“And the crowd goes wild!”
Deacon grinned at the familiar cheer, and he turned around to tell his number one fan that yep, he still had it. Only, the words got stuck in his throat.
Hannah’s black dress…if you could even call it a dress…fit her body like a second skin. It was sleeveless, hit mid-thigh, and plunged low in the front. Holy hell low. Deacon slowly lowered his son to the floor. Her hair was swept up on one side, soft curls cascading over her right shoulder, and she’d done something to her eyes that made them stand out like emeralds.
She was beautiful.
The sound of a throat clearing snapped Deacon out of his stunned perusal, and after sweeping his gaze across the other two women, equally decked out, he said the first thing that popped into his head. “Are y’all going out trolling?”
Hannah’s soft smile fell as she shifted in her heels. Immediately, her hands fell to the hem of her dress, fidgeting uncomfortably, and all her confidence drained beneath her feet. Deacon wanted to shoot himself in the head.
Cursing, he stepped forward and bent low to catch her eyes. “Ye look breathtaking,” he told her, adding a touch of Irish brogue to his voice—but a Liam Neeson he was not. “Dat should’ve been the first thing out of my mouth. I guess I was just picturin’ a different sort of Girls Night.”
A hint of a smile hit her lips, and Deacon turned to the guys for backup. Shockingly, they appeared completely fine with the girls’ plans…though they did give him strange looks about his awful accent.
Was he seriously alone in freaking out here?
“Do you at least know where you’re going?” he asked, glancing at the women. “We only rolled into West Virginia this morning. Maybe it’d be better if I came along, too, just to keep an eye out.”
Sherry snorted. “You plan on bringing Max with you?” she asked with a sassy smile, and Deacon knew she had him beat.
Charlie and Tyler both raised their palms. It’d be a jerk move, asking them to watch his son while he went out to a bar. Max was a great kid, but he had endless energy. Even now, he was twirling in a circle, stopping to bang his head on the leather couch, then twirling again—over and over. Deacon had no doubt he could drive the guys insane if wanted to, and that was the opposite of the impression he wanted to make. He was trying to come across as irreplaceable to the band—not a mooch.
But how in the hell was ultra-protective Tyler, and super-whipped Charlie okay with sending them off on their own? Especially looking like that?
Sherry walked over to Tyler and kissed him lightly on the lips, then she grinned and ruffled Lizzie’s hair. As Arabella told Charlie good-bye, Sherry sat on her husband’s lap.
“Cool your jets, D-man. Tyler already asked Tony to come with us. An Uber is gonna bring us to the club, and we’ll have another one bring us back later. Your girl will be safe, I promise.”
Tony. A tall, quiet man with dark hair and bulging biceps came to mind. Blue had a few security guys on staff, but Tony was Sherry’s personal bodyguard. He’d been on the payroll for years. Deacon raised his eyebrows, silently asking Tyler if the man of no words was married or not, and the front man subtly shook his head.
Great. Sherry was married, and Charlie had Arabella halfway down the aisle. That left Hannah as the only one single.
For the last three weeks, Deacon had been ignoring the signs. Pretending he hadn’t noticed the changes since she’d come back from Paris, or how she’d blossomed with a newfound confidence. He didn’t want to think about what that meant for the future of their friendship. Hannah deserved love and happiness, but he was selfish enough to stick his head in the sand and act like he could keep her as his trusty sidekick forever. That wasn’t real life, as that moment of tension two nights ago proved, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to her. But he’d be damned if he let a muscle-headed bodyguard steal her away, either.
Unfortunately, no one else seemed to see it his way, and he was fresh out of alternatives.
Arabella walked past him with a strange, almost gleeful look on her face and opened the bus door. Hannah gave him a shy smile, then fell in step behind her.
“Cherry.”
Hannah glanced at him over her shoulder.
The setting sun streamed through the open door, hitting her strawberry-blonde hair and setting it on fire. Deacon’s chest tightened at just how beautiful she was. As he stood there silent like a jackass, wondering how he’d never noticed that before, a row of perfect white teeth clamped down on her candy-coated bottom lip. A lip he’d almost tasted before they’d been interrupted. The vivid memory nearly knocked the wind out of him.
