by Lacey Black
There’s no end in sight, is there? I’m going to keep dreaming of the one man I shouldn’t want, but can’t seem to let go of. He’s embedded in me like sand. He’s there. Maybe not on the surface, but deep down and slowly working his way to the top.
After washing my hands and cleaning up in the bathroom, I settle in for what will probably be a very long, sleepless night.
Note to self: Never trust a redhead with a friendly smile and sparkling eyes.
“It’ll be fun, she said. Fun my ass. My legs burn in places that I didn’t even realize I had muscles. And don’t get me started on my ass,” I mumble as I chug more water in between practice runs of the song that I’ll be singing this week.
Beau’s face lights up with laughter at my discomfort before taking a long, perusing glance down to my butt. His eyes linger longer than I’d ever expect which makes me squirm that much more.
“I don’t see anything wrong with your ass,” he whispers with that half-smile that melts my defenses like butter in a frying pan.
“You can’t see my aching muscles,” I reply as I try to will the blush away.
“No, but I could massage them for you,” he offers with the gentle raise of that right eyebrow, causing it to disappear completely beneath his hat.
Tempting. Oh, so very tempting.
“Anyway,” I start as I clear my throat. “My point is that I will never trust Corie again. She said spinning class is great for beginners and that I’d love it. She lied. It was horrible and the only thing I loved was when he said it was a wrap.”
Beau laughs that deep, intoxicating laugh that makes me think of honey and sex, though not together. “Can’t say I’ve ever takin’ a spinnin’ class before. I’m more of a free weights kinda guy.”
Don’t I know it. I’ve had plenty of opportunities over the past two weeks to check out the way his plain t-shirt molds to his biceps and chest. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Beau Tanner takes excellent care of his body.
“So, who am I up against on Wednesday?” I ask.
Beau stares at me for several heartbeats before answering. “Troy.”
Shit.
“Troy? Are you serious?” I ask, my heart instantly dropping down to the toes of my black leather boots.
“Yeah, I’m serious. I know you’re friends with him, but ya need to think of the competition. This isn’t about friendship. Everyone here wants the half million and the record contract. You and Troy are no exclusion. Ya can’t both win it at the end, right?” he asks with a pointed look, even though his eyes fill with sympathy for my uncomfortable situation.
“I know. It just sucks that we have to go against each other. I had kinda hoped we’d both still be here til the very end.”
“And ya both could be. After each team picks their final three, then the coaches get to choose one contestant from the pool of cast-offs. Either one of ya will still have a chance.”
Even though I understand what he’s saying, doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Tomorrow we’re meeting at the main studio to do run-throughs of the performances. You’ll perform with the band and we’ll finalize any last minute tweaks to the music, if needed. Any questions?” Beau asks as he hands me my schedule for the next few days.
Practice tomorrow, ensemble fitting, stage walk-through, and dress rehearsal.
“Nope, I’m good.” I tell him as I grab my satchel.
“Don’t worry about who you’re going against,” Beau says as he walks up and stands directly in front of me. I can smell the musk and woodiness in his cologne and the clean scent of his detergent. It takes everything I have not to run my nose up his chest and lick his neck.
I shudder at the mental images I’ll be able to carry with me later tonight.
“Just give it your all like ya did with Shawna. You’ve got this. I have complete faith in ya,” he says with that grin.
“You say that to everyone,” I chastise.
Beau laughs before stepping into my personal space. The way my body responds to his invasion pretty much tells me he’s welcome to occupy said space anytime. “True. But I really mean it with you.”
I swallow hard and turn as the door opens. I barely even remember that a cameraman has been following me around for the past several days, documenting my every movement. I’ve become so accustomed to their voyeurism that I don’t even realize they’re there anymore.
“I’ll see ya tomorrow on stage.”
“You will. I’ll be the one with the killer black leather dress and thigh-high boots.”
