by KG Fletcher
“My best friend was Big Daddy. No one could ever replace him.” His tone was soft and reminiscent making Katie feel bad.
“I’m sorry, Clay. We’re still getting to know each other. If I start to cross a line, please tell me.”
His warm smile made her heart melt. “You’re not crossing any lines.” He patted the space between them. “Come closer to me.”
She scooted across the cushions to where she was right next to him. They smiled at each other before he leaned toward the table and grabbed two cellophane-wrapped fortune cookies. Handing her one, they both ripped at the packages and cracked open the hard shell wrapped around the tiny piece of paper.
“You go first,” she insisted.
Clay cleared his throat and read from the slip of paper. “Where there is love, there is no darkness.”
“Wow, that’s beautiful.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m gonna hold onto this one. Now read yours,” he gestured with his head toward her cookie.
“Okay,” she held up the small slip of paper and squinted. “A thrilling time is in your immediate future.” A giggle escaped her mouth.
“Why is that so funny?”
Katie bit her lip and shook her head. “Stacey always reads her fortune cookies and then adds the phrase, ‘in bed.’”
“Really?” He seemed genuinely humored.
“Yeah. We always get a good laugh.”
“Okay. Let me try this again.” He held the paper up to read. “Where there is love, there is no darkness… in bed.”
They both chuckled, and she followed suit.
“My turn. A thrilling time is in your immediate future… in bed.” Biting her lip to keep from smiling, she turned to look at him with wide eyes. He raised his eyebrow and nodded slowly.
“A thrilling time in bed. I like the sound of that.”
“Me too.”
He stood and held his hand out. “Come with me…girlfriend.” Grinning, she placed her hand into her boyfriend’s and followed behind as he led her up the stairs toward the master bedroom.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I keep trying to get my girl here to come back to class, but she’d rather sit in front of her computer all day and night, working on her next promotion. If you haven’t noticed by now, work is Katie’s first love.”
Katie rolled her eyes as she sat across the table from her best friend and Stacey’s new-old boyfriend, Brent. Clay had his arm stretched out across the back of Katie’s chair and was slowly making circles with his thumb across her bare shoulder.
“I just don’t care for yoga, Stace. It’s not my first choice in exercise. You know that. And yes, I love my job. I like to work. Work is my exercise.”
“Oh, yeah,” she replied, laughing. “If you call walking down the hallway to get a cup of coffee at the office exercise!” It was apparent Stacey was tipsy from their pre-dinner drinks at the bar.
They were interrupted by a couple of waiters bringing out beautiful plates of food. The foursome had decided to experience their first double-date at the upscale steakhouse, Flemings. Even though Stacey was adamant about not eating red meat, the fine-dining establishment offered delectable seafood options, which made her happy.
Katie smiled as a waiter placed a petite-filet in front of her looking like a picture out of Bon-Appetit Magazine. Clay refilled her glass with the 2013 French Bordeaux he had chosen for the table, offering her a comforting smile.
“Thanks,” she said softly, looking over her shoulder demurely at him. His warm lips grazed the skin of her shoulder with a kiss.
Stacey went on and on about the truffle-poached lobster she had ordered, pausing to feed Brent a bite, his expression displaying pleasure before he dove back into his steak.
The food was delectable, the conversation flowing. Katie was surprised that Clay chimed in on more than one occasion, answering questions about the music business. Brent became wide-eyed and in awe, blown away when he realized that Clay had penned his all-time-favorite country song.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve listened to that song? I can’t believe that you’re the one that wrote it! Can you believe it, Stacey? Out of all the songwriters in the entire world, I’m sitting across from the one who wrote the best song of all time!”
Clay shook his head as if embarrassed by Brent’s enthusiastic outburst. “I’m happy you like it. It’s a special song about enjoying life to the fullest. Tim McGraw did a great job recording it.”
Brent’s face was animated as he lifted his amber beer bottle up into the air. “Cheers to Tim McGraw and Georgia Clay, man!”