What in the hell was happening?
Clearing his throat—hoping it cleared that errant thought right along with it—he said, “Ah, just be careful, all right?”
Hannah’s sea-green eyes seemed to search his for some sort of answer. The hell of it was, Deacon had no clue as to the question. Whatever it was, though, she must’ve found what she was looking for because a bright smile sprang free just before she turned and ducked out the door.
While he silently watched where she’d disappeared, Sherry stopped beside him.
“She’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Tony’s the best in the business. Tyler wouldn’t have hired him otherwise.”
Deacon blew out a breath. She was right about that. Tony was a professional; he wouldn’t act inappropriately with Hannah, because it could cost him a sweet job. The tension knotting his gut lessened a degree. At least Tony would be there to keep other guys from overstepping their bounds, too, and it wasn’t as if the girls were going man-hunting anyway. They just wanted to blow off some steam.
“Besides,” Sherry continued. “Ella and I will help Hannah filter the creepos from the hotties. As loyal wing-women, we’ll find only the best for our girl.”
Deacon’s eyes snapped to hers. “Wait, what?”
She shot him a smug little smirk, then blew a kiss to her husband.
“Don’t wait up,” she called in a sing-song voice, and with that parting shot, followed her friends outside.
Chapter Six
The darkened club was crowded and hazy. Hannah gripped her fruity pink drink and studied the mating habits of the couples around her. One table over, a blonde coquettishly batted her eyelashes at the beefcake beside her. As she confidently skated her fingertips down his arm, he rewarded her with a masculine smirk of approval. Beyond her at the bar, a brunette pressed her ample chest against the arm of a man in a dark fitted shirt, using a brazen smile and feminine wiles to keep his attention fixed.
Eyelashes, confident wiles, and boobs. Yep, Hannah was definitely out of her element.
In her mind, a perfect night involved soft cotton pajamas and cuddling with Deacon on the couch. No heavy bass music, no push-up bra, and no questionably sticky floor required. Of course, the old PJ and couch routine was exactly what she’d been doing ever since the tour began…and throughout most of high school. Look where her so-called element had gotten her. A big fat pile of nowhere.
If you want a different outcome, you must make a different choice.
That’s what Savannah Gamble advised on her blog, 12 Steps to Mr. Right, and in Hannah’s mind, that woman was the Oprah of the dating world. If Savannah wrote it, and Sherry seconded it, then Hannah was ready and willing to try it. Even if it’d most likely result in an addition to her Journal of Embarrassment.
“Okay, let’s go over the rules!” Sherry yelled close to her ear, leaning in to be heard over the thumping music. On the ride over, she and Arabella had dubbed themselves Hannah’s official Flirt Squad, and tonight’s lesson was learning the art of the flirt.
“Guys are easy to talk to,” she told Hannah, casually glancing around the room while she sipped at her water. “They want to please. Just touch their arm, or maybe their knee when you’re talking. If you’re feeling particularly randy, gently slide your hand along his thigh. They eat that stuff up.”
At the look of pure panic on Hannah�
�s face, Arabella squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re not trying to hook up. We still want you with Deacon, not some random guy in a bar.”
Hannah blew out a relieved breath, and she smiled affectionately. “The point is to test out your flirting skills on someone who doesn’t matter. Then, once you’ve gotten your feet under you, you can work your magic on Deacon. It’s okay if you stumble here, because these guys don’t matter. At least not in the long-term sense. But if any of them get too handsy, or you decide you want out, just send us the abort signal. We’ll jump right in and whisk you away.”
Hannah nodded stiffly and tried to psych herself up. Admittedly, she wasn’t eager to flirt with anyone other than Deacon, but she could see the merit in a little harmless practice. Lord knew she could use it.
Sherry cleared her throat, continuing with the lesson. “Lean in to be heard,” she advised, demonstrating the move. “It makes sense in a crowded club anyway, but it also creates a sense of intimacy. It shows the guy that you’re interested in what he has to say. Then, give him a compliment, something about his eyes or his cologne or something you find attractive, and then stand back and smile. I’m telling you, it’s like taking candy from a baby.”
