Wild Nashville Ways

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Did I look the same to him, with my long brown hair, medium blue eyes and natural curves? Either way, I’d matured, and so had he. He’d turned thirty while he was on the road, and I would be twenty-eight next month.

  “Do you want to share this?” He unwrapped the candy bar and offered me a bite.

  “I have my own.” I showed him the one I’d tucked into a side pouch of my purse. I removed it and joined him in the chocolate-and-nougat fest. “Did anyone approach you while I was gone?” I asked. “Or take your picture?”

  He shook his head. “The corridor I used was blocked off, so I was the only one who had access to it.” He gestured to a door on the other side of the room. “I came in that way. But it’s locked now.”

  And Zeke was protecting the entrance I’d used. “Your team really had it figured out.”

  “It helped that the hospital was so accommodating. They’re used to dealing with celebrities in this town. I’m not the first, and I won’t be the last.”

  True, but at the moment, he was the prince of Nashville. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Before he got famous, I’d had my piece, night after night, naked in his bed. The memory left me hungering for sex. I hadn’t been with anyone for at least six months. I doubted that Dash could make the same claim.

  “What did they say about the surgery?” he asked, interrupting my wayward thoughts. “Are they going to come get us when it’s over and talk to you about it?”

  “Yes. They’ll also decide if Pop should stay here overnight or come home today or if he’ll need chemo or radiation afterward.” It all felt so up in the air.

  “I’m sorry he’s going through this. And that you have to deal with it, too. I know how much he means to you.”

  Yes, he knew. I was aware that he’d shared the same kind of closeness with his father, too. He’d even inherited his dad’s musical abilities. Kenny Smith should’ve been a star like his son. But he’d never progressed beyond coffee bars and shoddy nightclub gigs.

  “It’s a shame your dad didn’t get to see your success,” I said. “He would’ve been so proud of you.”

  He nodded. “It’s been bittersweet, climbing the charts without him.”

  “I wonder where your mom is and what she thinks of your celebrity status.”

  He scowled. “I have no idea, but I don’t want to talk about her.”

  Clearly, it remained a sensitive subject. I couldn’t blame him for that. And since she’d left her family for a tremendously wealthy man, maybe she didn’t give a hoot about Dash’s illustrious career.

  But I certainly did. We used to daydream about winning Grammys and CMAs and every other accolade out there. Except he’d done it without me. He’d already collected all sorts of Best New Artist awards.

  Was I being an idiot, turning down the duet? No, I thought. I was being strong and independent, refusing to put myself at the mercy of the man I used to love.

  Or still loved. Or whatever.

  My feelings for Dash never failed to confuse me. I could kiss him right now and probably melt girlishly in his lap. I finished my damned candy bar instead, eating the last few gooey bites.

  He reached over and ran his thumb over the left corner of my lips, and I flinched something fierce.

  “What are you doing?” I pulled away, afraid of how instantly aroused I got.

  “You had a piece of chocolate...”

  I rubbed the spot he’d touched. “Is it gone?”

  “Yes. I already got it.” He pressed his hands against his jeans. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  We gazed uncomfortably at each other. I glanced away, hoping that he would start a new conversation. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. The awkward silence was deafening. Problem was, I sensed that he was feeling the sexual tension, too.

  A few minutes passed before he said, “Your dad told me that you’re working at the feedstore again, running the front counter like you used to.”

  Well, shoot, I thought. Not exactly a topic I wanted to discuss. But better than the carnal quiet, I supposed.

  I replied, “It’s just a few days a week to make some extra money. I work as a virtual assistant, too, for a company that hires VAs to schedule social media content for their clients.”

  “My management uses a service like that.”

  “A lot of companies do.” My income as a VA sucked, though. The pay at the feedstore wasn’t any better. To steer the talk away from me, I said, “I heard that you bought a mansion, out in the country somewhere.”

  “It’s a great place. But I haven’t spent much time there yet. It’s been a whirlwind year, being on the road.” He hesitated. “You should come by sometime and let me show you around.”

  Oh, sure, like I was going to pop over and say hello. “Have you invited my dad to see it?”

  “Not yet. But I’d just gotten off tour when he told me that he was sick. I could tell how glad he was when I offered to help. I think he’s worried that if something happens to him, you’ll be all alone.”

  My heart clenched. “I have friends, people I see.”

  “Yes, but he’s also hoping that his illness will inspire you to work with me. He wants your career to take off again.”

  “He already told me how he feels about that.” And I didn’t need to hear Dash repeat it.

  “What about following through on our idea from the past? Remember how we used to say that someday we would do a special song together?”

  “I haven’t forgotten. But that was a different time, a different place, a different life.” And I couldn’t do it, not even for my cancer-stricken dad.

  Dash sat back in his chair, broody as ever. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  I didn’t respond. He’d just removed his hat to run his fingers through his hair, and now I was analyzing how beautifully the strands fell into place. He wore it short on the sides and longer on top, in a stylish undercut.

  “Are you dating anyone?” he asked suddenly.

  I squinted at him. Was he seriously inquiring about my love life? Just the question alone served as a reminder of how lonely I’d become, intensifying my current hardships.

