Page 35 of If Not for My Baby
“So almost three weeks into the tour and tonight we finally get to see party girl Clementine.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Grayson grins at me and his teeth are perfectly straight. I am sure he never needed braces. “She a menace?”
“No, the opposite. I’m so tired…How do none of you have permanent bags under your eyes?”
“Life on the road. You get used to it.” Grayson leans back,sips his drink, and nods his head to the song a bit. Then he says, “We could skip it. Go back to the bus. I’m pretty tired myself.” He shrugs, the suggestion effortless. “Might be nice to have the place to ourselves for a while.”
Oh no. Is he…coming on to me?
Indy’s abandoned us to edit a video on her phone, and without her intervention there’s no right answer to his offer. I can’t reject Grayson and have him claim he meant nothing of the sort, making me look stuck-up and overly sensitive. Nor can I agree toone-on-onetime together and his seduction routine.
“Indy would kill me,” I say. “She’s been trying to get me out since Raleigh.”
“I don’t blame her,” Grayson says. “I bet you’re dirtier than you let on.”
Forcing my grimace into a pleasant smile is no easy feat, but I’m up to the task. I’ve known far too many Graysons in my life. Mostly the men my mom dates between flare-ups.
“Shall we?” Indy chimes. Saved by the bell. She’s got her arms around Molly, Pete, and…Lionel, to my surprise. They all look wide-eyed and flushed.
“We just took a shot,” Lionel tells me, tie askew, pure, undiluted glee across his baby features. “Of tequila.”
Grayson stands and downs the rest of his drink. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit. Where are you heading?”
“The cantina down the street,” Pete says. “Then Caesars.”
Molly has her wicked villainess eyes on as she murmurs, “We’re going to pop Lionel’s gambling cherry.”
Lionel looks positively delighted by this.
Due to her generally cold demeanor and impressiveresting scowl, I can’t tell if Molly’s still angry with me about the duet, but I’d rather be clawed to death by a drunk and vengeful Molly than sit next to Grayson even five minutes longer.
Luckily, he’s no longer listening, instead waving at a coy brunette across the room. She’s in a big fur coat and tiny jean shorts and looks like an extra fromDaisy Jones & the Six. The sleek redhead next to her is already sitting in Conor’s lap, lifting up his shirt to see the entirety of his tattoos.
And seated to their left is a fresh-faced blonde, deep in conversation with Halloran. For a moment I see double, my whole body pulsing with the force of my racing heart. She’s less made up than the rest of them, and I hate myself for thinking she looks like a prettier version of me. In fact, she kind of looks like my mom.
She touches his forearm and my body reacts as if someone’s just told me the ship is going down. I need a lifeboat and a drink. “I’ve never gambled, either,” I tell Molly. “Will you pop mine, too?”
Indy squeals bloody murder and I can’t help my grin.
Molly’s lips twist. “Fine. But only because it’s better with girls.”
My eyes betray me and flit back to that couch, but Halloran hasn’t stirred. He’s engaged in what seems to be genuine conversation with the gleaming blonde. He’s using his hands when he speaks, raking his fingers through his hair. She bites her lip to hide a smile and I don’t blame her. He’s magnetic when he does that, and I find myself thinking about our car ride. How it felt to make him really laugh. As we move for the door he doesn’t so much as glance up.
I’m going to need to sew up this ripping feeling in my gut right quick. I’ve never seen Halloran talk to a woman before—not after a show, not in clips online—but it was bound to happen. Regardless of my infatuation, he is a red-blooded, thirty-two-year-old man. Not only that, but a very famous musical artist, and we’re on his tour. He may not be the clichéd partying playboy, but he’s single—or so I’m assuming—and entitled to any fun he wants to have.
I never should’ve allowed myself to become so interested in him. Surely the chemistry I’ve been feeling has been fabricated by his general sex appeal and charisma. And talent. And sense of humor. And kindness—damnit.
“Let’s go,” I say brightly. “I’m ready for something new.”
—
Amid thick clouds of cigarette smoke and incessant flashing lights and ringing bells, I learn gambling is not for me. Molly drags Pete from one blackjack table to the next like a toddler on one of those human leashes, and I hover awkwardly behind them until Molly finds a vampiric slot machine and abandons us both.
“Come on,” Pete tells me after we buy her a tacky hat at the gift store. “Let’s try roulette again.”
“I’ve already lost every dollar in my checking account.”