Hannah scrunched her nose. “Have you ever tried taking candy from a baby?” She shook her head and waved her drink in the air. “I’ve never understood that analogy. Kids are like women with PMS—if you try to take away their candy, someone’s gonna get a fat lip.”
Arabella snorted and shook her head. “Focus, sweetie,” she told her, and Hannah felt her cheeks get hot.
“Sorry.”
“Another good idea to keep in mind,” she went on, glancing at the couples near the bar, “is to already have a drink in your hand. That way, the guy knows you aren’t looking for him to pay. If things go well, he’ll be more than happy to buy your second one. But even then, only accept it from the bartender.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. Yes, she was a flirting novice, but she wasn’t a complete idiot.
Still… “I don’t know, guys.” Tugging on the hem of her dress, Hannah gave the heady room another thorough sweep. “I’m still not sure about this. I mean, I get the whole ‘upping my confidence and practicing on random guys’ thing, but isn’t it also sort of wrong?” She bit her lip and winced. “Isn’t it sort of using them?”
Sherry scoffed. “A pretty thing like you giving them attention? Even if you were using them, which you’re not,” she said with added emphasis, “trust me, they wouldn’t mind.”
“Especially not if you buy your own drinks,” Arabella agreed. “You’re not leading them on or promising anything. It’s only conversation. Some innocent flirting and a little fun. That’s all.”
Lifting her drink to her mouth, Hannah’s lips rooted for the straw.
That made sense, and hey, they were the experts. That was why she’d placed her very unimpressive love life in their hands—she couldn’t back out now at the first sign of discomfort. That was her old MO. Besides, the hope of Deacon was worth a little mortification, especially now that they’d shared a couple moments with real promise. Who knew? Maybe Sherry’s list of flirty tricks would be the key to finally getting through to him.
Finding the straw, she wrapped her lips around it and recited the steps in her head. Touch their arm. Lean in. Give them a compliment. Have fun. She took a good, strong pull of her drink, and when the sharp tang of alcohol hit her tongue, she cringed and nearly choked.
Was she having fun yet?
…
A tornado had touched down in the tour bus. As bad as it’d been before the girls left, it was nowhere near the annihilation that surrounded them now. How it happened in just two short hours, well, that’s what made it truly impressive.
The proof of complete and total anarchy littered every surface. From the walls with splattered food, to the floor covered with toys, and every spot in-between, including the counters, table, and even the sofa the children were laying on, glued to the movie that Deacon had finally had the good sense to put on.
Thank the sweet Lord for Disney.
“Hannah is a freaking saint,” Charlie declared, bringing the trash can over to the table. With one fell swoop of his arm, cheese crackers, raisins, and candy wrappers flew into the bin.
On second thought, filling the kids up with candy had been a tremendously stupid idea.
“Amen to that,” Tyler agreed with a huff, dropping dishes into the sink. “And just think, another baby is gonna join this circus soon.” He sighed wearily and tilted his head toward Deacon. “That woman deserves a raise.”
Deacon smiled at the well-earned praise. It felt good hearing his friends appreciating on his woman. Well, not his woman, obviously. But his best girl. His best friend.
His Hannah.
“Yeah, she has a gift all right,” Deacon said, arching his back to crack it. Countless piggyback rides up and down the hall hadn’t been that smart of an idea, either. “A gift of patience. I don’t think anyone else would’ve done as good a job. I’m telling you, it was a blessing in disguise when that other nanny dropped out.”
Tyler nodded in agreement, then gripped the countertop behind him. “So, you asked her about staying yet?”
Deacon cringed and dropped his gaze to the floor.
Last week, Tyler had suggested he be the one to bring up Hannah staying on for the international leg of the tour, now that she’d passed the trial period with flying colors, and Deacon had agreed. It should come from him so she knew how much he wanted her there. Needed her, even. But it wasn’t that simple. He wanted to wait for the perfect time to bring it up, preferably on a day when the kids had been angels and no toy-bombs had exploded.