Beau’s face becomes darker and intense. His lighter demeanor and carefree features are replaced by stormy desire and lust. A raging storm brews within those gray eyes as they fill with a look I haven’t seen in a man in forever. “I guess I have somethin’ to look forward to then,” he says in all seriousness.
“See you tomorrow,” I whisper as I turn tail and head quickly towards the exit. If I hadn’t witnessed the transformation first hand, I’d probably refute the thought that Beau responded to my description of tomorrow’s attire. But watching his cheekbones tighten and his eyes widen with need was as plain as the nose on my face. And it definitely isn’t something I’m going to forget anytime soon.
If ever.
*****
Note to self: Tuck your skirt in, Sally. You’ve got work to do.
I pace back and forth in that small green room. Tonight the room only contains half the bodies since the first half was thinned out last week. And after tonight’s live show, we’ll be down to even less.
Teams Beau and Sophia will go tonight, followed by Teams Felix and JoJo tomorrow night. At the very end of tomorrow night’s show, the four coaches will have one final pick from the exiting contestants to round out their team of four. Next week starts the eliminations by viewer votes.
I’ve been running through my song all day, which isn’t exactly a hardship when it’s one of your favorites. Plus, it has one of those melodies that get stuck in your head for days at a time. Troy was bummed when I told him Monday night about going head to head, but his response was more humbling than anything I’ve ever experienced.
He said, “If I have to be eliminated, I want it to be against you. Because then I know I was eliminated by the best.”
“You ready?” Ben asks, pulling me out of my melancholy moment.
“As I’ll ever be. It just sucks having to go against Troy, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. But that’s the nature of the beast. Eventually, we’ll all have to square off against each other. Even if it’s just in the next few rounds for votes.”
“True. I just wish it didn’t have to be this way tonight.”
“Well, if you lose, then you still have a great chance of getting picked up by another coach. And if you win, same goes for Troy.” Ben turns me so I’m squarely facing him. “Don’t worry about all that right now. Don’t think about who you’re up against or what Beau might think. Just go out there and sing. Give it everything you’ve got, and if at the end of it, Beau doesn’t pick you? Then, you go home with your head held high cause you gave it everything you had. You’ve got this tonight.”
“Thanks, Ben,” I tell him with a small smile as he pulls me in for a hug. It lasts several heartbeats longer than your typical friendship hug, which tells me that Ben’s feelings for me still haven’t gone anywhere. He continues to hold me tight in his warm embrace.
I wish I felt something for Ben. Even though he lives a couple of states away, he’s a great looking guy. He’s funny and sweet, and he seems to really like me. That alone seems like a major feat in itself because it’s been awhile since a guy has seemed interested in me. Not the bartender with a sliver of belly showing or the great voice, but the girl underneath all of that. The girl who guards her heart like Fort Knox, but loves fiercely when she finally lets you in.
Of course, it has been years since I’ve let anyone in. Not since Colton. And thinking about him is a trip down to Sadville that I don’t need
to take right now. Right now, I need to concentrate on singing.
I gently pull back and let Ben’s arms fall from around my back. The brief look on his face confirms that he’s saddened by my lack of interest, but in true Ben fashion, he smiles that sexy cowboy grin and turns back on the teasing charm.
“We’re on in about five minutes,” he says as he steers me towards the table of bottled water. “Drink up a little and let’s get ready to go.”
Ten minutes later, we’ll all standing with our designated teams waiting for the live show to begin. I’m standing next to Troy at the end of our group. I can’t help but tap my heel against the stage, dreading that moment when they fire up the lights. I’m still as nervous as a prostitute in church, but not nearly as terrified as I was last week.
I’ve got this.
*****
“Ready?” Beau’s deep southern timber draws me out of my meditation behind the stage. I’m next. Troy and I will walk onto the stage with Beau, who will proceed to his seat along side of the other coaches at the table, leaving Troy and I on stage to perform.
“Yes,” I tell him confidently.
