Page 37 of Good Girls Don't Date Rock Stars (Rock Canyon, Idaho 2)

A little disheartening, but I’ll take it. “So, do I pick you up at your house, or—”

“Just meet me here, at around seven,” she broke in, and he wondered what was going on at her house that she didn’t want him to know about.

Maybe she’s a hoarder . . . or an animal hoarder at that.

r />

“Why are you smiling at me like that?”

Keeping his thoughts to himself, he teased, “Nothing. I just can’t wait to take my wife out on our first official date.”

Chapter Nine

* * *

WHEN IT WAS quiet at the bookstore, Gemma sat down at her laptop but couldn’t concentrate on writing. She’d been trying to write her first novel for several months now, a Regency romance, which was what had first inspired her desire to attend the Lovers of Romance Convention. The workshops had been helpful and informative, but now all of their concentration tips failed her as her mind kept wandering.

With mild curiosity, she Googled “Travis Bowers Vegas,” and waited as the results popped up. She saw several pictures of Travis on stage at his concert and smiled as she clicked through the photos until a very clear picture of Travis holding her hand in their formal wear as they walked into the chapel caught her eye. Her face was only partially visible, but for someone who knew her, it would be easy to identify her.

Shit. She scrolled down some more, and there was Travis with his hand on her back, talking to Callum. Bile rose in her throat as she kept going, but after that, there were mostly concert and shirtless pictures. She was surprised that there weren’t more pictures, especially when she went to the different tabloids. Talking Nashville seemed to be the only one covering the story. Their headline read:

DID COUNTRY MUSIC’S BAD BOY TIE THE KNOT?

Travis Bowers was seen with a mystery woman at a small wedding chapel in Vegas. When Talking Nashville tried to get the scoop from chapel owner Seamus McGillan, he refused to comment. So far, the possible bride-to-be’s identity is unknown, but if Travis is off the market, there will be a lot of ladies nursing broken hearts.

A cold sweat spread over Gemma’s body, but there was no help for it. The pictures were out there, and it was only a matter of time before someone spilled the beans for money or cruelty. She’d spent half her life as a punch line, and her faith in people being inherently good was slim.

Which meant she’d have to tell the people she loved before anyone in Rock Canyon started spreading the word. She called Gracie, who, fifteen minutes later, came walking through the door with two salads and two iced teas. While Gracie set up their food in the little storeroom, Gemma put up the OUT TO LUNCH sign and went back to join her. For some reason she felt like she was walking toward her execution.

Gracie had been blessedly quiet, which was terrifying in itself. As Gemma sat down across from her, she waited for her to say something, but instead Gracie just opened her salad and started eating.

Gemma popped the lid off her own salad and offered, “I know you’re probably wondering why I didn’t tell you, and it’s not that I thought I couldn’t trust you, I just didn’t want anyone to know, especially since I thought it was over.” Gracie still said nothing, just chewed on her leafy greens thoughtfully, and Gemma hissed, “Really? Nothing?”

Finally, she stopped, swallowed, and said, “I’m just picturing you having a wild night in Vegas and wondering how you could forget to tell your best friend, the woman who has stood by you and kept all of your secrets since the first time you peed your pants in kindergarten!”

Gemma flushed. “I know you can keep a secret, okay? It was just . . . it wasn’t just a wild night, Gracie.”

“What do you mean? Were you with him for the weekend?” Gracie squealed, her color high. “You hussy!”

“No, I mean, it was just one night, but there’s more to it than just us bumping into each other and—”

“Then bumping uglies?” Gracie said, teasingly.

“Will you knock it off! I’m trying to tell you that I didn’t just sleep with Travis when I was drunk, I married him!”

There. She’d said it.

Gracie’s chin dropped, her mouth flopping like a fish, and this time she jumped up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No I’m not kidding you—”

“And you didn’t tell me? I could . . . if I wasn’t so damn curious, I would be pissed at you!” Gracie grabbed her chair and scooted it around next to Gemma. “Why wouldn’t you? Have I ever judged you?”

“No. I guess I thought that if I didn’t mention what happened, it wouldn’t be real.”

“Oh, it’s real, honey. All six-foot-five of manly proof is here to back up the fact that you, Gemma Carlson, got married Britney Spears–style.”

Gracie was grinning now, and Gemma’s face twisted into a scowl. “You’re enjoying this.”

---