Page 95 of Extended Bridge

“I don’t know. Seemed like you were into those peacocks.”

“Well, they were fascinating. They had a purpose—to bring creativity. The rest,” I shudder. “The rug in the kitchen would be the first thing to go.”

He leans back in the chair, studying the menu. “Yeah, not your aesthetic. I remember the kitchen at your house. Not a scrap of rug to be seen,” he teases.

“Nor at Secluded Rest,” I remind him.

“Speaking of which, King emailed me the paperwork for the purchase.” He smiles, his green eyes lighting up. “Looks like we’re going to be neighbors. Although, I think it would be more practical if we shacked up together. Think about all the gas we’d save driving between our homes.”

Inside, my center of gravity tenses, then falls. “This is moving fast.”

“Sweetheart, I love you. You love me.” His gaze flicks to me for confirmation, which I can’t help but give to him. “Why keep it a secret?”

“I don’t want to hide, if that’s what you think. It’s just, all the media?—”

“Fuck them.”

Our server appears. I’m the one who’s embarrassed for his cursing, even if I agree with his sentiment. We give him our orders and he retreats to the kitchen.

I return to our conversation. “Not to mention Michelle. I’m not sure what her next move will be, but I doubt she’ll back down now.”

His hand covers mine. “All the more reason to stay with me. Together. We’ll make a statement.” When he reads the uncertainty across my face, he adds, “Your mother could have her own wing.”

After what he’s gone through with his own mother, I’m shocked he’d suggest such a thing. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. I want the woman I love to be surrounded with those who love her back. Your mother fills the bill, hands down.”

Ma’s not his biggest fan, but perhaps if I share this option with her, it would soften her opinion of him. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Never said I would.”

Hashtag true. “I still don’t know.”

He nods toward my cell phone, resting on the tabletop. “Call her and ask.”

“We’ve been missing each other. The last time she called, you were having your wicked way with me in the shower.”

He grins wolfishly. “If I remember right, you were the one who suggested the blowjob.” One eyebrow lifts.

I shrug. The television catches my attention as it’s showing photos of UC performing on the stage in Louisville. I recognize the staging. Leaning across the table, I say, “They’re going to play the speech from last night.”

His gaze flicks up and locks on the show. It’s set to silent, but the closed captioning does the trick. “Yup, they’re replaying what we announced.” We read the replay of last night. Was it less than twenty-four hours ago?

The camera pans to the show’s hosts, sitting next to...Lissa. My breath falters. Bennett’s, however does not. He leaps to his feet. I try to coax, “Be careful.”

Ignoring me, he stalks to the television set. I join him and read the lies she’s spewing. About how Bennett was the one who dumped her right before prom. Then ran off and joined UC, never to come back for her. He abandoned his best friend Curtiss as well.

Bennett’s hands form fists.

Lissa spins tales about how she reached out to Bennett, but the rock star refused to acknowledge her once he signed with the band. The camera pans back to her. Big, fake tears streaming down her face, she claims Bennett knew she was pregnant with his baby when he left.

“No fucking way,” Bennett snarls. He pulls out his phone. “What freaking show are they on? What station?”

How can I defuse this situation? Do I want to? I’m about to say something—anything—when the hosts invite people to call in with their comments, the telephone number flashing on the screen. Without hesitation, Bennett’s fingers dance over the keys.

The show hosts do a double take at each other. Grinning into the camera, the woman with long, brown hair—Francis—beams, “Is thistheBennett Hardy, lead singer of Untamed Coaster?”

Bennett adjusts his stance. “Yes.”

---