Rocking the Cowboy
Page 18
Remy smiled at the rest of the crowd. A lot of them had already started partying. And the party would continue at the casinos and giant hotels all night long. But right now, all that mattered was this show and this stage. And Remy was fucking front and center.
Remy mugged a second for the camera, flashing a grin. He’d earned this, and it felt good. Nobody had told him what to write, record, and produce. He had a manager and financial planner and all that jazz, but Remy no longer let them make his decisions. Buddy’s tour of Nicky cost millions and resulted in mediocre sales and no awards. It had led to their public fight and separation. In comparison, Remy’s songs were written in a studio outside a barn. But Remy’s music had been real, not manufactured. It had been a coming together of musicians looking only to make some honest music. And here was his reward for it.
He waved at the audience easily, a light feeling in his heart. He didn’t miss the touring at all, but he still loved having people hear his music.
Remy began to stroke the guitar. He gazed right into the camera and said simply, “This song is for Jed.”
MUCH later, Remy made it back to the hotel room.
He found Jed awake, sitting in the middle of the rumpled blankets, the television on low. He pointed to Remy’s bag. “Do you have some freebies from the Grammy’s?”
“Not quite. Although I got those too.”
Remy took out his supplies—and endless amounts of tissues, teas, cough medicine, and cough drops.
“What? You stopped at a drugstore on your way back to the hotel? Dressed like that?”
“It gave the clerk a thrill.” Remy grinned.
Jed laughed. “I bet.”
“Now I’ll microwave some tea. It says it’s good for scratchy throats.”
“Terrific. It probably tastes like shit.”
“But shit that helps a scratchy throat,” Remy said cheerfully, then dodged as Jed threw a tissue box at him.
It felt good to take care of Jed, to fuss over him, smoothing his tufted hair, making sure he drank some of the tea, which did smell less than appetizing, and took some of his cold medicine.
“I can’t believe you ducked out to sit here and watch me blow my damn nose,” Jed grumbled. “You should still be at the ceremony.”
“They’ve taken my picture, and I’ve done the big red-carpet posing, so my fans can still drool all about my gorgeousness via the internet. The rest is boring Grammy business; none of that matters to me.”
“Liar.”
Remy shrugged. “Move over.”
Jed made room on the bed, warning of his germs, and Remy snuggled against his side, not caring if he did catch the flu.
“Did you catch my performance?” Remy gnawed on his thumbnail. “If you slept through it, that’s understandable. I set your phone alarm, but— Oh God, I’ll shut up. My ego is not the important thing here and—”
“I saw it. I heard you dedicate the song to me. And it made my head spin.”
“Well, you do have the flu.”
“That must be the reason,” Jed said dryly. “Or maybe it was because nobody has ever dedicated a song to me.”
“On a scale of one to ten, you liked the song or….?”
“A hundred.” Jed reached for him. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Remy rested his head between Jed’s arm and torso. Fuck, Jed’s praise felt good.
“I don’t have words for how it made me feel, listening to the song.”
“It’s enough that you liked it.”
“I did.” Jed’s voice roughened. “The song was beautiful.”
Remy relaxed against Jed’s torso, savoring the quiet moment in his arms. With Jed, he didn’t have to shore up his reserve for rejection or deception.
They watched the last half on the television. When Song of the Year was announced, Jed tensed and took his hand.
“Here we go.”
The “we” made Remy smile. He’d won Grammys before, posed for endless pictures, was the focus of blogs, tweets, and magazine covers. None of it ever made him feel as complete as having Jed’s arm wrapped around him as they waited for the results.
“You won!” Jed sounded so pleased. He met Remy’s eyes, a warmth shining in his gaze. “I’m really proud of you. You deserved it.”
“We deserved it. If you hadn’t helped me with the studio, given me the space to build, encouraged me, inspired me….” Remy got choked up on the last part. He realized he’d never be able to explain to Jed enough, what being loved meant. How it saved him and made him stronger. “You changed me. How I think about music, myself… I even like goddamn brussels sprouts now, and nobody likes them.” Remy took Jed’s face between his hands. “I love you.”
“Oh, Remy, I love—” Then Jed began to sneeze and needed tissues, and the moment was broken as Remy fetched a new box for him.
“It’s like a loud trumpet,” Remy teased him, making them both chuckle.
“Sorry,” Jed said, “for my rather sneezy I love you. For being here sick. This flu has ruined your big night.”
“That’s okay,” Remy answered, his tone gentle. “Because it hasn’t. Not at all.”
Jed’s happy face was all Remy needed. He gathered Jed to him.
REMY didn’t sleep much that night, but it wasn’t like before. The lack of sleep wasn’t from anxiety. Remy didn’t sleep because he wanted to treasure this snapshot of his life.
His tie and shirt were slung carelessly over a chair, right next to Jed’s hat. Last night, Remy had been glad to be on stage. Now he was equally happy not to be. The room was still dark, but a thin line of sunlight was visible.
He rested his hand on top of Jed’s.
“Jed, wake up.” Remy gently nudged him.
Rubbing his eyes, Jed frowned. “What time is it?”
“Early. Dawn, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Is something wrong?” Jed scowled, glancing around their suite.
“Nah, don’t reach for your shotgun. It’s fine. It’s just… I don’t want to wait.”
“For what? I am feeling better, if it’s me you can’t wait for. I can think of ways to get you nice and sore.” Jed gave a wicked grin and moved to kiss him.
