Page 75 of Music City Diaries

Subject: Hold on to your buttcheaks

Lennox,

Hey girl! You’ve only been gone a day, and I miss you already. Have you managed to have sex in every space on the tour bus yet? If not, I expect a full report by this weekend.

So far, things have been okay. I got a phone and tablet yesterday after managing to not wreck Bubba’s truck. Speaking of, did you know his name was Waylon? I think I’m going to start calling him that, just for kicks.

He’s not the same guy you described or that I met that one time. I don’t think he likes me very much if the grunts and scowls are any indication.

At least Grayson and Brooks have been lovely.

Speaking of… You’ll never believe who Brooks turned out to be! Cowboy! The guy I fell for online is Bubba’s roommate. How bizarre is that?

I don’t know which I’m enjoying more… making Waylon’s eye twitch each time I do something right at the shop or making his ding-dong twitch each time I bend over in my dress. Only time will tell!

Write back soon. I miss you, and I need some tips on how to piss off Waylon.

Your Bestie

Eight

BROOKS

I rolledthe tire over to Grayson, wiping the sweat from my brow when I stopped. He lifted it up to the truck, letting out a rush of air when he secured it onto the axle. Together, we tightened the lug nuts and bolts, securing the tire to the vehicle. He nodded to the other mechanic, stepping back to wipe his face with his rag.

“It gets hotter every summer,” he moaned.

Snorting, I walked over to the water cooler and filled two cups. Stepping back, I smiled before I tossed one onto his face, bringing the other to my lips.

“Hey!” he yelled but sighed as the cool water trickled down his face and soaked his shirt. “I should return the favor, but it feels too nice today.”

Chuckling, I continued to drink my water, attempting to find the words I needed to say. When I wasn’t on the rodeo circuit, I helped Grayson out at the shop. It was easy and gave me income when I was off. Grayson bought this place a few years back with his earnings from modeling. He’d wanted something permanent to call his own in case the jobs quit coming or he grew tired of it.

More and more, I saw him taking fewer jobs and focusing on the shop and our brotherhood. It made me want to do the same. I just wasn’t sure what outside of rodeo I was good at.

It sure as hell wasn’t talking to girls. Darcie had been the first one I’d ever connected with, and that had been through a camera without ever seeing her face. I still couldn’t believe she was here, in my house, just down the hall from me.

It seemed too good to be true, but I didn’t think Darcie had a deceitful bone in her body, so I’d take my good fortune and thank my stars for her return to me.

“What’s on your mind, Brooks? You’ve been quieter than usual,” Grayson said, eyeing me. His hand covered the top part of his face, shielding it from the sun.

“Can we move inside?” I asked, not wanting any of the other guys to hear. They were friendly for the most part, but they weren’t my brothers.

“Yeah, sure.”

He called to one of the guys and led the way into the office. He sighed in relief when he stepped into the AC, an audible sound breaking free. He took his chair behind the cluttered desk, a contrast to the tidy room back at home. I’d asked him once why it was so disorganized here, and he shrugged, stating he didn’t have to sleep at work.

I took the chair across from him, spreading my legs wide as I sat. Downing the last of the water, I tossed the cup into the trash before turning to look at him.

“Spit it out, Cowboy.”

When Grayson really meant something, he’d call me by my road name, leaving it for only times he wanted to get his point across.

“Do you remember how you told me to try that website so I could practice talking to girls and get some,” I cleared my throat, “experience?”

Grayson sat back, clearly not expecting me to say this. His brow lifted, and he nodded. “Of course. If I remember correctly, you met someone and spent a lot of money on her, then she just vanished. You were really broken up about it for months. Why?”

I fidgeted, picking at the chair arm as I rolled the words over in my head. Sometimes I had to practice saying things several times before I found the courage to utter them. A therapist had told me it was rehearsing, and while it could be helpful to decrease a lot of my anxiety, it wasn’t a way to live. If I was always practicing life, I would never actually live it.

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