“I wish I could take ya both to the next round, but I can’t. Do your best and have fun. That’s the most important part, right?” he asks with that half smile that I’ve come to love.
When we get the countdown, Troy and I are escorted to the entrance to the stage. On cue, we walk through the entrance and out into the blinding lights. The cheers of the audience naturally bring out a big smile as we both give waves to the masses.
We walk up to stand next to Becker at center stage. “Layne. Troy. Are you ready to square-off tonight?”
We both nod our heads in confirmation. “Then, let’s get this competition underway. Troy, you’re first.”
I stand back as Troy confidently holds his microphone and waits for the music to start. The band starts up the recognizable music, and I hold my breath waiting for Troy to start singing the incredibly popular lyrics of Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May.” It doesn’t take long before he’s singing and letting the music carry him. He’s confident and concentrating fiercely, all while performing outstandingly for the audience. And more importantly, for Beau. Beau’s expression isn’t giving anything away, though, even when Troy wraps up the song and receives huge applause from the crowd.
“Great job on a great song, Troy.” Becker asks a couple of questions to Troy before he turns his attention to me. “And now, Layne Carter.”
When the applause dies down and all of the lights are pointed at me like lasers, I patiently wait for the familiar melody. The guitar starts and the symbols chime. The faint beat of the drum beats low and firm as I let the music take over. Time to perform.
I stand still as I start that familiar first line of Heart’s “Crazy On You.”
“If we still have time, we might still get by…”
I move, I sing, I perform as if my life depends on it. And frankly, my life on this show does. I feel these lyrics, this melody straight to my core. I feel it deep down in my bones, my heart singing along with each word that comes from my mouth. That’s what singing does to me. My heart beats wildly in my chest and I feel the music so profoundly, it becomes me.
Before I know it, the song is done. The audience is going crazy just as I did a few moments ago in the song. The coaches all clap and offer smiles as I take a quick little bow. However, the one face that isn’t smiling is the one of my handsome coach. Beau.
Dread and a little bit of fear tingles all the way down to my toes. My smile falters as I try to compose the raging emotions that are trying to break free from my body. As much as I try to calm myself, the feeling that this is it takes root in my body and won’t let go. I know. He won’t pick me. He looks so intense, almost angry.
“Layne Carter, everyone,” Becker says. “Layne, how do you feel after your second week on Rising Star?”
“I feel great. I’m having an amazing time and have a great coach.”
“Now, if you are chosen in this round to advance, next week starts the viewer voting. How confident are you that you have what it takes to be the next Rising Star?”
“Well, I hope I have what it takes. I have my own struggles just like everyone else, so I am confident that I’ll give it my best. That’s all I can ask for.”
“Thank you, Layne. Troy. Layne. Are you ready to hear from your coach, Beau Tanner?” The crowd erupts into screams just from saying his name.
“Well, y’all did a great job this week. I knew that this was going to be a hard decision for me.” Troy reaches over and takes my hand within his. Comfort washes over me as I cling to this one last thread. Troy has become my friend. From day one, he was supportive. He’s funny and passionate. He’s a phenomenal singer and could easily be the next Rising Star.
“Troy, I knew you’d nail that song. Rod Stewart is an icon in this industry and your rendition of “Maggie May” was spot on. Layne, I realized that I needed a rock song to truly get ya comfortable on that stage, and you proved that ya belong here. Ya rocked it,” he says which surprises me since he looked so mad after I was done singing earlier.
Becker turns to Beau. “So, Beau, who are you taking to the next round? Layne or Troy?”
Beau stares hard at the ground in front of our feet. You can practically see him weighing the odds in his mind. I still have no idea which way he’s leaning as his face gives nothing away. I hope that he says my name, but I’m prepared from him to say Troy’s. And that’s okay.
“Tonight, I’m goin’ to pick…” he gazes from Troy to me and back again several times. “My heart is leadin’ me to pick Layne.”
