“You guys really look out for each other, don’t ya?” I ask.
“Leave no man behind. I just want to hear back from one of them before we leave.”
“Sure thing.” I slip my phone free of my pocket and scroll through my emails. One subject stands out.
WILL YOU MARRY ME?
I click on it.
Dear Shelby,
Roses are red, violets are blue,
I really want to marry you.
Tomorrow night would be better,
For us to get together.
You’ll always be mine.
I promise you, the sex will be fine.
Please say yes.
Don’t respond with rejection.
You don’t want to miss out on my massive erection.
Love, Floyd. 937-555-9375
“Eww!” I click delete but scrubbing my brain of that creep-tastic poem won’t be as easy.
“What’s wrong?” Rooster asks.
“Nothing. Just some creepy fan mail. I’ll never understand why they think being gross will work.”
His face pulls into a frown. “Gross how?”
I retrieve the email from my trash folder and show it to him.
“What the fuck? You’ve gotten more messages like this?”
“All the time.” I squint at him. “Me and every other female who has a social media account. At least there’s no dick pic attached this time.”
“What?”
“How can you be so unaware?”
“I assure you, never in my twenty-eight years has it occurred to me to send a picture of my dick to a stranger.”
Something about his serious tone sends me into a fit of giggles. “So, you send them to your friends?”
“No.” He glances at my phone again and taps the screen.
“What are you doing?”
“Forwarding that to my account.”
“What? Why?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Rooster!” I lunge to his side of the truck, grabbing for my phone. “Give me that.”
“Here.” He hands it over. “All done.”
“You can’t go harassing my fans.”
“That’s not a fan. That’s a creep who needs to learn some manners.”
“He’s not the only one,” I grumble. I open my Instagram account. Takes less than a second to find some perv’s comment on my most recent post.
“Shelby,” I read out loud. “I bet you’d ride my face like a mechanical bull. What do ya say? Cowgirl up?” I click my phone screen off, in case Rooster gets any ideas. “You can’t go after all of them, Rooster.”
“That’s fucking bullshit.”
I squint at him. “I can’t believe you’re so shocked.”
He shakes his head. “Actually, I’m not. Some of the girls we work with get some pretty twisted messages, but—”
“Oh, you think because I’m a sweet, sassy little country singer those kinda guys will treat me nicer than they treat a stripper? Nah. All women are whores dying to see a dick in their inbox to them.”
He busts up laughing. “I still don’t like it.”
I reach over and tug on his beard. “And I wouldn’t like you so much if you did.”
“Seriously, though.” He takes a deep breath. “I want you to be careful.”
“I am. I never post pics until after I leave the location. I don’t answer those creepy messages. I don’t go off exploring by myself when we’re in a new city—”
He leans in and presses his mouth to mine—a soft kiss that whips into something wild and demanding.
And then it’s over.
Woozy from the kiss, I’m slow to open my eyes.
“I know this is…new and we’re still figuring out how this long-distance thing works, but I can’t help wanting to protect you. Can’t help wanting to beat the shit out of anyone who disrespects you. It’s just who I am.”
“I understand that.” I force a quick smile. “I kinda like that about you.”
“Good.”
“It’s a little weird for me, though.” The intensity between us feels too heavy, so I stare out the window. “My momma’s fierce.”
He chuckles softly. “I remember.”
“Well, I watched her fall apart after my sister…after Hayley…”
He reaches over and squeezes my hand.
“Then my dad just walked out. Not that he was some super-dad even before Hayley got sick. He was one of those ‘fetch me a beer while I sit and watch television all night’ kind of dads when he got home from work. Never paid all that much attention to us in the first place. It broke her a little. I had to fend for myself and look out for her.”
I risk glancing up and find him staring at me, beard twitching from grinding his jaw.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take a detour there.”
“I’m listening.”
I wipe my hands against my skirt, trying to force the thoughts in my head into words on my tongue. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m not familiar with someone else looking out for me. My mom