while I sit there with a polite smile etched on my face, trying not to roll my eyes.
“So, you’re on tour with Dawson Roads right now?” Scotty asks when they finally settle down.
“That’s right. We’ve got a show in town tonight.”
“What’s that like?” Scotty turns toward Junior. “That guy’s a stud. You ever see some of the hot babes he…dates?”
Junior grunts in agreement.
“Are you and Dawson…tight?” The inflection Scotty uses sounds more like he’s asking about the elasticity of my pussy than my relationship with Dawson.
“Dawson’s been kind to me. The tour has been a wonderful learning experience,” I answer carefully. “I’m thankful for the opportunity.”
“I’m sure you are,” Scotty says.
Jerk.
“Tell us about tour life,” Junior says, before Scotty can open his mouth again. “This is your first national tour, right?”
“Yes. It’s been an adventure.”
“Do you have any pre-show rituals you have to do before you go onstage?”
“Well, I like to do a little yoga, meditate and center myself. I’ll do some vocal exercises. Mostly, I just like to stay calm and focus on the show.”
“Are you a diva?” Scotty’s deep tone drips with sarcasm that grates on my nerves. “One of those singers who demands fancy artisan spring water from five-thousand-year-old caves and stuff?”
I huff out a soft laugh. “Hardly.”
“Nah, you’re a down-home Texas girl, right?” Junior teases. “Probably trying to get some sweet tea and lemonade.”
“Well, days I’m singing I usually stick to plain water and a little hot tea with lemon.”
“You don’t let loose after a show and down some shots?” Scotty asks, eyebrows crawling all the way up his forehead.
“I’ve been known to knock back a paloma or two back home.” I force out another friendly, girlish laugh. “Maybe after the tour, that’s what I’ll celebrate with.”
“What the heck’s a paloma?” Scotty gags. “Sounds super-girly.”
“It’s tequila, grapefruit juice, lime juice, simple syrup and club soda. The unofficial drink of Texas.”
“Oh, now I want one,” Junior says.
Scotty leans in close to the microphone. “Does tequila make your clothes come off, Shelby Morgan?”
What a waste of such a smooth baritone voice. I roll my eyes as he sits back in his chair and preens like the dumbest peacock in the flock, proud of himself for the cheesy song reference.
“Not even if you were Joe Nichols himself,” I answer with a tart snap to my tone.
“Is there someone special in your life, Shelby?” Junior says.
I duck my head, trying to stop the heat spreading over my cheeks.
“Aw, she’s blushing.” Scotty giggles like an idiot. “Is it Dawson? Oh, even better, is it a woman? There are no lesbian country singers, are there? What a shame.”
How the heck did Greg think this show would be a good move for me?
“Is it hard being in a relationship when you’re on the road so much?” Junior asks.
Nice try at injecting some normalcy into this stupid interview.
“It is. But I’m incredibly blessed that he’s able to visit me with some frequency.”
“That must bum your male fans out, no?” Scotty asks.
“I guess.”
“Rumor has it, you have an obsessed fan. Is that true?” Junior asks.
And I thought you were the nice one.
So far, I’ve done a good job of staring straight ahead and not checking to see if Rooster’s watching or not.
As if he’s physically compelling me to turn around, my body shifts. He’s standing at the window staring at me with a whole lot of what the fuck burning in his eyes.
That’ll be a fun conversation to have later.
“My fans are lovely. I’m grateful to have them,” I say softly into the microphone.
I’d have to be nuttier than a squirrel turn to risk pissing off the creepy letter writer just so these two can get their jollies off.
Rooster
“Rumor has it, you have an obsessed fan. Is that true?”
What the fuck?
The whole time Shelby’s been in there with those two jerks, I’ve been tense. Edgy. Ready to break down the door and crack their skulls together for the stupid shit they’re saying.
Obsessed fan? Did they make that up to fuck with her? I’ve been stalking her social media like a fat kid waiting for the ice cream truck during summer break and haven’t seen any mention of it. I’ve even been checking that stupid gossip blog that seems to be obsessed with her love life.
“What’s he talking about?” Jigsaw asks. “Shelby has a stalker?”
“First I’ve heard it.” I take out my phone and check out one of her accounts. “She’s got a bunch of creepy fucks who follow her and send her weird DMs.”