The rest of the table followed suit clinking their glasses with Brent’s. “Cheers!” they said in unison. Katie was about to burst with pride.
“So, what’s next for you? You got any new songs coming out I should know about?”
“Yeah,” Stacey chimed in. “How often do you release a song? Is there any special time-table involved?”
Clay licked his lips after taking a sip of the expensive wine. “I never really know until a record label contacts my publisher. They usually give me a call to let me know one of my songs has been picked up by an artist for an upcoming album. It’s always a surprise.”
“God, that’s so cool,” Brent said, nodding.
“And why don’t you record your own songs?” Stacey asked making Katie suddenly bristle.
Clay averted his eyes, Katie realizing how much he hated the question people always asked him. It didn’t matter that he was one of the most successful songwriters in country music. People always wanted to know why he didn’t record his own songs and assumed he couldn’t sing.
“He does sing his own songs, Stacey. I saw him perform last weekend at the Bluebird. He’s incredible.” She squeezed his thigh under the white tablecloth making him smile slightly at her.
Clay cleared his throat before explaining. “Here’s the thing. I’m a writer first and foremost. I didn’t expect any of my songs to be huge hits. No one can anticipate something like that. When it does happen, it makes you re-think a lot of things. I’ve been in talks with a couple of labels over the years that want to put me on the road as a recording artist.”
“That’s huge! What’s stopping you?” Brent asked leaning in with intensity.
Clay looked down at his plate and shook his head. “It’s a big decision. I’m just taking my time.”
“Well, I say it’s time for dessert,” Katie interceded, changing the subject and rescuing her boyfriend. She knew how hard this decision was and wanted to protect him from the conversation.
“Mmmm, dessert! Something chocolate, for sure!” Stacey grabbed the small dessert menu and leaned into Brent, chatting about their choices.
Clay turned to Katie and whispered in her ear. “Thanks for stopping that runaway train for me.”
She nodded and felt his lips graze her earlobe, her heart surging with want. “I’ve always got your back. You know that,” she replied in a hushed tone, biting her lip as their eyes met. His face softened, and he nodded. When he purposefully kissed her on the mouth, she palmed his cheek and pulled him closer, their kiss intensifying, unaware that Stacey and Brent were watching the whole time.
“Isn’t that sweet,” Stacey muttered. “My best friend knows how to French kiss.”
***
Katie pulled in deep breaths, her bare bosom rising and falling with effort as she looked down at Clay, his naked body sprawled underneath her on the bed. His throbbing hardness was still inside her, the slickness of their bodies thick and warm. She grabbed her long hair and pulled it off her sweaty neck with both hands holding it on top of her head, arching her back. The soft light of her bedside lamp threw her shadow across the closet wall.
Clay ran his hands up and down her chest making her arch even more.
“God. You are so beautiful.”
She relaxed out of the stretch and let her hair fall over one shoulder. “Thank you.” Lacing her fingers with his, he continued to rub her bre
asts using her hands. They had both come undone and were relishing the aftermath of their intense orgasms, enjoying every intimate second.
Stacey and Brent had overstayed their welcome at Katie’s condo until way past one in the morning, playing several rounds of poker while consuming more wine and beer. When Stacey insisted they turn their game into strip poker, Katie knew it was time to call them an Uber ride home. She had selfishly wanted to come back after dinner out, alone with Clay, and was annoyed at her bestie for infringing on their precious time. As the front door clicked shut and was locked tight, she and Clay could barely get out of their clothes fast enough, leaving a trail of fabric in the front hallway up the stairs and into the master bedroom.
Clay pulled Katie forward, helping her lie next to him, his flaccid penis sliding out of her with ease. “That was incredible.”
“Yes, it was.” They were nose to nose. “Thanks for putting up with my friends. Stacey can get out of control when she’s had too much to drink.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t so sure about playing strip poker with them.” He lifted his arm above his head and gently ran his fingers through her hair at her temple. “I’d play strip poker if it was just you and me.”
