Page 1 of The Air I Breathe

Prologue

Willa

"I had to shoot my shot, ya know?" He ducks his head down, a bashful smile playing against his lips. When he reaches a finger up to scratch the facial hair I've come to tolerate, I like a full beard, but when he’s in training, or they’re on a winning streak, that can always change. Right now it’s some sort of goatee with the ends of the mustache curled up toward the sky.The black matte circle encasing his left ring finger makes my heart swell.

Shoot his shot he did, but that wasn't even the full story. It was supposed to be fun—a little bit of entertainment in between legs of my massive stadium tour. I’d needed that more than I could ever explain. I'd thought it would be no-strings, a good time, and we'd separate at the end.

Little did I know we were both ready for more, and once we’d had a taste of what more entailed? We weren't about to let that go. So that little fun time I'd planned? It was gone almost as soon as it began.

What it became?

How desperately I needed him?

The fucking air I breathe.

Chapter One

Willa

A Year Prior

"I'm so tired," I yawn, trying to sit still in the makeup chair.

"You've done fifty-five shows so far," Tara reminds me as she brushes a little more concealer under my eye. "And you've been performing three and a half hours a night. I don't know how you do it."

There are some nights where I don't know how I do it either, when I'm exhausted and trying to keep my eyes open. The crowd singing along to my biggest hits, giving me every ounce of energy, forces me to complete the show. Other nights I'm so energized by the time I get onstage, I can't hold my jitters inside. I'm busting with excitement as soon as I come up from under the catwalk. Those are the nights I love—when I don't have to fight for the strength to keep going. The only consistent thing I have every night is nerves. The pre-show jitters are real, but they’re comfortable.

"It's my job, and I love it." I smile. That's not a lie—sometimes I just wish for more.

I'm at the top of everything. This tour is grossing hundreds of millions, the special editions of my records are selling millions of copies, my tour is helping every city I go to, and right now, I have no one to share it with. I’m starting to think that a man who wants me and all that entails doesn’t exist.

The room I’m in is proof of that, it’s a hub of chaos. There are seamstresses making sure the outfits I’m going to wear tonight aren’t missing sequins. To be seen throughout the stadium, I love to sparkle. Over in the corner, my hairdresser is putting curls in the extension piece I’ll wear for the slower numbers of the show. A PA for the tour is talking into a handheld mic, listening in her ear. It takes a village to pull a show of this magnitude off I’m grateful and thankful for every single person.

My manager, Scott comes in, a smirk playing against his lips. "Hey, did you hear about the tight end who wanted to meet you? The one who plays for the Warriors? Blake Whitfield?"

"I have no idea what you're fucking talking about. I might live in Nashville, but that doesn't mean I follow the football team." I put the straw sticking out of my energy drink up to my lips and take a hearty pull.

"I can't believe you haven't heard about it. It's been all over social media." He thumbs through something on an iPad and then hands it to me.

"You know I don't do socials unless I absolutely have to." In years past, it's triggered me right into an eating disorder. I've learned my boundaries, and that's one of them.

"I haven't heard about this either," Tara waves a tube of liquid lip liner in my direction and I make the requisite O face as my eyes focus on the iPad. "So tell me about it while she's reading about it."

"So you know the podcast The Fields? The one where Bret and his wife, CeCe, talk about being a married couple in the NFL? They sometimes invite his brother on? Actually, they invite his brother on a lot because they're all hilarious together. Anyway, Blake mentioned he was at the Nashville show, and he had a friendship bracelet for Willa. One with his phone number on it. But he couldn’t get past security to give it to you, and you wouldn’t take song requests, so he didn’t have the opportunity to hand it over in person.." He puts his hands on his hips, giving me a look.

"Oh come on, I sing for three and a half hours—I have to save my voice. Not to mention so many people have done weird things in front of me. Do you know how stupid I feel when someone drops to a knee and proposes there? Not to mention I was in a long-term relationship, and we never talked marriage. Now here I am, single as fuck."

But I'm re-thinking it when I see how hot Blake Whitfield is. I've heard of him, obviously. Since we both live in Nashville, I'm sure we've probably been in the same places previously, but I've never paid him any attention. For seven years,I was in love, and I didn't need to look at anyone else. However, I've been single for almost a year now, even though everyone thinks it's only been a few months, and I'm getting ready to put myself back out there again.

"He's hot," Tara whistles through her teeth. "Like you-want-him-to-do-things-to-you-that-you-wouldn't-allow-other-people-to-do-to-you hot."

Our eyes meet in the mirror and we giggle. While I loved the man I was with, he wasn't exactly excited to be seen with me. Not only did he, hate every bit of my popularity, but he was also cold, to the point where I would beg for an ounce of warmth from him. He was moody, and one minute he’d be happy about what was going on between us, the next he’d ben angry that our dinner was interrupted on the rare times I would get him to go out on a date. It'd been okay with me in the beginning, but the more he pushed against being seen with me, the more I began to feel like his problem was me, and not my fame. We'd also had issues being compatible between the sheets. He didn't give me what I needed, and Tara knows that better than anybody. But this man, he went on a podcast to talk about me? And the way he looks? He…intrigues me.

"I'll be in Nashville in a couple of days,” I say. “Maybe I'll have my people get with his."

She snorts. "Is that how the other half gets dates now?"

"It's how I'm gonna get my dates from now on.” I pause. Maybe I’m being silly about this. I don’t even know the guy. Do I really want a distraction when everything’s going so well? I sigh. “I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to men."

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