“With your fist?”
“Not my finest moment,” he admitted. “To be honest, I thought he was fixin’ to kick my ass, like in the movies, but he didn’t even hit me back.”
“He’s an actor, Clayton,” she said condescendingly. “With stunt coordinators and body doubles and scripts.”
“What about his fights in those Tactical Pursuit movies?”
“I’ve never seen them.” She shrugged. “I hate action films.”
“You picked the wrong guy.”
You think?
CHAPTER 10
CLAYTON
After dropping his daughters off at school the next morning, Clayton headed home to pack for his promotional tour. The house felt too quiet without the sound of their chatter, the usual morning chaos replaced by an uneasy stillness.
He stepped into his bedroom and flung open his suitcase, laying out an assortment of plaid shirts on the bed. He rarely thought twice about what he wore—jeans, boots, a T-shirt, and a flannel were usually enough—but this time it was different. He wanted to look good for Jamie, though nottoogood. If he tried too hard she’d rip him to shreds for it. She never missed an opportunity to needle him.
Still, he couldn’t shake the anticipation rising in his chest. Maybe if he showed her the best parts of the country music world he could convince her to stick around a little longer and open for him on tour.
“Clay?” Nolan’s voice rang down the hallway.
“In here!” Clayton called back, scratching his face as he eyed the mess of clothes in front of him.
Nolan strolled into the room, holding a steaming mug with the wordsclayton langley tourin faded bold letters. “What are you doing?”
“Packing for the promo tour,” Clayton muttered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Just trying to figure out what to bring.”
Nolan smirked. “Since when do you care about that?”
“Since now.” Clayton exhaled, tossing a shirt back onto the pile. He was in trouble and they both knew it.
“Uh-huh.” Nolan sipped his coffee, watching him like a man who knew exactly what was happening.
“Jamie’s seen me in all these.”
“Oh, I see.” Nolan laughed, leaning on the doorframe. “You’re trying to impress her.”
“Shut it, Nolan.” Clayton disappeared into his closet and grabbed a green plaid shirt he hadn’t worn in ages. “How about this one?” He held it against his chest.
“It’s great if you’re going for that Christmas look,” his brother said. “Maybe put a red bow in your hair—or better yet an ornament.”
“For crying out loud.” Clayton groaned, realizing he would never win at this fashion game. “Maybe I ought to go shopping?”
“And what, buy a designer suit like some highfalutin douchebag?” Nolan set his mug on the dresser and combed through his brother’s closet. He pulled out a crisp white shirt with the tags still hanging from the label. “What about this one?”
“That was from a photo shoot a few years back.” Clayton slipped it on. “Never worn it.”
“You’ve got the sharp-dressed part down,” Nolan said, gesturing to the floor. “But those boots? Not every girl’s going to be crazy about clodhoppers like that.”
Clayton chuckled. “Jamie said they belonged in the Country Music Hall of Fame.” He ran a hand over his jaw, still feeling the warmth of the day they’d spent together at the museum. She’d smiled, she’d laughed—but the second things got too easy between them those walls of hers shot back up like a fortress under siege. Impenetrable. And damn if he wasn’t standing outside, wondering if he’d ever find the key.
“You need a new pair of boots, Clay.”
“These are broken in.” He flashed the bottom of his boot. “Ever hear of a band called Queens of the Stone Age?”
