I glance down at the intricate tribal pattern inked into my arm. Annoying, maybe, but not painful. “But I have a high tolerance for pain.”
“Of course you do.” I can practically hear the eye roll in her voice. “Is that a deal-breaker or something for you?”
“What? No.” I reach over and squeeze her leg. “Love all your perfect, smooth skin just the way it is.”
She twines her fingers with mine.
“Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“Don’t be. Jigsaw and I will be right in the next room listening to the whole thing.”
“Oh, great. What if I make a fool out of myself in front of Jigsaw?”
“You’ve met him, right?”
“You’re terrible.”
But she’s smiling now, instead of fretting.
I steer the truck into the parking garage, taking a ticket and tossing it on the dashboard. Jigsaw’s bike rumbles behind us, echoing throughout the parking garage.
I’m so focused on Shelby, I forget about the two DJs about to ruin our morning.
Chapter Fifty-One
Shelby
I’m wound tighter than a cuckoo clock.
The radio station’s small but clean and full of new equipment. Not as fancy as others I’ve been to but not shabby either.
“Shelby Morgan, it’s so nice to meet you. This is Scotty and I’m Junior.” He pauses as if he’s expecting me to gush and say I’m a fan or something.
“Thanks for havin’ me.”
Scotty—or Slimy, as I’ve renamed him in my head so I can tell the two of them apart—leers down at me and offers his hand. Reluctantly, I take it. He brings it to his mouth, brushing his oily lips over my knuckles.
Gross.
Germs.
I should’ve brought hand sanitizer.
Next to me, Rooster growls.
I snatch my hand back, giving it a quick swipe against my jeans.
Junior—Jolly in my head—stares at Rooster. I guess I should be flattered. Apparently, I’m so dazzling they didn’t notice the four hundred and fifty pounds of bikers who’ve followed me into the studio. Jigsaw’s been studying the wall of photos behind us. But Rooster hasn’t left my side.
“Weren’t you here yesterday?” Junior asks.
“With the porn star!” Scotty cackles and thrusts his hips in the air. “Considering a career switch, Shelby?”
Huh?
“No,” Rooster growls. “Shouldn’t you start the show?”
“So, what do you do, Mr. Biker Man?” Scotty asks. “Run a bodyguard service for porn stars and pop tarts? How can I get in on that?”
That draws Jigsaw’s attention. He steps up to Scotty, conveniently blocking Rooster from killing the stupid DJ. “What’d you say ’bout my baby sister?” he says in a low, hollow voice that’s downright terrifying.
Uncomfortable laughter rolls out of me. “Easy, big bro.” I pat Jigsaw’s rock-hard shoulder. “I’m sure Scotty just thinks he’s funny.”
Junior slaps his partner’s chest. “Knock it off. Let’s get ready for her segment.”
An assistant comes in and guides me into a seat across from the two DJs.
Greg’s lucky he didn’t accompany me to this interview, or I mighta kicked his ass. I’m already hating it.
“Good morning!” Scotty’s morning announcer voice is just as cheesy as I expected. “We’re proud to say the lovely Shelby Morgan has graced us with her presence this morning.”
I lean in closer to the microphone. “Thanks for havin’ me.”
“So tell us, Shelby, what was being on a show like Redneck Roadhouse like? That’s how you got your start, right?” Junior asks.
“Well, technically I got my start at the local honky-tonk.” I let out a soft laugh that I hope sounds more warm and friendly than brain-dead.
They take me through Redneck Roadhouse, thankfully avoiding some of the less-flattering moments. I doubt it’s to spare my feelings. More like they didn’t research much about me besides my cup size.
“Rumor has it you’re very involved with the children’s charity Dream Makers,” Junior says. “Why’d you decide to do that?”
The question tumbles over me like a bucket of bricks. I guess they did their research after all. But these jerks don’t deserve to hear stories about my beautiful baby sister. “They, ah, approached me when I was on Redneck Roadhouse, and whenever my schedule allows, I like to do what I can.” Good Lord, if I sprinkle anymore Southern sweetness into my voice, I'll have to change my name to Sugar.
“Isn’t that depressing, visiting cancer kids?” Scotty says in a dismissive tone. If he keeps it up, I’m fixin’ to jump this table and snatch him bald. “Is there a charity for teenage boys who want to lose their virginity to a hot chick? Now, that’s a worthy cause.”
Junior lets out an uncomfortable laugh. “Sounds like something you probably still need to sign up for.”