You'd Be Mine(38)

The crowd shouts their approval, and I wave offstage. “And to play this oldie, I brought along some of my good friends to help. Clay Coolidge and Fitz Jacoby, everyone!” The stadium turns thunderous, and I have to laugh. The guys join us in the center of the stage. Fitz, carrying his fiddle, faces Kacey as if to challenge her to a fiddle duel. Or eyeball sex. It could go either way.

Jefferson accepts a mic from a stagehand and flashes his award-winning smile at the cheering thousands. He’s Clay right now, except for the tiny wink he flashes just for me. That’s Jefferson.

A girl could get whiplash trying to keep up.

I turn to the crowd, lifting my glittery mic. “We’re all friends here, right?” I move to the edge of the stage. “Because I have a confession, y’all. I think I’ve lost my immunity to Southern boys.” I fan my face theatrically as every female in the audience cheers their approval.

“And I’m finding I’m a bit partial to those Northern girls myself,” Clay says. Lord, this boy. I don’t know how to respond, so I punch his arm. He grunts into his mic and rubs his arm. “Your gran approve of that sass, Mathers?”

I grin and place my hand on my hip. “Who do you think taught me?”

He barks out a laugh and concedes, lifting his mic. “Okay, fair enough. I don’t want to make Gran angry at me.” He motions to Jason. “As Annie said, this is an oldie but a goodie. In fact, it’s an old favorite of my granddad’s as well. So, without further ado, ‘We’ve Got Tonight’ by Kenny Rogers and the stunning Dolly Parton.”

I’m selfishly thrilled that I don’t have to jump in until the second verse, because it means I get to sit back and watch Clay at work. It’s hard not to imagine if he’s feeling these lyrics as strongly as I am. A song about a man convincing his lover to stay with him for one more night …

Well, it hits a bit close to home, doesn’t it? That’s the glorious thing about music. It speaks to the very heart of things in the most absolute and obtrusive way. When I asked my gran for requests this afternoon and she answered with a twinkle in her eye, I knew I was doomed. My gran has a massive, decades-long crush on Kenny Rogers, and despite her reservations about Clay being too charming for his own good, he’s one of the few in the industry who can pull off Kenny’s signature coarse tenor. Which is really unfortunate for me.

Clay stands, legs spread at the hips, knees bending as if to absorb the force of his powerful voice. He growls into his mic a few lines before softening his plea so that it sends chills dancing down my spine. I’m so stunned at the stark appeal in his eyes when he turns to face me, I almost miss my cue.

I step off my stool, slowly making my way over to him. It takes a line to find myself again, but by the time I’m returning his staged advances with my own longing for love, my words strike home, and I can feel every eye of the audience painting us in sincerity. He reaches out his hand for mine, and I grasp his fingers in a squeeze, punctuating the meaning in my words. We come to the crescendo of the song where he’s supposed to beg his case, and hell if he doesn’t do a stand-up job. If the tabloids weren’t speculating about our feelings before, duets like this one will seal the deal.

He sings to me that he knows my plans don’t include him, but it’s a lie. They do. I don’t want them to, but that hardly matters. We wrap the song, and as the fiddles fade out, he pulls me close with a friendly, brotherly hug to his side, and without overthinking it, I raise on my tiptoes and kiss his stubbly cheek.

Because, fine. He doesn’t feel like “Clay” deserves me. He’s wild and reckless and a bit of a slut, if we’re honest. And I’m careful and sheltered and damaged. Okay, then. We don’t jump into bed together. I can handle that. I need to handle that, because I’m not sure I’m ready to be jumping into bed with anyone.

Instead, I’ll take what he’s offering me. This Jefferson—who I get the feeling is the truth behind the persona. The person he wants to be. The voice from the trailer the afternoon we fought.

And the man I could easily fall hopelessly in love with, but we won’t worry about that right now. For now, we’ll sing.





14



Clay


It’s not long after we return to our buses that night that there’s a knock on the door. Fitz props it open, letting Annie, Kacey, and Jason in. Kacey and Annie are holding hoodies and flashlights. Jason holds up a plastic grocery bag.

“We’re gonna go find some shoreline and build a bonfire. Interested?”

Annie beams. “It’s not too far out of town, and Aunt Carla said we could borrow her car as long as we brought it back before morning!”

It’s after midnight, but their enthusiasm is catching. “I haven’t had s’mores in years. Got any chocolate?”

“Duh.” Kacey shrugs. Her eyes dart to Fitz. “Coming?”

Fitz is already tying on tennis shoes.

Within minutes, we’re nearing a state park. Instead of turning in the main entrance, Jason continues down the highway another quarter mile and pulls down an unmarked dirt road.

“Should I ask how you knew that would be there?”

“Band camp,” the drummer mutters, concentrating his efforts on navigating the rutted road in the dark.

“I’m sorry?”