I stay like that, eyes closed, lips pursed, until he returns. He swipes something damp over my chest and belly. “Mmm, I feel so claimed,” I murmur, opening my eyes.
He kisses my lips again. “You are.” A dirty gleam flashes in his eyes. “Also, I didn’t think you’d want my cum running down your leg during your show.”
“Aren’t you a gentleman,” I drawl in a light, teasing tone.
“Did I deliver?” he asks.
“You need to ask? I can barely stand up.”
He chuckles as he leans over the sink to wash up. He soaps his hands and cleans my face brush under the running water.
“You might as well toss that, I’m not using it on my face again.”
“Nah, let’s keep it for emergencies. I’ll buy you another one for your face.”
Now that the sex-high is fading, I’m worried about my hair and makeup. Also, the time.
“Shoot. How long were we in here?” I hurry over to the mirror and breathe a sigh of relief. “Not too bad. I can fix the lipstick.”
“I tried to be careful,” he says, rearranging a few stray bits of my hair.
I pull a lipstick that’s close to the color Cindy used out of my bag. Thankfully, since we went with bold eyes, she used a mild color on my lips and I’m able to touch it up easily.
Rooster keeps his hands on me the whole time I’m in front of the mirror, running his fingers down my spine, spanning my waist with his hands, skimming his palms over my butt and thighs.
I wiggle my hips. “Wishing you’d chosen a different target?”
“No,” he scoffs. “I just like touching you.”
Swoon. How does he always say the sweetest things? “I like touching you too.”
He leans in and kisses my shoulder. “Good.”
I hurry into my underwear and bra, then take my dress off its hanger. “Will you help me?”
“Of course.”
We get the dress in place and I check myself in the mirror one last time. “My shoes are out there.”
Someone’s knocking at the door in the other room. “Come in!” I yell.
“It’s locked,” Rooster says, striding out of the bathroom with his shirt in his hands. He flings the door open and a red-faced Greg’s waiting on the other side.
“The walls are thin here,” Gregg huffs. “Just thought I’d mention that.”
My cheeks heat up but I toss off the embarrassment quickly. Someone’s always having sex backstage somewhere. It’s not like I’m the first.
“Your flamingo tanks are sold out,” Greg says. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Oh, wow!” I grab my phone to text Trinity and give her the news.
Greg’s phone beeps. Groaning, he flicks the screen on. “What now?”
His already red face slides toward an even deeper scarlet. “Oh, this is bad,” he mutters.
“What?”
He bites his lip and hesitates.
“What?” I ask again, marching toward him and reaching for his phone.
He shoots a glare at Rooster. “What else went on in the strip club the other night?”
I stop and frown at his hostile tone. “Nothing, why?”
“Because this is bad.”
Greg turns the screen toward me. My heart stops as I read the headline.
‘White Knight? Or Cheating Bastard? We Have the Inside Scoop!’
Chapter Fifty-Two
Shelby
“Shelby, nothing happened.” Rooster stares at the phone, slowly scanning the article. “Greg, give us a minute,” he says without looking away from the screen.
“We really need to—”
“Get out, Greg!” I snap, not in the mood for more of his crap.
While I’m waiting for him to leave, I find my own phone and pull up the article.
White Knight—the super-sappy with a side of corniness and cheese love song by sassy country singer Shelby Morgan has been burning up the streaming charts for weeks. In an interview with Glow magazine, she claimed it was written about her current boyfriend. But is it all a lie?
After breaking the story about Shelby’s wild night out at the Royal Dolls Gentlemen’s Club, Sippin’ on Secrets has obtained more exclusive photos of the wild shenanigans that transpired.
A hawk-eyed reader spotted Shelby’s main squeeze in a compromising situation with a stripper. Talk about a downgrade!
Was her boyfriend’s cheating what prompted Shelby Morgan’s wild meltdown?
Can we expect a new angst-ridden cheese-fest of a song to commemorate the breakup?
Only time will tell. But we’ll have the scoop, so check back often for more updates on this continuing drama! Tell us in the comments, is Shelby’s knight in shining armor really a cheater in tin foil?
I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have to be on stage soon.
The happy buzz from our little romantic interlude fades, and irritation moves into its place.
I scroll through the pictures, which show nothing more than Rooster standing in a parking lot with a woman. In one of the photos, she’s touching him and standing within kissing distance. From Logan’s stiff posture and the snarly expression on his face, it doesn’t look like he’s enjoying the attention.
The final picture is of Logan staring off into the distance with the caption, “Worried about getting caught?”
“This is so stupid,” I mutter.
Logan’s quiet. I glance up from my phone and find him standing closer than I expected.
“Nothing happened, Shelby. I walked her out. That’s it. I talked to her about the club.”
“She’s touching you here.” I show him the photo.
“Yeah, and I wish they’d published the next photo which was me removing her hand.”
I squint at him. “From her body or yours?”
He blinks in confusion. “What?”
“You said you removed her hand. Did ya like, chop it off or something?”
“Are you making a joke?” He taps the phone. “About this?”
“What else am I gonna do?” I scroll through the pictures. “You honestly think I’d believe these nitwits over you?”