She smiled. “Oh? I’d totally win.”
He chuckled and closed his eyes. “Yes, you probably would.”
Her eyelids were heavy, and her body felt limp as she relaxed from the continuous stroking of his fingers. “I don’t want tonight to end.”
“I know, baby. I’ll be right here in the morning.”
“Okay…”
They fell asleep sprawled on top of the sheets, their bodies glistening in the aftermath of their love-making.
*
Clay realized the best part of his day was waking up next to a sleeping Katie Parker. He loved to drink in her beauty and watch the innocent way she tucked both hands under her cheek, sleeping peacefully. The way her lips parted as little puffs of air came out in a steady stream. He could stare at her all day. When she stirred and opened her big doe eyes to look at him, his heart skipped a beat.
“Good morning, Pretty Girl.”
Her soft cheeks perked up with a lazy smile. “Good morning, Cowboy.”
He couldn’t get the recent conversation with his mama out of his head and decided now was as good a time as any to talk to her about it. “I wanna ask you something,” he whispered. “You don’t have to answer right away if you don’t want to.”
“Okay…” She furrowed her brow looking at him with intensity, trying to wake up. That was one of the things he liked best about her—the way she gave him her undivided attention.
“I think I’ll be able to make my big decision as long as you agree to something.”
“Me? What is it?”
Clay swallowed nervously and couldn’t help himself, reaching out and touching her bottom lip with his index finger. “I need you. I need you to be at the Ryman performance in September. If I can get through that, I think I can do this touring-artist thing.”
“Really?” She sat up quickly, wide-awake with excitement.
Clay had mulled over the pros and cons in his head for days. Over the past couple of years, he had to admit to himself, he thought about being a touring artist—a lot. Every single time he performed at the Bluebird his confidence level rose because of the reaction of his fans to his songs. He liked performing. He liked making people feel something. There were a handful of songs in his catalog that had been butchered by other artists over the years. It broke his heart and made him mad. He was the only person who could honestly play his songs the way they were meant to be; “Georgia” Clay Watkins himself. The hardest part was going to be debuting as an artist at the Ryman. The sentimentality of the place pierced his heart like a dagger. What if he broke down thinking about Big Daddy missing his moment in the spotlight in the very place that meant so much to him? What if he got so nervous he started stuttering like an idiot? Katie had a calming effect on him, no doubt. If he could look out and see her beautiful face on the most important night of his life, he knew he could get through anything.
“Clay, you don’t even have to ask. I’ll be there in September no matter what. Anything for you.”
He slowly sat up, relief sweeping over him like a gentle ocean wave coming ashore. “Well then…I guess I’ve made my decision.”
Katie bit her lower lip as if to suppress a smile. “I guess you have.”
They stared at each other for a beat before she threw her naked body into his arms and peppered his cheeks and neck with little kisses. “I’m so proud of you!” She muttered in his ear before clenching her arms around his neck. He gripped her tightly, not sure if he could ever let go.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Buddy Collins leaned back in his office chair, his boots propped up on the massive oak desk, looking over paperwork. His entire colorful office was a shrine to country music with wall-to-wall bookshelves crammed with memorabilia and framed pictures of the past two decades of himself with some of the most successful country celebrities of all time. The decorated walls looked like a virtual art gallery, displaying vintage posters advertising events at the Ryman and more photos of famous bluegrass, honky-tonk and contemporary country artists winning awards under the Warner Music label. Mounted on the walls were several largemouth bass and the giant head of a buck with impressive antlers in between some of the posters, a testament to his love of hunting and fishing. Clay couldn’t help himself and chuckled at the sight of his bigwig friend wearing reading glasses.
“Clay!” he startled, sitting up quickly and swiping the glasses off his face. “What a nice surprise. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Hey, Buddy. Sorry to interrupt.” He leaned over the large desk and firmly shook his hand. Clay sat in an expensive club chair across from Buddy and rested his booted ankle across his knee.