  I steeled my heart and said, “Not at the moment. But there’s been lots of men since you.” I wasn’t lying about that. I’d played the field, even if I hadn’t done it lately.

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw. He seemed jealous, but it served him right. If he’d loved me, we’d still be together.

  He tossed his hat aside. “I’ve scored a lot, too.”

  “Of course, you have. Groupies galore.”

  He rolled his eyes. “As if that matters, with the way you used to chase me at the feedstore.”

  I could’ve smacked that smug look right off his face. “That’s not the same as you having groupies now. You weren’t even famous then.”

  “You still wanted me.”

  “You wanted me, too,” I shot back.

  “We both wanted each other.” He leaned toward me, his dark gaze boring into mine. “Maybe we should kiss and see if it still feels the same.”

  Everything inside me erupted: the past, the present, my uncertain future. “Really? And what would that solve?”

  “Nothing, except I think it would leave us both clamoring for more, like it did back then.”

  “I could kiss you without wanting more.” Earlier I’d imagined melting in his lap, but I wasn’t feeling weak or soppy now. My body had gone taut, my breathing shallow, and my anger was roiling. “I can control myself around you.”

  “Oh yeah?” he snapped. “Then prove it.”

  Screw him, I thought, while I stared him down. We’d barely ever fought before. Little tiffs here and there, but never anything major. I’d always suppressed my temper. But I refused to do that now.

  I grabbed his shoulders and put my face next to his, nearly
bumping his forehead with mine. It felt good to be mad, to let the pain come rushing out.

  “Here’s your proof,” I murmured hotly against his mouth. I was going to kiss him as if the world was about to end, then never, ever do it again.

  Two

  Dash

  Maximum velocity.

  Tracy thrust her tongue into my mouth, and my heart slammed against my rib cage. She wasn’t wasting a bit of time, and I relished the full-speed feeling.

  She tasted of lust and anger and chocolate. A strange sort of eroticism. She’d kissed me all sorts of ways in the past, but never like this. I returned the favor, devouring her with my pent-up passion. I pulled her onto my lap, and she rubbed against my fly.

  Was she punishing me for everything that had gone wrong between us? The hurt? The loss?

  She moaned, and I steadied her on my lap. I was hard beneath my jeans, ridiculously aroused. Being punished by her felt painfully good.

  When she pulled back, we both caught our breaths.

  “Did you get enough?” she asked, still straddling me and making me ache.

  “No.” I feared that I would never get enough, not when it came to her. She’d always been my sexual ideal. She used to be my dearest friend, too, and I didn’t have many of those. “Kiss me some more.”

  She stared at me, stony, harsh, dead-on. “This is going to be the one and only time, so don’t get used to it.”

  “Whatever you say.” I wasn’t going to argue, not while she was giving me a pulsating thrill.

  She narrowed her pretty blue eyes. “Maybe I should just let you go find one of your groupies instead.”

  “I can’t help that they chase me.” Women wanted me because I was rich and famous. And yeah, I liked it. Fame was an aphrodisiac. Money, too. The bigger my financial portfolio, the stronger I felt. “You should sing with me, Tracy. We should make music together.” I wanted to help revive her career. I needed to, I thought. After everything we’d been through, it was all I had to give her. A piece of my fame.

  I touched her cheek, softly, slowly. She used to want a piece of my heart, but she looked as if she hated me now.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  “Don’t what? Be nice?” I was still waiting for her to rekindle the fire. “You can bite me, if you want. You can draw blood.”

  “Maybe I will.” She pushed my hand away from her cheek. “Just stop touching me like that.”

  She used to get sweet and dreamy when I was gentle with her. But she was different than before. Or maybe she was just different with me. “Did you let all of those other guys touch you in nice ways?” Were they allowed to take over where I’d left off?

  Her voice sharpened. “That’s none of your business.”

  I hated imagining her with other men. For some stupid reason, I’d assumed that she’d barely had any lovers since me.

  She leaned forward, plundering my mouth once again. She didn’t bite me, but her kiss was still brutal and filled with wrath.

  I held her with an iron grip. I couldn’t get those other men out of my mind. I suspected that was how Tracy felt about my groupies, too. We were both jealous, but that only made this hotter, somehow. Former lovers steeped in envy and locked in lust, I thought.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t last. This time, when she tore her mouth away from mine, she got up off my lap.

  “I’m done with you,” she said, standing to smooth her clothes, even though they weren’t out of place.

  I stood as well, and let out my breath. I needed to walk off my arousal. I paced the room, feeling like a caged animal.

  Being punished didn’t feel so good now.

  And neither did my shame from the past. When she’d gotten pregnant, I didn’t have the means to support a wife and child, and I’d been scared out of my wits.

  But still, I’d tried. I’d offered to marry her, to give that poor kid a name. Of course, it was all gone now. The baby we’d conceived, our mixed-up engagement, even the adoring way Tracy used to look at me.

