Loving Dallas(50)

“Shit, Robyn. My bad.” Jase Wade stands with one hand still holding tightly to me and the other wrapped around his cell phone.

Taking a steadying breath I give him a wavering smile. “No worries. I’m fine.”

Sort of. Minus the constant urge to vomit making me wish I could go home and curl up in old sweats. Wade is usually so much smoother. From the bags under his bloodshot eyes and disarray his shirt is in, he looks as bad as I feel and I can’t help but wonder if he’s okay.

“You all right? I think there’s something going around.”

He looks at me strangely, as if I’ve asked if he’s interested in nuclear physics and the atomic properties of space. “Yeah. Fine. Thanks.”

“You sure? Because the one-word answers don’t exactly scream ‘having the time of my life.’ Congratulations on the album going platinum, by the way.”

He releases my arm and shrugs, giving me a halfhearted grin. “Thanks.”

A modest Jase Wade isn’t something I’ve seen before. If anyone has the cocky country-boy swagger down to a science, it’s him. Dallas has been garnering a lot of attention since “Better to Burn” went gold. Both happening at the same time has likely created some competitive friction but I’m afraid to ask, for fear I’ll hear something I shouldn’t.

“Well, um, I should go check on the hors d’oeuvres, so . . .”

“You want to get some air? You look like you need it as badly as I do.” He rakes a hand roughly over his head and glances around for the nearest exit.

“You sure know how to flatter a girl.”

He rolls his eyes. “Stop. You know you’re gorgeous. You just look a little . . . I don’t know . . . out of sorts or something.”

“Or something,” I say, taking his arm and leading him to the French doors that open to the balcony. Thankfully no one stops us as we make our way outside. Fresh air is actually starting to sound pretty good.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Jase says as we step over to a deserted section of balcony. “You tell me why you’re green and look seconds from chunking on my shoes and I’ll tell you why I was barreling through the room like a runaway truck that nearly took you down.”

Sighing, I take a few minutes to breathe in the crisp, cool air around us.

When I turn to Jase, either he missed his calling as an actor or he’s genuinely concerned about my well-being.

“I either have the flu or food poisoning. I’ve been feeling off since New Orleans and I can’t shake it.”

“Did you go to the doctor?”

I gesture toward the party I had all of six days to plan. “When? In all of my spare time?”

He nods like he gets it. “That sucks. I hope you get to feeling better. Can I get you something to drink? Ginger ale or club soda or something?”

“Thanks. I’m good. For now.”

“You should go home if you’re feeling bad. The party is pretty much handling itself here. Hell, I’m the guest of honor and I don’t think anyone even cares if I’m here.” He rests his elbows on the balcony ledge and looks out over the courtyard.

I tilt my head. “That’s not true. All of this is for you, you know. To celebrate your hard work and success.”

“My success,” he huffs out under his breath.

“Whoa. I didn’t realize you’d invited me out here to your pity party.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “Who peed in your Wheaties?”

He chuckles, but it’s devoid of the lighthearted happiness that typically accompanies laughter.

Suddenly he turns to me, nailing me with an inquisitive stare I’m not prepared for. “You’re a hardworking girl, Red. You ever wonder if it’s worth it? The long hours? The traveling? Missing out on time with your family? Missing out on having a life, period?”

I regard him warily. He probably doesn’t realize how revealing his questions are. Or how much I can relate to them.

“Sometimes. I guess I tell myself that one day all the sacrifices will be worth it.”

“When?” he demands, growing instantly angry at my answer and catching me off guard. “When do people just sit back and say, ‘Okay. You did enough to deserve to just get to live your life. Now go enjoy it.’ Because I gotta tell you, in my experience, that day is never f*cking coming. Your single hits number one and that puts more pressure on the album to do the same so they add more tour dates. More promotional appearances. More radio interviews and talk show appearances. Sell out venues? They add sixteen more shows. It’s all about feeding the machine. Put your heart and body and soul into it, and poof, money comes out. Too bad you won’t have time to spend it.” He shakes his head. “I’m not complaining.”

I arch a brow at him.

“Okay. Yeah, I am complaining. But I’m also trying to caution you from making the same mistakes I have.”

“Which are?”

“Too many to name. But most importantly, don’t use each goal you reach as a reason to set another, higher, less attainable one. Because I can tell you from experience that a life of chasing the next number one, the next promotion, the next opportunity, without ever taking the time to sit back and enjoy what you’ve accomplished is exhausting. And empty.”

I blanch at his declaration. Jase Wade is sad. I can see it so clearly now. Why he puts up the front. It’s a defense mechanism, same as my own. I completely understand what Dallas was talking about now. About “Performer Dallas” and “Person Dallas.”