by Lacey Black
Beau reaches over and grabs ahold of my left hand that’s resting on the couch. When he links our fingers together, I feel so much more than his hand. I feel something so shocking and direct, straight to the heart of me. My entire world is rocked on its foundation, but then righted again. Almost like he’s the balm to heal my ache. And it’s right here and now that I realize that I want Beau to help me. I want him to mend my broken heart and help piece back together the tattered pieces. I want him to kiss away any doubt and uncertainty. I want him to hold my hand and show me that love is worth another try, just like the lyrics state.
I don’t even realize that a tear has escaped until he reaches over and wipes it away. I’m lost in a sea of steel gray eyes with more tenderness and softness in them that I’ve ever known. So much goes unsaid in this moment, yet I can see his feelings reflected in his eyes.
Our private moment is broken when movement catches my attention. The camera zooms in as close as possible, I’m sure, as the cameraman films our exchange. As if sensing my immediate uneasiness, Beau lets go of my hand, removes the ear bud, and stands up. He gives me his trademark cocky smile before slipping over to his band mates for the remaining few minutes before they go on stage.
What the hell was that? I have no clue. I do know that Beau knows the words to one of my all-time favorite songs–a rock song. And not even a popular one, at that. Beau definitely keeps me guessing. Just when I think I have him all figured out, he goes and does something like this. Knows my song and holds my hand through my favorite part. If this man isn’t perfect for me, then I don’t know who is. But then again, skepticism steps in, and I can’t help but wonder when the proverbial shoe is going to drop.
While Beau starts the show, I’m led to a dressing room in the backstage area where I find a short black dress with a big silver belt and black cowboy boots. The detail in the boots is exquisite. Silver and hot pink stitching in the form of angel wings on the sides. The entire ensemble puts a smile on my face as I realize that I’m about to wear my first pair of cowboy boots. On stage. With Beau.
A woman quickly styles my hair so that it’s pulled back and away from my face while still leaving it down with big curls. My eyes have that smoky, sultry look and are a tad darker than I would have liked. She assured me that they always go darker for the lighting.
I watch most of the concert from the side of the stage. Beau is electric when he performs, guitar in hand, as he works the stage. I can see why all the girls ages two through ninety-two love him. He’s drop dead gorgeous with a southern drawl that I never knew was so damn sexy, and he has moves that are all that and a bag of chips.
Suddenly, my time is upon us. Beau talks to the crowd for a few moments, getting them all riled up before his band starts the now familiar melody. The song is slow and packed with meaning. The whole thing screams sexual tension. While I wait for my cue to step out on stage, Beau starts to sing.
“From that first moment, I knew there was somethin’
Somethin’ bout you that speaks to me so true.
Every moment with you makes me alive,
Every beat of my heart for only you.
Your skin against my skin, your lips against my lips,
Your touch is my undoin’, I crave you underneath my fingertips.
Stay with me tonight, Stay with me tomorrow.
Stay with me forever, until the end of time.
Just stay with me
Stay with me.”
And that’s my cue to step out onto the stage. The lights are blindingly hot and remind me of the ones on the show. The crowd is there, yelling and cheering, yet I don’t see them. I only see the man in front of me at the front of the stage. I bring the microphone up to my mouth as I reply to his words.
I’ve been hurt so many times before,
And I’m afraid to move too fast.
Letting go is never easy,
But when I’m with you I forget the past.
You make the fear disappear and my smile feel brand new,
I want your arms wrapped around me, a touch from only you.
Stay with me tonight, Stay with me tomorrow.
Stay with me forever, until the end of time.
Just stay with me
Stay with me.”
We sing together, our eyes locked in the middle of that stage, as if no one else in the world exists. This song feels eerily familiar, yet the words are so new. Beau touches my face as he sings; the intimate gesture that he warned me was coming. Even with thousands of fans watching, along with a camera crew documenting this entire experience, I don’t mind. His hand on me feels right. Just like the words I sing.