  I quit pacing and spun around to look at her, this former fiancée of mine. I’d never even bought her a ring. I could barely make my rent back then, let alone purchase a piece of jewelry. I could afford to give her a gigantic rock now. But I wasn’t going to marry her or have another baby. I was only trying to influence her career, if she would let me.

  “That wasn’t my intention,” I said.

  “What, the kiss?” She bit down on her bottom lip. “Then why did you bait me to do it?”

  “It was an impulse.” I noticed that her lipstick was gone. Not even a glimmer of it remained. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth in case some of it had gotten on me. “I lost control.”

  “Well, my control was just fine.”

  “With the way you rubbed all over me?” I stared at her. “Yeah, right.”

  She glowered back. “I was teaching you a lesson.”

  I looked her up and down. She had a beddable body, packed with curves. She had wholesome features, though. When she wasn’t made up, she looked innocent. I’d always found that fascinating. It made her seem like a chameleon, sultry one day and soft the next. I patted my knee, offering to let her climb back onto my lap. “Want to teach me another one?”

  She jerked her chin. “Go to hell, Dash.”

  “I’ve already been there.” The day my mother left had been the worst kind of hell. And so was the day Tracy had broken up with me. My aversion to love didn’t make me any less human. Or any less hurt.

  She resumed her seat. “You should be apologizing.”

  I slumped into my chair and crammed my hat back onto my head. “For what?”

  “Making things more difficult.”

  I grimaced, feeling like a heel. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I should be comforting her through her dad’s illness, not causing turmoil.

  She didn’t reply, so I kept talking, hoping to make amends and lighten her mood. “Remember the Christmas when both of our dads went caroling with us? Mine brought his eggnog along, and yours couldn’t carry a tune. What a pair they were.”

  She relaxed a little. “That’s the same night I cooked for everybody.”

  “Best holiday meal I ever had.” Not just the food, but watching her in the kitchen, following her dad’s recipes. “It’s nice that your old man taught you how to baste a turkey.”

  “And yours taught you to make his special eggnog.”

  “I can still whip up a batch when I have to.” I’d spent this past Christmas on the road, and hosted a party for the crew. But I hadn’t made the eggnog. The gathering had been catered.

  She reached into her purse, retrieved her compact and reapplied her lipstick. After that, she checked the time on her phone. She seemed anxious for some news.

  “Did they say how long the surgery will take?” I asked.

  She put her phone away. “An hour, maybe two. I guess it depends on how it goes.”

  I studied her in the overhead light: the glossy pink lipstick, the way her long, thick hair cascaded down her back. Did she still flip her head over to blow-dry it? I used to like watching her get ready in the mornings.

  We’d lived together in my apartment—a big, messy place above an old storage barn. Ratty as it was, I’d chosen it because I could make noise and practice my music there.

  Only it was Tracy who’d gotten a record deal. Soon after our engagement ended, her career flourished. I was alone, night after night, feeling like a failure, while she’d moved on to bigger and better things. At the time, it had solidified my biggest fear. Her making it, and me being left behind. But I’d had other insecurities during our relationship, too, especially when she’d gotten pregnant. I’d downright panicked about becoming a father, worrying about how I was going to help support our child.

  She checked the time again. “I wish we’d hear something.”<
br />
  “Do you need anything?” I asked, as a surge of emotion flashed through my veins. Our son or daughter would’ve been around five now and probably starting kindergarten this year.

  “What do you mean, anything?”

  “Something from the cafeteria. Or maybe a cup of coffee. I can have someone from my team make a food or drink run.”

  She shook her head. “I’m good. But they can get something for you.”

  “I’m all right.” I didn’t want coffee. I wasn’t hungry, either. “The candy bar was enough for me.”

  “For me, too.” She glanced at my mouth.

  Was she thinking about the chocolate we’d tasted on each other’s lips? The kiss that shouldn’t have happened? I wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon.

  We waited in silence, and within the hour, a quick knock sounded, then the door opened and Zeke poked his head inside.

  “The surgeon is here,” he said.

  Tracy leaped up from her seat, and the doctor entered, still attired in his scrubs.

  I stood as well, and he acknowledged both of us with a formal nod. He appeared to be in his midforties, with black-rimmed glasses, graying temples and an easy smile.

  Did that mean it was good news? Lord, I hoped so. I moved closer to Tracy, to hear what he had to say.

  Thankfully, the cancer hadn’t spread beyond the testicle. But nonetheless, Tracy’s beloved pop would be monitored over the next ten years, getting physicals and blood tests every three months for the first year, and less often as time went on. CT scans would also be done, and if all of those tests showed no sign of cancer, he wouldn’t need further treatment. If the cancer returned, then he would require radiation or chemotherapy.

  I’d taken care of my dad when he’d gotten sick, but his treatments didn’t work. He’d been having some respiratory problems that he’d ignored, and by the time he discovered it was lung cancer, he was already in an advanced stage. He’d passed away within months of his diagnosis.

  The doctor finished talking to Tracy, bade both of us goodbye and left the waiting room. Her dad would be coming home today.

  She turned toward me, looking as if she might burst into tears. I assumed it was from relief. I wanted to hold her, to let her cry in my arms, but I doubted that she would welcome my touch.