“That’d be a no,” Charlie answered for him, lobbing one of Lizzie’s stuffed animals at Deacon’s head. The frog missed, hitting his shoulder instead, before falling to the ground. “Dude, what are you waiting for? She’s your lobster, or whatever the hell it is the girls call it.” He glanced at Tyler and asked, “Is it is a lobster, or a squid?”
“Why in the hell would it be a squid?”
“I don’t know. Why in the hell would it be a lobster?” Charlie scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, then shook his head. “Anyway, the point is, Hannah’s your person. She’s part of us now, and you need to do something sooner than later to lock that up.”
Deacon ignored his friends and focused instead on the Lego town he’d built with Max on the floor. Scooping up the tiny pieces that doubled as razor blades to unsuspecting feet, he dumped them into the assigned bin Hannah had prepared and pretended he didn’t notice the look Tyler and Charlie exchanged when they thought he couldn’t see.
Everyone on tour seemed to think he and Cherry were the next Tyler and Sherry. Or even the next Charlie and Arabella. They didn’t understand that two people could be as close as he and Hannah were and not be remotely romantic.
With absolutely zero sexual fantasies, unwanted thoughts, or attraction what-so-ever…
Another stuffed animal hit him in the head, this time a lamb, and Charlie fell onto the kitchen bench. Deacon covertly flipped him off, making sure Max didn’t catch sight of the hand gesture he’d definitely repeat—but when his friend didn’t repeat it, or even acknowledge the gesture, Deacon studied him closer.
His motorcycle boots tapped an unsteady rhythm against the floor. Mouth pinched, he scratched the back of his neck like he was digging for gold, and his eyes had a glazed over, lost-in-thought type of look. The man was flat-out wigging, and it clearly had zip to do with Hannah.
“Hey, what’s up, man?”
The bassist raised his eyes from his bouncing knee. He looked at Deacon and then switched his gaze to Tyler. “I’m asking Ella to marry me.”
The declaration fell like a snow day in Hawaii.
Deacon and Tyler stood there, clearly in shock, but their front man snapped out of it first. With a wide, genuine smile stretching his face, Tyler reached over and grabbed his best friend’s hand, ya
nking him up for a hug.
“Dude, that’s awesome. It’s about time your decrepit ass settled down.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie shot back with a roll of his eyes. He was only twenty-eight, but until this last summer, he’d acted a hell of lot younger—at least according to the tabloids. The dig was a longstanding joke.
They both turned to Deacon, who’d yet to react. Or say anything at all. He quickly shook off his surprise and slapped Charlie on the back. “Yeah, congrats, man. I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks.” Charlie’s lips twitched and he took a deep breath, releasing it as the anxiety visibly rushed back to the surface. He shoved a hand through his hair. “I just wish I could stop acting like a damn idiot. I’m so nervous I’m gonna slip and ask her to marry me over Cinnamon Toast Crunch that I’m afraid to say anything at all. This morning, I was this close to proposing in bed, and had to stuff it down. She asked me pointblank what was wrong, and I had nothing.”
“What’d ya tell her?”
“That I was worried about my niece, Abby, which doesn’t even make sense because Ella talks to her more than I do.” He scrubbed a hand across his face in frustration. “Everything has to be perfect for her, and all I’m doing is screwing it up.”
“It’ll be worth it once that ring is on her finger,” Tyler said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “When do you plan on proposing?”
“Next weekend at the Opry Birthday Bash.” Charlie sighed and leaned back in the seat. “When I called Ella’s dad last week, he asked if he could be there when I popped the question. As much as I hate the spotlight thing, my five older sisters and Sherry have taught me that girls go crazy for the grand gesture stuff, and Arabella deserves that.” His mouth curved in a smile. “She deserves everything.”
A hollow pang hit Deacon square in the gut, and he nudged the box of Legos with his boot. Clearing his throat to hide the discomfort, he thought about Charlie’s words and abruptly jerked his head up.
“Wait, go back. You actually did the whole ‘ask for her hand’ thing?” His friend nodded, but Deacon still felt the need to clarify. “With the Shark of Nashville?”
The Nanny Arrangement (Country Blues) Page 10