“It’s you and me against the world,
But it doesn’t matter as long as you stay.
Right by my side, just stay beside me.
Stay with me.
Yeah, stay with me.”
Before I know it, my time on stage is done. The song is over, yet I can’t seem to walk away. Our eyes are locked as I register the screaming fans surrounding us. My breath catches in my throat, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. The look in his eyes is fierce and primal. I lick my lips in anticipation, but the moment is severed when the band starts the intro for the next song.
“Ladies and gentleman, Layne Carter,” Beau says into the microphone without taking his eyes off of me.
And just like that, with the super-human strength I didn’t even know I possessed, I walk away.
*****
“You’re already checked in. Here’s your room key,” Andrew says as he escorts me into the hotel in downtown Denver.
“Thank you,” I reply as I wheel my overnight bag towards the elevator.
“If you need anything, just buzz the front desk. A car will be here at ten in the morning to take you and Beau to the airport for your flight back to LA.”
The elevator deposits me on the top floor of the posh hotel. Inside, the suite is massive. It’s quite probably twice the size as the suite I stayed in with my mom and son while they were in LA. This one has a full kitchen, an office, a massive sitting room with more gadgets than an electronics store, and two huge bedrooms. Two bedrooms? Why in the world am I staying in such as large suite? It’s the kind of suite that’s reserved for presidents and millionaires. Not bartenders with musical aspirations.
Just as I get ready to phone the front desk, the door opens. The sight before me steals my breath and unravels every brain cell I possess. Beau walks in. When our eyes meet–mine filled with shock, I’m sure–he gives me a small smile.
“You’re here?”
“I am,” he says as he drops his duffle bag on the floor at his feet. “But just so you know, Ben and I shared a suite last night, too. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done to not punch him in the face every time he opened his mouth.”
“He’s not so bad, you know. If you got to know him, you’d probably like him a bit,” I say, feeling the need to defend one of my friends. Even if that friend likes to cross the line a little.
“He had his hands and his lips on you. I hate his fucking guts,” Beau replies seriously.
Well, then…
“Which room is mine?” I ask, steering the conversation towards a safer topic. Sleep. Yet, something feels so intimate about that too.
“Either one. I’ll take the small one if ya’d like,” he says and starts to walk towards the door behind me.
“No, I’ll take that one. You’re the star here, not me.”
Beau stops directly in front of me. His eyes search my face before he replies, “There is no star here tonight. Just a man and a woman. Sharing a hotel suite.”
The underlying meaning slams into me with so much force, it almost knocks me on my ass. Tonight, Beau and I are sharing a hotel suite. Albeit different rooms, but we’ll be sleeping in close proximity. His head resting on his pillow mere rooms away. His body wearing nothing but a sheet or maybe a pair of silk boxers. Yeah, there’ll be no sleeping tonight.
“Go get rea
dy for bed and then come back out and we’ll discuss the show,” he says as he heads towards the smaller of the two rooms which is still twice the size of my bedroom back at home in Chicago.
I’m left alone in the main seating area so I quickly gather up my luggage and head into the master suite. Gasping when I step inside the room, I didn’t even know they made beds that big. What’s bigger than a king size bed? The bedspread is white and satin with huge, fluffy, luxurious pillows. There’s a beautifully delicate dresser and a matching wardrobe along the back wall, but the best feature is definitely the massive French doors that lead to a private deck. When I slide open the door, I’m shocked to find a hot tub, cover off and lights shining as if it’s ready to go.
Okay, I’m definitely using that before bed.
As I run my fingers through the water, I’m startled when I hear Beau’s boots behind me. “There’s another door,” he says, pointing to the doorway that leads to the sitting area with his hand holding a tumbler of something dark.
“Oh,” I reply. It’s all I’ve got.
“Why don’t you get in?” he asks before taking a sip of the amber liquid.
“I didn’t bring a suit,” I tell him.
“Who said anything ‘bout a suit?” he asks, that dark eyebrow disappearing underneath the brim of his hat.
