The Ex Factor - Erin McCarthy Page 0,33
lettuce and diced a tomato. “But that’s all I’m saying on that subject.”
“If you promise to let me toss your phone in the pond I’ll give you anything you want,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her in a wicked enticement.
Chance was unscrewing the wine bottle and he pulled out the cork, slowly, in a way that was somehow sexual and dirty and intriguing. Jolene’s body responded by becoming heavy, a pit forming in her core, and she cursed her hormones. “No. I am not ditching my phone. I have work to do. That was just wishful thinking.”
“All that matters right now is writing this album.” He lifted the wine bottle to his lips and took a sip. “I would like your undivided attention.”
Sexy bastard. She couldn’t resist him. It was a bitch being so in love with someone.
She paused, wondering where that thought had come from. She wasn’t in love with Chance. She’d been in something with him. The precursor to love. She had been in lustful like. Even as she thought it, she knew that was a lie. She’d been in love with him, she’d just never told him.
“Forget it. Ditching my phone is insane. I need to communicate.”
“Chicken.”
“I am not falling for that!” She pulled out a grilled chicken breast and started sawing it in a manner than would have a chef wincing. “This is the only chicken around here. Now get the dressing and zip it.”
“Let’s eat outside.”
“Why, so you can steal my phone and throw it in the water? Do I look stupid? Besides, I thought you were worried about the media,” she gestured to the window. “Doesn’t sound like you mind getting a pic snapped now.”
He made a face. “How could I forget about our little friends watching us? Dining room it is.” He reached into the cupboard and pulled down two plates.
In another minute they were facing off over the table, Jolene tucking in to the quick salad. She was starving. Sex would do that.
“I guess we should pull out your guitar and my notepad after dinner,” she said, trying to break the silence that had fallen between them, though she wasn’t sure why.
Chance had poured himself a whiskey and he was mostly ignoring the salad, just sipping his drink in his underwear, watching her. He made a noncommittal sound, slouching back in his chair, the very picture of casual confidence. Sometimes he was so sexy she couldn’t even think of a single word to say. This was one of those times.
Back as a kid in Starkey, she had watched the CMAs on network television, praying the reception wouldn’t be too terrible on their ancient TV or that Daddy wouldn’t come home drunk and decide to throw it out the window, which he had done on more than one occasion. But in those moments, crowded up on the old couch, their trailer stale from cigarettes and sweat, she and Elle had held hands and stared in awe at the beauty of the Grand Ole’ Opry and the pure glamour of female country stars.
But around the time she was thirteen and puberty kicked in with a vengeance, she found herself watching the men of country music just as closely as the women. She had developed a healthy crush on more than one star, along with a couple of band musicians. They were untouchable, the ultimate fantasy.
Her whole relationship with Chance felt that way to her now. Like it hadn’t been real. No way this was real. How could she, of mediocre intelligence and talent, have landed a record deal and a smoking hot songwriting legend? The answer was, she hadn’t. She had had Chance’s body, then and again today, but she didn’t have his heart. She didn’t even have access to his thoughts. He was still as cool and sexy and elusive as all the men on the TV had been back when she was a scrappy teen trying to figure out how to clothe her new supersized chest with last year’s Goodwill T-shirts.
“When you first met me, what did you think?” she asked, then instantly regretted it. She just might not like his answer. She hated that even after all her success, she still suffered from imposter’s syndrome.
His eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Never mind.” She pushed her plate away. “I’m going to go sit out on the porch if you care to join me. It’s a beautiful night and I’m not going to let a potential photographer stop