Maybe if I won—maybe he would see then that I was good enough to be in one of this shows.
But when Timmy and I stood next to each other, two blindingly bright spotlights shining on us as the studio audience held their breaths. . .
“The winner of America’s Most Enchanting Virtuoso competition and the $100,000 prize is. . .Timmy Tune-Ups!”
The bright happy smile was already pasted on my face, stretching from cheek to cheek as the video cameras lingered on me, ready to capture any frown or pout so the headlines tomorrow could be, “AMERICA’S MOST ENCHANTING SINGER? MORE LIKE AMERICA’S NEXT TOP BITCH, AM I RIGHT?”
But I didn’t give them anything to work with, making sure my toothy smile was wide enough to see every one of my shiny teeth, the lip gloss congealing into a sticky paste.
“Love you, girl!” Timmy mouthed to me, making the heart sign, and I made it back, putting a hand onmyheart to emphasize how meaningful I found his victory.
But inside I was sick with disappointment.
There was nothing wrong with Timmy Tune-Ups, he was a nice vapid idiot, but. . . I had wanted it to beme.
I wanted to be a singer more than anything and I felt my dream slipping away.
Maybe I wasn’t as good as I thought. Did “raw and untamed” mean my voice was too amateur? Maybe I needed to take more singing lessons.
Finally the spotlight and cameras thankfully moved away to focus only on Timmy and I was able to escape into the dark hallways of the recording studio, my cheeks already aching from smiling so much and tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.
Chin up, Birdie, I told myself fiercely. Don’t fucking cry over this! You won’t give up, you know you won’t. It’s just one setback.
I was resolutely wiping away my tears and straightening my boho broomstick skirt when I heard steps behind me, and an unmistakable voice: low, gravelly, sin on a stick.
“It’s only $100,000.”
“I know,” I said, lust beginning to curl into my body. “I’m fine.”
“Andhe’ll have to do all these appearances and events for the studio. It’s not that great of a deal. He’ll be busy as hell and run off his feet all year. You did good, baby girl.”
“Totally,” I said, my skin breaking out in prickly heat at those words.Baby girl. Why the hell was that so hot? I wasmelting.
“Not that good of a deal for sure. $100,000 is like chump change to me too.”
He laughed then, low and wicked, and my skin tightened as he moved closer. Each heavy footfall sent need pulsing below my waist and I waited, with bated breath, to see what he meant to do. My skin was burning, onfirewith the awareness of his big, powerful body behind mine.
Forrest took one more step and then one more, and I almost whimpered to see his shiny black shoe right between my feet, the size dwarfing my strappy little heels.
My god, if he asked me I would drop to my knees right here and grind over his pointy rich man shoe until it was soaked.
One strong arm curled around my waist, taking me further into the shadows.
“There’s plenty of other opportunities, pretty girl.”
“What, like an opera?” I asked, like an idiot, but even still I couldn’t believe he wanted me.
Forrest chuckled, his voice low and rough, then he gathered up the curls falling over my shoulders in one fist, as goosebumps swept over my flesh, all up and down my body as his mouth landed on my throat, the rough scratch of his silvery beard on my skin an exquisite burst of sensation.
What would it feel like even lower?
I couldn’t repress a moan or how I melted like silk back into his embrace.
“Not an opera. Come live with me. Don’t go back home to Ft. Worth. Stay here in LA with me.”
“Withyou?” I squeaked, hardly daring to believe it was true.
Did that mean helikedme? That it wasn’t just sex? Me, of all the women in the entire world, with women constantly throwing themselves after him?