Tingles of anticipation skitter through my body. I’ve never been skinny dipping, and the thought both excites and terrifies me. Do I want to take this step with Beau? The line is drawn in the sand, and I fear that once I step over it, I’ll never be able to turn back. Can I risk my entire future, a recording contract with a major record label, for Beau? It doesn’t even take me a nanosecond to know without a doubt that the answer is yes. I was fine before the show without a recording contract, and I’ll be fine afterwards without one as well.
I kick off the tennis shoes that I chose to wear for travel. They’re comfy and familiar, and make it easy to maneuver in a crowded airport. Beau’s eyes darken even more, if that’s even possible. I don’t say a word as I grab the hem of my sweatshirt and pull it up and over my head. The cooler night air kisses my already heated body, resulting in immediate goose bumps. I stand before Beau wearing a blue lace bra and my jeans, arching my eyebrow at him as in challenge.
Beau answers immediately by removing his Stetson. He throws it down on the chaise lounge and bends down to remove his boots. When he pulls his tucked shirt out of the top of his jeans, my entire body ignites with awareness. We’re really about to do this.
Standing before me, bare-chested with that tattoo on full display, Beau waits for me to make my next move. I reach down and unsnap my jeans. I slowly–seductively–shimmy out of the tight material until they’re piled around my feet. I rip off my socks next, leaving me standing before him in a blue lace bra and matching boy cut panties.
Beau’s eyes flare with passion as he drinks me in. They roam over me several times as if committing to memory every curve, every stitch of fabric. My heart rate beats so fast in my chest that I’m sure he can see it from his position in front of me.
I watch, helplessly, as Beau reaches down and unsnaps the button on his worn Wranglers. My mouth goes dry as he slowly lowers the zipper and starts to push them down his strong legs. Dark hair sprinkles his powerful thighs, extending down his well-defined calves.
Here it is. This is the moment we both decide if we’re going to cross the line.
I can head back to my room, pull the covers up to my chin, and try to forget about everything. We can go back to being coach and student. No lines have been crossed, and no contracts have been broken.
Or I can forget the show, forget everything, and just be. Be with the man I’ve wanted since I first laid eyes on him. Be with the man who wants me so fiercely in return that he’s willing to risk everything–his reputation, his contractual obligations–for me.
Do I stay or do I go?
Readers,
If you were in Layne’s shoes, what would you do? Would you risk everything for the one person that makes you feel alive and wanted? Or would you choose the safe route to ensure that your dreams can come true?
You decide.
Choose which way the story ends.
If you want to see Layne walk away and finish the show she was so destined to perform on, then choose The Safe Door.
If you think Layne should follow her heart and choose Beau, then choose The Dangerous Door.
And maybe when you’ve read your first choice, go back and read the other too. You can’t go wrong with either ending!
Beau stands before me wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs molded to his powerful thighs and lean waist. He’s beautiful. The man is pure sex, and I long to wrap my body around him and purr like a cat. Beau steps closer until I can feel the heat of his body through the Colorado chill. His need is evident if you take into consideration the massive Boy Scout approved tent pitched on the front of his undies, but I can also see it in his eyes. Unfortunately, that’s not all I see. There’s hesitancy mixed with desire. Indecision. Uncertainty because of contracts, television producers, cameras, and imaginary lines in the sand. Even though he wants me–as much as I want him, I’m sure–he knows that by crossing this line, we are letting them win. Letting the headlines proclaiming us a couple, the gossips like Shawna Reece running their mouths and spreading rumors, they all become the victors in this game if we succumb to our desires and let go.
I know it. And Beau knows it.
“Layne?” he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire and claim. “I want you so bad. I want to be with you more than I want my next fuckin’ breath, but I can’t. I can’t strip this away from ya. You are doing this show for your son, to give him a better life. If we sleep together, then I ruin that for the both of ya.”