“What do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?” Buddy asked, picking up a white ceramic coffee mug and taking a sip. Clay could see the lettering on the cup and stifled another smile. The cup read, “The porch light’s on, but no one’s home.” A gift from one of his redneck hunting buddies, he supposed.
“I want to talk to you. Seriously.” He hesitated to know that Buddy would probably go out of his mind when he told him his decision. “I’m in.”
Buddy furrowed his bushy eyebrows and stared back at him with sharp eyes. “You’re in?”
Clay grinned and ran a hand through his hair, waiting for his comment to sink in. “Yeah. I’m in. The Ryman anniversary show, touring—everything your other artists do.”
The lights suddenly came on in Buddy’s eyes. “Oh! Fuck! You’re in!” He just about fell out of his chair as he struggled to stand. “Holy shit! This is great news!” The big man came from around his desk and pulled Clay to his feet, tackling him with a bear hug. “Oh, my god, Clay! This is the best news I’ve had in years! It’s not April Fool’s Day, is it? You don’t have a hidden camera in here trying to punk me or anything?” He looked around quickly.
Clay laughed. “No man, it’s true. I’m in.”
“Well, damn boy!” He squeezed his shoulder. “You certainly surprised me. This is cause for a celebration toast. Have a seat.” The big man went around the massive desk, opened a lower drawer, and pulled out a small bottle of bourbon and two shot glasses.
“Is that what I think it is?” Clay asked, eyeing the expensive bottle. He recognized the bourbon from a tasting he had been fortunate to be a part of at the Historic Hermitage Hotel a few years back with some of the label heads. He had a fondness for good whiskey and bourbon, instilled during those early days in Nashville. The bottle in Buddy’s hand was probably one of the best and most expensive bottles of bourbon in the entire state.
“Yes, it is. Jefferson’s eighteen-year-old Presidential Select. This baby only sees the light of day when something extraordinary happens. And believe me, this is it!” He poured the amber liquid into the small glasses and handed him one. “You know what they say? Nashville
is a drinkin’ town with a music problem.”
Clay nodded and laughed.
“Seriously. Cheers to the future of the talented Georgia Clay finally signing with Warner Music Nashville.”
“Cheers…” They clinked glasses and threw the shots back. Clay closed his eyes, allowing the woodiness of the drink to infiltrate his system. It was damn good. “Holy fuck, that’s smooth!”
Buddy smiled and nodded toward his glass, pouring him another shot. The two men sat back down and sipped.
“Here’s how it’s gonna go, Clay. Things will move pretty quickly. We’ll get a contract together and send it over to your lawyer. Once you’re cool with everything, we’ll get on the horn and get this tour set up fast. I’d like for you to be on the road for a special holiday excursion. You’ll need to go over your current catalog and figure out what lucky bastard you want to produce your first album and what songs—”
“I’ll have a say in that?” he interrupted.
“Yes, sir.”
Clay was flabbergasted. “I don’t get it, Buddy. Most new artists don’t have a say in anything with their first record or tour. Why are you giving me a choice? What’s the catch?”
Buddy set his glass down, interlocking his fingers on top of the desk and looked Clay in the eye. “There’s no catch. Do you not realize how big you already are in this business? You’re country music royalty! Of course, Warner Music is going to pull out all the stops to make sure our new prince is happy. You have a knack for hit songs, and you’re a talented son-of-a-bitch. We’re gonna make a ton of money together.”
“Wow.”
“Yes, wow! Now between studio time recording and working with your new tour manager getting your show put together, you’re gonna be a busy guy. First and foremost, we need to sit down and talk about the Ryman Anniversary show in September. You’ve got about six weeks. Each artist on the roll call is doing two songs. I want to showcase you last as a special finale welcoming you into the family, so I’ll need four songs from you.”
