replaceable. Disposable.

  But I’d never done anything else. What else was I qualified for? I knew how to walk a runway. How to pose. How to make myself into what the client wanted me to be. Those kinds of skills didn’t exactly translate into other industries.

  My phone binged with a text, so I pulled it out to check, thinking it must be Scarlett. But it was Kelvin.

  Kelvin: Sending a contract. Need signature ASAP.

  Me: What contract?

  Kelvin: New show.

  He meant the so-called reverse harem dating show. He’d been acting as if agreeing to the show was a foregone conclusion, even though I’d told him no every time he brought it up. He wasn’t listening to me.

  But did he ever? He always said he cared about my career, but was that true? It had seemed like it, when things had been going well. When he’d come to me with offers from high-end designers, and we’d celebrated with champagne. When I’d made the cover of Vogue a few years ago, and it had seemed like there was nowhere to go but up. I’d felt like I never would have made it that far without him.

  But had he ever cared about my integrity? He certainly didn’t now. With the prestigious jobs drying up like spilled water in the desert, he seemed to have no qualms about selling me to the highest bidder, no matter what they were asking me to do.

  Deep down, I knew the truth. He’d always seen me as a commodity. When the buyers had been well-respected designers and famous photographers, it hadn’t felt like anything was wrong. I’d wanted those jobs. But now Kelvin was willing to auction me off to anyone who’d pay for me. He saw no issue with putting me on yet another trashy reality show—and a dating show at that. I’d felt uncomfortable with keeping our engagement secret before Roughing It, but this would require straight up lies. I’d have to pose as single and pretend to want this six-men-to-one-woman scenario.

  The strange thing was, looking at his text on my phone, I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t angry, or even hurt. I was just done. I’d been mistaking dependence for love and affection, and I felt like the world’s biggest idiot for making such a colossal mistake.

  The words went through my mind. Kelvin, it’s over. I felt nothing. No rush of panic. No sense of regret or heartbreak. I didn’t know what it would mean for my career, and that did send a little jolt of worry through me. But imagining my life without him in it, I felt lighter. In that moment, I knew exactly what I had to do, no matter what it would cost me professionally.

  I tapped his number, hit call, and walked outside.

  “Did you get the contract?” he asked. No hello, or I miss you, Leah. Just straight to business.

  “I haven’t checked, but I’m not going to sign it,” I said. “I’m not doing the show. And we need to talk.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re making this difficult.”

  “Can we move on from the show?” I asked. “I have bigger things to talk to you about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like us.” I paused, glancing at the ring on my finger. The ring that had been nothing but an afterthought. “Kelvin, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future—about what I want and what’s best for me. And I don’t think we should get married.”

  “That’s what you’re so worried about?” he asked. “Babe, that’s fine.”

  “What?”

  “I figured you needed the whole marriage thing, but if you don’t, that’s great. Marriage is bullshit anyway. This is good. We’ll keep things simple.”

&nbs
p; “No, I don’t mean we should stay together and just never get married,” I said. “I don’t think we should be together at all.”

  He went silent for a few seconds. “Leah, you need to think very carefully about what you’re saying right now.”

  Scarlett, Cassidy, and June approached, so I held up a finger to say I’d be right there and moved farther away from the door. They smiled at me, nodding that they understood, and went inside.

  “I have thought about it,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked, his voice clipped.

  I hesitated, taking a deep breath, the fresh country air filling my lungs. “Because I don’t think we’re in love. Maybe you’re attracted to me, but that’s not the same thing. And neither is feeling like I belong to you because you’ve been managing my career for so long. That’s not love.”

  “Why do you think I work so hard for you?” he asked.

  “Is it because you love me? You have a lot of clients, and you work hard for them, too. That’s your business.”

  “Leah, you’re just going through a tough spot. I know all the publicity you’re getting is hard on you. But this is a good experience. It’ll toughen you up. What’s going on right now is temporary. You can’t make irrevocable decisions during a time like this.”

  “This isn’t about the publicity or the gossip,” I said. “This is about our relationship. I’m not coming back to L.A. to be with you, and I’m definitely not marrying you.”

  “You’re just going to throw away your career?”

  “Oh my god, are you listening?” I asked. “I’m not talking about my career, I’m talking about us.”

  “Those aren’t separate things, Leah. I’m not about to continue representing a woman who leaves me. Especially if she leaves me to be a fucking backwoods hick.”

  I knew he’d do this, but it still stung that he’d stoop to holding my career hostage. I decided to ignore the ‘backwoods hick’ remark. He wasn’t going to get me riled up over that. “Then I guess I’m leaving your agency.”