“Beau, if we sleep together, it would be a mutual decision. I would be a part of the destructive end results as much as you would. That decision wouldn’t solely be on you,” I tell him as he steps forward again, encompassing my nearly naked body in the warmth of his arms. Suddenly I feel more exposed than ever before, and I’m not talking about my lack of clothing.
The night is silent as I wrap my arms around his chest. He smells clean and woodsy from his earlier post-show shower and his warm breath feathers lightly across my forehead. His embrace is fierce and consuming, his skin against mine hot, as if he’s trying to hold on to some relevance of control by holding me tightly. God, what I wouldn’t give to strip the remainder of clothes away and have my wicked way with him, but I know he’s right.
We shouldn’t.
“I think you’re right. We need to stay focused on the last two weeks of the show. Then, we’ll see what happens.”
Beau’s light southern chuckle sends little flutters of butterflies soaring in my stomach. “Oh, don’t take my hesitancy as anything noble, darlin’. As soon as they sign off-air on the final show, I’m carryin’ ya off the stage and into the first storage closet I can find. I plan to show ya just how bad I want you,” he whispers in the night. The decisiveness of his words and the hard erection in his underwear both fortify his statement as certainty and genuine.
Beau’s kiss consumes me, pulling me under the water. But I don’t fear the drowning or suffocation. As long as Beau is the one sinking under with me, I know I’ll be okay.
After the world’s most delicious kiss that takes me higher than the clouds above the Colorado mountains, Beau pulls back ever so slightly and gazes down into my eyes. The hunger is still very much there, but he manages to reel it in. “Over and over and over again. We may be in that storage closet for days,” he adds with that cocky half grin I’ve come to adore. “Come on. I want to snuggle up with ya, but I can’t risk takin’ this into one of the bedrooms. I’m only human, and the very male part of me is already protestin’.”
Leading me towards an oversized chaise lounge on the deck, Beau indicates for me to take a seat. I watch as he slips inside and returns moments later wearing a pair of loose sweatpants and
a faded t-shirt and carrying another shirt and a big, fuzzy blanket. He slips the large, worn t-shirt over my head before slipping behind me on the chaise, pulling my body snuggly into the apex of his legs and covering us both with warmth. The combination of his body heat and the blanket keeps the cooler night at bay.
There’s something almost magical about the moment. The cool breeze, the stars twinkling brightly through the calm night sky, and Beau’s body wrapped around mine like a fine mink shawl. He continually runs his rough hand up the outside of my thigh and back down to my knee, while the other hand is enveloped around mine. His kisses and the power of his words still consume my thoughts and dominate my desires.
But it’s Beau’s steady heartbeat that slowly lulls me into the best night of sleep ever.
Note to self: Cross Brazilian wax off the list. Cross it off with black permanent marker.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight on Rising Star, you’re going to hear an individual performance from each of our remaining four contestants, as well as a duet with their coach. When we open the voting lines at the end of the show, it’s up to you to determine who moves on to the final round next week. Will it be Ben, Jamal, Shawna, or Layne who is crowned the next Rising Star? Your votes will help determine their fate. We’ll get to our first performance of the night after this…” The camera pans to cover the four of us, front and center, on stage. My nerves have kicked into high gear, and listening to Becker state so matter-of-factly that for one contestant, the road ends this week isn’t helping.
While the show takes the necessary commercial break, the four of us slip backstage to prepare for our individual performances. I’m wearing a black dress with an intricate silver design weaved through it, representing the spider webs that I’ll be singing about this evening. Before the show’s prep work, I visited a salon and indulged in a little personal primping. While I was plucked, waxed, massaged, and exfoliated by a team of foreign women, I was able to relax and enjoy a bit of calm before the storm. Well, that was until they whipped out the wax. Apparently, a Brazilian wax isn’t what I thought it was. Leaving practically no hair and barely any skin in the nether region, I left the salon sore and slightly sticky from wax residue. Did you know Brazilian waxes are the equivalent of modern day torture devices?