“No, not that.” Remy laughed, holding him back with a hand. “Although I’m sure you’ll get me nice and sore today, you bastard. No, I mean… I want to get married.”
“Married?” Jed said, startled.
“We’ve talked about it. Right? Not the when, not officially, I know, but we have talked about it in a vague way. And we said it would happen someday. So why not today? Here in Vegas.”
Jed’s mouth fell open. “Winning a Grammy last night wasn’t enough excitement for you?”
“Winning was fantastic, but it’s not the center of my life these days. You are.” Remy stroked Jed’s face. Last night, he’d been in front of a massive audience, yet his stomach pitched more now than ever. He felt light-headed, but in the best possible way. Because this wasn’t a show. It was real.
“I know it’s sudden. And maybe it hasn’t even been on your mind. I admit it came to me while I watched you sleeping, a bit impulsively. Doesn’t mean it is a bad idea.” Remy swallowed hard. “I mean, um, we never made anything definite, I realize.” Remy chewed his lip. “Say something. Am I totally crazy?”
Jed snorted at that.
He stuck his chin out. “Well, I don’t care. I’ll be happy and crazy. I’m making my claim.”
“Branding me, huh?”
“Yeah, cowboy, forever.”
Jed smiled. “I’ll take forever and then some.”
Remy caught his breath. A world of love shone in Jed’s eyes. His soon to be husband’s eyes.
“You always surprise me,” Jed said, his words low and gruff.
“Is that a bad thing?” Remy smiled.
“No, it’s a good thing. Very good.” Jed held Remy close. “And I do want to marry you and spend our lives together, only… can I ask one thing?”
“You can ask a millio
n things.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you. Ever. And I usually love your impulsive side.”
“But?” Remy wondered if Jed was about to say he didn’t want to marry him. Or maybe he wanted to wait years. Christ, he didn’t want to wait, like, a decade, did he? Jed was cautious about their differences. Remy steeled himself for Jed’s next words.
“But I don’t want to be married in some rush in Vegas. I want to be married on the ranch.”
“At the ranch?”
“Yeah, at the ranch,” Jed said slowly, “like the rest of my family. Properly. I want to marry in the fall. When the leaves are changing. When the branches are full with them, all bright and colorful. And I want to marry you in our house, in front of the fireplace, with only our most important friends and family there. And I’ll do the cooking, and you can sing, if you want to, and for the rest of our lives the ranch will also be a part of how much we love each other. I know it’s not a fancy idea. But it’s simple and it’s private and more… ours.”
“Jed, have you been already planning this?” Remy asked thickly.
“Maybe.” Jed looked nervous all of a sudden. “A little. But if you really want to do it impulsively in Vegas, I could do that. I just wanted—if you like the idea of the ranch, that is… what do you think?”
“I think… I’m so fucking lucky. And an autumn wedding sounds like a dream. Can we make the ceremony around the bonfire?”
“We can make it whatever you want.” Jed touched the side of his face, his fingers caressing Remy’s skin tenderly. “We can plan it together.”
“Perfect,” Remy whispered, his smile a bit fragile as his lips got wobbly, and he pressed his mouth to Jed’s.
“Hold on a second.” Jed climbed out of the bed and rummaged through his duffel bag. “I never expected to get the stupid flu, and I’ve been carrying these around for months—”
“Months?” Remy practically squeaked.
Then Jed was in front of him, down on one knee, a gold band glinting in the palm of his outstretched hand.
“Remy Sean, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband? Of belonging to me, and me to you? Forever doesn’t seem like enough time to love you.”
Remy launched himself into Jed’s arms. “Yes! Yes! A million times, yes!”
Jed rocked back but managed to hold Remy’s weight and not topple over.
Their kiss was urgent, a promise. Then Jed slid the band onto his finger.
“I can’t believe you beat me to the question,” Jed said, bemused.
“Great minds think alike.” Remy leaned in and nipped at Jed’s lower lip. “And I can’t believe that I had no clue this was coming.”
Remy circled his arms at Jed’s strong shoulders, the heat of their kisses something he felt down to his toes. He trembled as emotions struck him.
“Are these happy tears?” Jed asked moments later, thumbing the wetness at Remy’s cheeks.
“Ah, Jed… so happy. Nothing but happy.” Remy sighed and snuggled against him.
SKYLAR M. CATES loves a good romance, especially ones that are both steamy and emotionally satisfying. She is quite happy to drink coffee, curl up with a good book, and not move all day. Her best-selling novels feature strong, passionate men. Skylar loves to craft stories where realistic men are challenged with emotional situations. Skylar’s character-driven series will often feature close-knit families, animals, and loyal friendships being tested.
Skylar dreams about spending her days writing novels, walking along the beach, and listening to good live music. She also dreams of eating dessert without weight gain and robots cleaning her house. But she knows she can’t have it all… yet. Although lately the laundry room is the farthest place she has visited, Skylar still loves to chat with people from all around the globe.
Skylar can be found on Facebook, Twitter, or on her blog.
Email: skylarmcates@yahoo.com
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Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Rocking the Cowboy
© 2018 Skylar M. Cates.
Cover Art
© 2018 Aaron Anderson.
aaronbydesign55@gmail.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64080-444-9
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-64108-052-1
Library of Congress Control
Number: 2017916216
Digital published August 2018
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America