“Thank you.” The tension in his shoulders relaxes. He gestures to my phone. “Whatever they write means nothing. I don’t care what strangers think of me. It’s what you think that matters.”
“Well, I think you’re the best man I’ve ever known.” I lean up and kiss his cheek.
“Let’s set this aside.” His loving eyes burn with determination. “You need to clear your head and focus on the show. We can figure this out later.”
And that’s how I know I’m right. A cheater or a selfish man would be more worried about defending himself than my show. A confident man with nothing to hide would focus on what’s important.
After my set, Greg ambushes us in my dressing room.
“Miranda has time.” He bustles through my door red-faced and out of breath. “We need to sit down and have a video conference to figure this out.”
“Greg, I’m tired. My throat’s scratchy. Can’t we do this tomorrow?”
“No.” He sets his tablet on my table and connects with Miranda.
Her someone-pissed-in-my-cornflakes scowl doesn’t inspire confidence.
Reluctantly I take the chair next to Greg. Rooster sits opposite of me.
“This isn’t good,” Miranda says instead of hello. “The stripper pole was bad enough but it might’ve died down. Now, this?”
“Hold your horses. Logan didn’t do anything,” I say with as much patience as possible. “He walked the woman out to her car so she didn’t get mugged, for God’s sake. This is ridiculous.”
“It’s the optics of the situation, Shelby.”
“I don’t give shiitake mushroom about optics!”
“Shelby,” Miranda says in her let’s-be-reasonable tone. “This could end your endorsement deals.”
“Give me a break. I was wearing the jeans in those stupid stripper pole photos.
My ass looked fan-flocking-tastic. They oughtta be thanking me for all the free publicity.”
Logan cough-laughs and I glance at him.
“Love you,” he mouths.
“Who’s there?” Miranda snaps. “Is that Logan?”
He stands and walks around to my side, leaning over the table. “Yup, it’s me.”
“Greg, can you—”
“No, Miranda,” I cut her off. She’s not talking Greg into kicking Logan out of the room. “Logan didn’t do anything wrong. This is bullshit.”
“Shelby, I’m trying hard here. And you’re fighting me at every step. I know what I’m doing,” Miranda says.
I take a breath and try to calm myself. “I appreciate that, Miranda. I do. But this is my personal life. These guys are attacking someone I love.” I choke back a sob. “It’s not right.”
“Okay,” Miranda says in a softer tone. “I understand.” She pauses. “Look, since you’re not willing to leave, Logan, you’re just gonna have to sit through what I need to say to my client.”
“Say whatever you need to say, Miranda. I know the truth, so you’re not hurting my feelings.”
She gives him a curt nod before returning her attention to me. “Shelby, honey, you’re really young. I know it doesn’t feel that way. But, I’ve been through this before. Many, many times. I’ve seen talented women throw away promising careers for a cheating boyfriend. Really ask yourself if the pain is worth it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Rooster mutters.
“Miranda,” I say as calmly as I can. “I appreciate you’re trying to look out for me. I understand your concern. However, in this situation, that is not what’s happening.” There. That sounded professional and not too emotional, I hope.
“Greg?” Miranda turns his way.
I grit my teeth.
He clears his throat and sits forward. “I understand your perspective. But keep in mind, you haven’t met Logan yet. I’ve been on the road with them for weeks. He’s devoted to her, Miranda. I have trouble believing there’s any truth to the story.”
Clearly, that’s not the answer Miranda wanted or expected.
Honestly, the way Greg busted in here, I didn’t expect it either.
I swallow over the lump in my throat and whisper, “Thank you, Greg.”
Miranda takes a deep breath. “Okay. All right. I will issue a statement that the piece is all lies and you two are on solid ground.”
I blow out a long sigh of relief. Finally, someone’s listening to me. “Thank you.”
“But.”
Dammit. I knew there’d be a catch.
“What?” I ask warily.
“I’d like Logan to sit out the Small Screen awards.”
“What?” I gasp. “No!”
“I want you to go with Dawson,” she says, ignoring my objection. “You’re already on tour together. It’ll help keep the focus on your music and the tour.”
My gaze goes to Rooster, searching his face for an answer.
But his expression’s blank.
“If Logan attends,” Miranda continues, “the spotlight’s going to be on this story instead of you.”
“But they’ll move on by then,” I protest.
“We don’t know that. They’re way too interested in your love life. Look how the Glow article got hijacked. Now this. They’re going to keep coming for Logan and digging into his life. Is that what you want for him, Shelby?”
Son of a biscuit!
She’s got me there. Logan never wanted any of this publicity in his life. Every time one of these stupid articles is published with his picture attached, he risks exposing his club. Sure, up until now, they’ve found it amusing, but how much longer will that last? What if they name his club next time? Will his president find that as funny?
Logan reaches for me, curling his hand around mine. “It’s fine, Shelby. I have some business up in Washington I need to handle. I’ll take care of that while you’re in Irving for the show and meet up with you when you’re done.”