The audience explodes in eardrum piercing cheers. Troy pulls me into his big arms and hugs me fiercely. I have no idea what to do or say because as happy as I am to move on to the next round, the thought of not having Troy beside me breaks my heart.
“Win this damn thing,” he whispers in my ear before placing a hard kiss on my forehead.
The rest of the show is a blur. I answer more questions on stage before I’m ushered back to the room with other contestants who are advancing. The others are whisked away to another room before tomorrow night’s final appeal to the coaches. They’ll have one last chance at becoming the next Rising Star. For everyone else, it’s a plane ticket home and empty dreams.
And for at least another week, I am safe.
Note to self: When they say the camera adds ten pounds, it’s a lie. It adds twenty.
“What the hell is going on with you and Beau?” Tiffany yells into the phone after I return to the hotel. It’s late. Damn late.
“Well, hello to you too, Tiff.”
“Don’t be cute. You. Beau. What’s the scoop?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell my boss slash friend. I plop down on my bed, stretching out as the tension and the excitement of the evening starts to ebb from my body.
“Uh, hello!? Are you for real? I saw how ablaze his eyes were when he watched you perform! You couldn’t miss it. The cameraman kept zooming in on him while you sang, and he was practically stripping you naked and eye-fucking you to Sunday!”
“Oh. My. God. Did you just say eye-fucking?”
“Yes. Don’t try to change the direction of this conversation. He was totally giving you the bedroom eyes while you were up there. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t just get pregnant tonight. And on National television, you hussy.”
“Tiff, get real. There’s no way…” I start before she completely cuts me off.
“So, then after the show was over, I went to the website they’ve been promoting as a way to catch up with the behind the scenes drama. Layne, that man wants you. Like wants to do dirty things to your body for days on end, wants you. I’m not even going to get upset at the fact that you didn’t call me the minute you left the studio after he was touching you. Okay, so maybe I’ll hold just a little tinge of annoyance, and probably a little bit of jealousy, but -”
“Wait.
What?”
“You heard me. Touching. You. Your face, your hair, your arm. It was all there on camera.”
Oh. My. God. On freaking camera? How could I have forgotten that our entire lives are being filmed as a big voyeurism behind the scenes campaign?! I know instantly what she’s talking about. It’s a moment I haven’t been able to erase from the forefront of my mind. It’s imbedded like a tattoo.
“And not just one time, Layne. I’m a little pissed that you haven’t told me about these moments you’ve shared with Mr. Hot Country Megastar before. By the way, did you know that he watches you when you’re studying your music?” she asks in a hushed tone as if harboring a huge secret.
“What?” I ask as all of the oxygen is sucked out of the room.
“Yeah. He watches you all the time. It’s actually really hot. It’s like watching the building sexual tension in a porno. Well, if pornos had building sexual tension. And a storyline. Pornos definitely don’t have a storyline. Unless you consider that cheese dialog where the guy comes into the office and finds his ‘secretary’ conveniently bent over his…”
“Tiff! Focus, please?”
“Oh. Right.”
“What am I going to do?” I ask.
“What do you mean? If you want to kiss him, just kiss him.”
“I can’t. Contractual obligations, yada yada yada. He could lose his coaching job with the network and be sued. I would be kicked off the show.”
“Oh. So, you let the sexual tension build and as soon as the show’s over, you find a hall closet and unleash the tension. I bet that man has a huge piece of sexual tension in those tight pants. Have you seen the size of his hands?”
I actually laugh at her matter-of-fact tone. To her, it’s just that simple. Get through the show, sneak off backstage and have a quickie in the first janitor’s closet we come across. Piece of cake.
“Listen, sweetie. Obviously it won’t be that easy. You both have commitments and obligations with the show. That doesn’t mean you can’t flirt, does it? Surely they don’t have a freaking flirting clause in that phonebook of a contract you signed, right?”
