The Ex Factor - Erin McCarthy Page 0,5
summarily deflated right inside her. It had been mortifying, unsatisfying, and one of her worst lapses in judgment in years. Poor Duane couldn’t even look at her now, even though she had repeatedly assured him it wasn’t a big deal, that they’d both been loaded. The memory made her no-nos shrivel up and die just a little all over again. “Okay, I’m lying. I am horny. But that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with Chance.”
“Sure you don’t. That’s why you’ve been staring at your clothes for ten minutes and nothing is in the suitcase. Admit it. You want to look cute for Chance.”
“Well, of course I do. No one wants to look like a troll in front of their ex.”
“The only thing you need to pack is lube and birth control.”
Sometimes her sister was just a little too much inclined to speak her mind.
“You’re tacky.” It was the only comeback she had.
But the honest words had the affect of spurring her into action. She started pulling jeans and yoga pants from drawers in her closet, along with some loose skirts and sundresses. It was July, after all. Really, what did she need beyond some tank tops and plain white T-shirts? She wasn’t trying to seduce the man. This was about songwriting.
“Okay, Nashville Barbie, go on and call me tacky. But remember what Mama always said--the best way to get over a man is to get under another one.” Elle plopped down on the bed next to Dolly. “Not to sleep with the ex.”
“Mama never said that. Ever.” Jolene started stacking up clothes in her open suitcase next to her sister.
Their mother was a sweet, naïve God-fearing woman with excessively poor taste in men. There was nothing calculating about her. She’d never taken up with a man out of revenge or the need to move on, even after their daddy had gone to prison for his warped version of doing God’s will by knocking their mama around. She’d just been the type of woman who had believed in love, blindly, never seeming to realize after her divorce that the truck stop she worked at wasn’t the best place to find a monogamous man. Or even one without a criminal record. But she never quit trying.
“The principle still applies. Instead of going off to the woods with Chance, you should be making the moves on some hot cowboy.”
“We’re not talking about me, are we?” Jolene glanced wryly at her sister. “This sounds like your fantasy, not mine.”
Elle shrugged. “Maybe. But what’s a girl got to do to get a little action going?”
“The problem is everyone in this town is all about themselves, you know. It’s a steaming pot of talent and narcissism. None of the guys can stop looking at themselves in the mirror long enough to look at you.”
Her sister was beautiful. Elle had been Jolene’s makeup artist since the beginning of her career and she had a carefree vibe, with a sharp sense of humor, and a dry wit. Jolene could even admit that Elle was probably smarter than she was. But neither of her siblings could top her when it came to hard work and discipline. She knew she looked like what Elle had deemed “Nashville Barbie.” It was calculated. She’d been gifted by the Lord a generous chest, small waist, and luscious lips and she had used that to her advantage to present the total package when she’d come to Nashville looking for her big break.
That had been seven years ago, and nothing much of anything had really happened until she’d met Chance and they’d started writing music together. He was Country royalty, third generation songwriter. His Nashville roots went back to the sixties, to the era of Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline. She envied him that, but mostly she’d just been grateful he’d been willing to give her a shot. Or rather, let Ginny strong-arm him into working with her. Their mutual agent had introduced them, they’d started writing songs and sleeping with each other, and after they cut a demo for fun, the ball started rolling.
The rest was history.
Even if the ball had eventually careened down a hill, crashed into a wall, and gotten stuck tight in mud.
Elle’s dating life had consisted of a couple of guitar players who had more hair than talent, and a real estate agent who had been caught with another woman in the lobby restroom of the Grand Ole’ Opry. Jolene felt her pain. Before Chance there had only been