“But…” He’s giving me an easy out. Maybe he really doesn’t want to go. Logan’s already done so much for me. Uprooting his life to drive me all over the country, buying the RV, having all his time consumed with my tour, my music, and the shows. Every day he’s focused on making me happy. And how does he get repaid? Some idiots on the Internet calling him a cheater.
He’s probably dying for a break. He didn’t choose to be in the spotlight. At least I sort of knew what I was in for way back when I agreed to be on Redneck Roadhouse. But Logan never asked to have every move he makes scrutinized.
It’s not fair for me to expect him to attend an awards show where he’ll be miserable.
In their whole fifty years of marriage, Dolly Parton only had her husband escort her to one event. And yet, they’re still together. They make it work. We can do this. It’ll be okay.
“All right,” I say.
“Good. Glad that’s settled.” Miranda claps her hands like she’s dusting this mess off. “I’ll get a press release out.”
Rooster leans in and kisses my cheek. “It’s the right choice, chickadee. I want you to enjoy your night without worrying about all this other stuff.”
I answer with a weak smile.
If it’s the right choice, why does it feel so dang wrong?
Chapter Fifty-Three
Rooster
Little Rock.
Tulsa
St. Louis.
I might be missing a few stops. Touring the country when it’s your job isn’t the same as riding the wind for fun. Half the time, there’s no room in the schedule to take Shelby anywhere fun.
After the fucked-up “cheating scandal” I had a call with Digger where I expressed my extreme displeasure about the photos taken in his parking lot after he insisted I walk one of his dancers out. He apologized profusely. Either he’s a good liar or he didn’t set me up and really has no fucking clue what’s going on.
He promises me he’ll look into the situation and get me some answers.
I’m not holding my breath.
I didn’t call Priest because that would feel too much like whining to dad. I’m sure he’s aware, though. Z had been outraged on my behalf, and I have a feeling he called Priest to air out his grievances.
Sippin’ on Secrets must be bored because they keep reposting different variations of the two non-stories. Gossip about Shelby must be bringing in more traffic than their pathetic site usually sees.
All that means is Shelby’s popularity is growing.
In my free time, I work on tracing who’s behind the celebrity blog. More and more, I suspect it’s some kid working out of his mom’s basement. Little shit’s in for a surprise soon.
I’m also building Shelby’s website and social media in a way that suppresses the gossipy stories as much as possible. I spend time scrubbing my own social media, so no one connects me to Anya, Stella, or any other porn girls associated with the club. I also pray like fuck none of the club girls I’ve been involved with in the past decide they’d like to sell a story.
Finished mapping out a plan for this afternoon, I close my laptop and glance over at Shelby. “You all right?”
She’s been quieter and quieter since the “scandal.” Never wants to go anywhere. Just from the RV to the venue and back. Can’t even talk her into a few nights at a hotel.
The guys have been hanging out with Dawson and his crew more and more. Which is fine. He’s paying for the privilege now. And it gives us more alone time.
That we spend not talking or doing much.
“Hey,” I call out when she doesn’t answer. I stand and approach the bed slowly.
She has her ear buds in and her notebook on her lap. She glances up as I approach and smiles.
Relief bursts in my chest. She hasn’t been smiling enough lately.
“What?” she tugs the ear buds out and sets her notebook to the side.
“You all right?”
Another faint smile. “Tr
ying to work out a song.” She pats the bed next to her and I drop down, resting my hand on her leg.
“Have you tried going over it with Trent?” Supposedly they’ve always written their songs together, but other than sending each other files, and playing on stage together every night, they don’t hang out.
“That’s all I need,” she grumbles. “Someone taking a photo of Trent and me together and saying I’m sleepin’ with him too.”
Fuck. I knew that’s what was bothering her. “Hey, put that shit out of your head. You’re not going to live in fear of those assholes.”
“I’m not afraid. I’m tired of it.”
I’ve been questioning whether I made the right call by agreeing not to go to the awards show with her. At the time, it seemed reasonable. Now, I’m not so sure.
“You pick a dress for the small screen thing?”
She grabs her phone and flicks through a few screens, finally stopping to show me a puffy-looking baby blue ball gown. She taps the screen and another similar dress in bright yellow fills the screen.
“They’re both pretty.”
“I’m not sure blond and yellow go together too well.” She tugs on her ponytail. “They said they’ll hold both and I can pick the one I want after I try ’em on.”
“Good.”
She bites her lip. Hesitates. “I’m nervous as all get-out.”
“Don’t be. You’ll be great.”
The corner of her mouth turns down. “At least I’m not performing. Show up. Collect my award—or not. Then skedaddle back to my hotel.” She forces a smile. “Easy peasy.”
“Right. And I’ll be back the day after to take you to San Fran.”
She moves closer. “Logan, you’re not some chauffeur to me. You know that, right?”
I stroke my knuckles over her cheek. “I know.”
“Good.”
“Come here.” I hold out my arms and she crawls into my lap, wrapping herself around me.
“I love you,” she murmurs.
I run my hands over her back and hold her tight. “Love you too.”
We stay like that for a few minutes, our worlds shifting into alignment. “Hey, you wanna go for a ride with me? That always clears my head. Maybe you can throw some lyrics out on the wind and see what comes back to you.”
Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17) Page 38