Good Girls Don't Date Rock Stars(33)

“Well, hell, son, you scared the devil out of me. Gemma, that DJ’s kid who introduced us?”

“That’s her,” Travis said.

“Whew, okay, that’s an easy spin. Young lovers reunited after years apart, the old spark’s there, and they act impulsive. The media will think it’s romantic as hell.”

Except that she wants nothing to do with me now.

“How many pictures have surfaced so far?”

Big George’s breathing was labored, which meant he was either pacing or the yelling had taken its toll. The man had been a pack-a-day smoker for twentysome years and carried about a hundred extra pounds around his middle, so excitement tended to wind him. “Half a dozen or more on social media, but so far I’ve only seen one of you and her entering the chapel in the tabloids, and it’s hard to see her face.”

“Do you think you can contain it for now? I need a little bit of time with Gemma before the shitstorm hits.”

Big George’s hoarse laugh exploded. “Need a little honeymoon before you step out, huh? I imagine you’re both eager to get ‘reacquainted.’ You do what you gotta do, and I’ll try to get a handle on the rodeo circus.”

“Thanks, George.” Travis said his good-byes and went back inside to find Gemma putting books on a shelf.

“Sorry about that,” he said as she stood up to face him. Reaching out, he took her hands and squeezed them. “Why don’t we put all our problems on the back burner for a while? I have some time, and you said I didn’t know who you were, so . . . why don’t we date?”

“But,” she stammered, “we’re married already. At least technically.”

“And that means we can’t date? Come on, married couples have date nights,” he said, pulling her close to his body. “Why don’t we say three? Isn’t there a three-date rule or something, where you know after three dates whether you like someone or not?”

“I think three dates is the sex rule. Three dates before sex,” Gemma said, biting her lip, but he thought he caught a twinkle in her eye.

Smiling, he said, “Well, we’ve already gone there, but we can take it off the table if you want. Three dates; we’ll talk, we’ll have fun, we’ll share things about ourselves, and if the date goes well, maybe a little light petting.”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“I’m just asking you to give it a shot, Gem. After that, we can get down to the heavy stuff,” he said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “What have you got to lose? You said it yourself; you’re already married to me. If things really aren’t working out, I’ll do what you want; we’ll get a divorce and I’ll never darken your doorstep again.”

“Travis—”

“Just say yes, Gem.” He brought up the palm of her hand and laid a kiss against the heart of it.

He thought for sure she would argue some more, but instead, he was pleasantly surprised.

“Okay, but if we’re doing this, it needs to start tonight,” she said. “That way if it doesn’t work, we aren’t dragging this out.”

A little disheartening, but I’ll take it. “So, do I pick you up at your house, or—”

“Just meet me here, at around seven,” she broke in, and he wondered what was going on at her house that she didn’t want him to know about.

Maybe she’s a hoarder . . . or an animal hoarder at that.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?”

Keeping his thoughts to himself, he teased, “Nothing. I just can’t wait to take my wife out on our first official date.”





Chapter Nine




* * *





WHEN IT WAS quiet at the bookstore, Gemma sat down at her laptop but couldn’t concentrate on writing. She’d been trying to write her first novel for several months now, a Regency romance, which was what had first inspired her desire to attend the Lovers of Romance Convention. The workshops had been helpful and informative, but now all of their concentration tips failed her as her mind kept wandering.

With mild curiosity, she Googled “Travis Bowers Vegas,” and waited as the results popped up. She saw several pictures of Travis on stage at his concert and smiled as she clicked through the photos until a very clear picture of Travis holding her hand in their formal wear as they walked into the chapel caught her eye. Her face was only partially visible, but for someone who knew her, it would be easy to identify her.

Shit. She scrolled down some more, and there was Travis with his hand on her back, talking to Callum. Bile rose in her throat as she kept going, but after that, there were mostly concert and shirtless pictures. She was surprised that there weren’t more pictures, especially when she went to the different tabloids. Talking Nashville seemed to be the only one covering the story. Their headline read:

DID COUNTRY MUSIC’S BAD BOY TIE THE KNOT?

Travis Bowers was seen with a mystery woman at a small wedding chapel in Vegas. When Talking Nashville tried to get the scoop from chapel owner Seamus McGillan, he refused to comment. So far, the possible bride-to-be’s identity is unknown, but if Travis is off the market, there will be a lot of ladies nursing broken hearts.


A cold sweat spread over Gemma’s body, but there was no help for it. The pictures were out there, and it was only a matter of time before someone spilled the beans for money or cruelty. She’d spent half her life as a punch line, and her faith in people being inherently good was slim.