Those early years in my singing career were chaotic, and I'm not proud of all the choices I made during that time, especially when it came to the men I was involved with, which probably explains why I've avoided relationships entirely for the past year. Dallas, though, takes everything I share in stride. He doesn’t press for details around my exes or let on if he’s ever googled anything about my past; he just listens intently, his eyes never leaving mine as I share.
After he fucks me again, this time on all fours while on top of the roof, we’re both sexually satiated and freezing cold from the night chill. We finally retreat back down to his bedroom, tucked in snuggling in his sheets while I drift off to sleep.
My phone pings from the bedside table, casting a glow in the dark bedroom and startling me awake. My heart sinks. I know the only person who would be texting me right now is probably Bex, my manager, who’s likely confirming my travel arrangements for tomorrow evening.
Bex: Flight B87 at 5. Please make sure you’re on it for your trip back to Los Angeles. Don’t forget you have a concert there at 8 tomorrow night.
Dove: Don’t worry, I will be.
Bex: Oh, and Devin quit.
Dove: Fuck.
Bex: I know. That means we’re down one personal bodyguard and it’s LA. One of your largest venues.
I tap my finger pensively against the illuminated screen as I listen to Dallas’ breathing gently next to me. He’d never ask me what could be so important that I’m interrupting our peaceful moment together, but I know he’s waiting for me to put my phone down so that he can hold me again.
“Hey,” I turn in the bed until we’re face-to-face, feeling kind of silly but also bold and sexy in thatjust been fucked by the boy you’ve had a crush on for foreverkind of way. “I don’t know what this is.”
Dallas’ brows knit together, “I think it’s when two friends finally get together and realize they were always meant for more than just a friendship.”
My heart stutters at his words. Sure, I feel the same way, but I wasn’t expecting him to be so forward.
“Does that scare you?” he asks.
“No… I mean, I don’t think so.”
He watches me silently as I replay them over in my thoughts. I can feel my head urge me to be cautious and guarded but my heart is racing forward into how we can possibly make this work.
We don’t live in the same city, let alone state.
My career is demanding and requires me to constantly be traveling.
How could this ever work?
“I have a crazy idea that includes me not going back to LA without you.”
His grip loosens on my hips as his brows rise.
“Hm?”
“I need a temporary bodyguard for my concert that’s tomorrow night in LA. I’m on tour for the next six weeks. If you can help meout with covering tomorrow night’s show, and you decide you don’t like it, you can leave, and hopefully, my manager will have a replacement for my next concert. But if you enjoy it and want to stay on the road with me, maybe we could use the next six weeks to reconnect?”
He's quiet for only a moment before nodding his head. “Tell your manager to book me a seat on your flight. I’ll ask Wylie to cover the farm while I’m gone.”
Chapter 25 – Dallas
I’m not thrilled about being back in Los Angeles already. Especially not on the day after Thanksgiving.
It’s not that I don’t think the city has its charms, especially during the holiday season, but everyone here is so... loud. It feels like they’re all trying to prove something to the people around them instead of embracing their individuality and uniqueness. It’s a constant grab of attention, a search for purpose and a loneliness that permeates your soul during the process.
I believe that people in LA can be divided into two groups: those born and bred under the lights of Hollywood, who made it their identity, and those who came here searching for one.
Either group was no longer my style but realizing now that I'd been doing the same thing by moving to Texas, searching for meaning and purpose, shifted my perspective on the hyper-citizens of California.
Maybe I wasn’t so different from them after all.
I look down at Paloma and squeeze her hand tight to my side as we exit the plane. Caramel, brown eyes, hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head while she types out a text message ferociously. She could be at ease anywhere, which is vastlydifferent from the insecure girl she’d confessed she was when she first started writing to me. I’d always felt that she was much more confident than I was though I hid that insecurity behind my paper, pen, privilege, and hundreds of miles.
