Page 129 of Wingwoman
Her long hair fell around her face in soft waves as she nodded. “I wanted to surprise you with something amazing tonight,” she said.
“Mmm.” I was barely listening to her. Instead, my gaze was locked on her face, cataloging every exquisite feature. Fluttering eyes. Parted, pouty lips. Skin so dewy, it practically shimmered in the sexy low light of the party.
I closed my hands around her hips as her tongue darted out, perching on her full bottom lip.
“So,” she continued, “I arranged for a special guest tonight. For you.”
“You’re the only special guest I fucking need, Hope.”
As I leaned down, her gasp filled the space between us and her whimper was the last thing I heard before I took her mouth, kissing her hard.
Publicly.
For all to see.
I distantly registered the sounds of cameras clicking and the flashes of light. Because with Hope in my arms and against my lips, the rest of the world faded away.
Now, more than ever, I needed to stick to the plan.
Fall in love.
Let Hope destroy my wasted heart.
Give the producers the songs they needed—my blood on the sheet music.
A throat cleared beside us.
No. Whoever was interrupting this merely perfect moment could go right to hell—
“Your girlfriend here went through a lot of trouble to get me on the horn,” a raspy, low voice said beside me.
I broke our kiss, blinking as the party—the world—around us came back into focus.
“Not that she needed to,” the raspy voice with the thick drawl continued. “I’m a big fan of your music, Josh. And Hope here said there might be a new song of yours we could play together tonight.”
I stared in disbelief at the outstretched hand… and the man attached to it.
Was this real? Was I dreaming? Did her kiss transport me to an alternate dimension? And for the love of God, was there enough air in my lungs for me to say hello in return if this was, in fact, real?
Because standing here in front of me, at my mother’s horse rescue fundraiser… was the legend himself: Willie Nelson.
And he wanted to sing my new song with me. The song about my mother.
The song the producers hated.
But despite the fact that my personal hero was standing right in front of me, the person I couldn’t take my eyes off of… was Hope.
She did this.
She thought she was helping, but it was truly the worst thing she could have done for me.
For my music.
… and also the best.
Let the heartbreak begin.
Thirty-Six
