Page 19 of Recklessly, Wildly Yours

I’ve spent the last three years suppressing my sexuality to be the perfect sweet country girl that he and Darren decided was right for our couple image. It started after the first time Tucker and I were photographed together in public. I was wearing a very demure dress that covered a great deal of skin. It wasn’t on purpose, but Tucker’s fans were intrigued because his image had always been very sexual and he’d never dated a woman who presented as sweet as that outfit made me look.

I’ve also spent the last three years watching everything I say and do with other men. Tucker had particular expectations of my behavior while I was in public. “For our brand, babe,” he always said. He reminded me repeatedly that even a casual wink at another guy could cause us a scandal. Three years of those expectations has me all fucked up. Don’t smile too brightly. Don’t speak too much. Don’t flick my hair in a sexy way. And for the love of God, don’t fucking wink.

The thing about denying parts of yourself is that over time you either forget or get confused about who you are. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to engage with a man. Or maybe I’ve forgotten how to engage with a man.

When Ethan returns, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, he doesn’t mention what happened. He simply carries on with making breakfast, which I’m grateful for.

“So, what’s the plan today?” he asks while chopping omelet ingredients like he’s a highly skilled chef.

I glance at the knife he’s good with. “Do you cook a lot?”

“Yeah. I find it distracting in a useful way.”

“Maybe I should take it up.”

“You don’t cook much?”

“Never. At least not since I moved in with Tucker. Before that, yes.”

“Well, it seems the timing might be right to get back in the kitchen.” He meets my gaze and I read the question in those blue eyes of his. The plan for today?

“I’m going to see my mom.”

Ethan’s confused. “Your mom?” His confusion is warranted. I did tell him she was dead.

“She’s buried in Sedona. I haven’t been back to visit her in over three years. And since your advice was to go away and be by myself, that’s what I’m going to do. I think a road trip sounds like a plan. I haven’t driven in years and I miss it.”

“I’m not sure a road trip by yourself is in your best interest. Not with all your fans out there.”

He’s not wrong about that. “I’m going to ask Leigh to come with me.”

He doesn’t appear convinced. “What about security? You should take some with you.”

I release a breath and rest my elbows on the island. “I understand your point but I’m tired of always traveling with an entourage. I’m tired of schedules and checklists and rules. I just want to have some fun and live moment to moment for a little while.”

He gives me a knowing look. “You want to run away for a bit.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t want to take your usual security guys?”

“I don’t have access to my usual security.”

“Why not?”

I sigh again. Mostly because I feel like an idiot. “Here’s the truth of my life: I don’t run very much of it. My manager does. I’d have to go through him to arrange security and he’s the last person I want to talk to at the moment.”

“You could outsource.”

“I mean, I could, but I don’t have the first clue how to do that.” God, I really do feel dumb.

“I could help you.”

“You could,” I say slowly, trying to get a handle on what my gut’s telling me. It’s twisting and turning at the thought of going on a road trip with strangers.

“But you don’t want to.” His voice is threaded with understanding. “You need people you know around you,” he adds softly.

“Yes.”

---