He sighed. “I really want to, though.” He looked to Martin for camaraderie. “Did you see her in those pants?”
“Yeah,” Martin said sympathetically.
“Which ones?” Owen asked.
“The red ones,” Quentin and Martin said together.
“Oh yeah,” Owen said knowingly.
Quentin watched Erin carefully, but she didn’t glare jealously at Owen, thank God. She glared only at Quentin.
“Okay, Erin, I said okay.”
11
> I know you don’t want to be bothered with this right now,
Are you kidding? What the hell else am I going to do while breast-feeding 24/7? Your drama with the country star is at least as entertaining as any of these reality shows about rednecks. You’re welcome.
> acting like I was with Quentin to make Erin jealous, so that she’d want to get back with him. But we haven’t had sex
My only question here would be, WHY NOT?
> because he’s still in love with her
Right. Damn.
> emerald necklace that must have cost a fortune. I’m sure it’s just to keep up the facade, and of course I’ll give it back to him when he makes up with Erin
Whatever.
> orgasm in the shower. Not your run-of-the-mill “unh”-and-I’m-done orgasm, either. This orgasm extended for miles either way down the highway. They probably felt this thing in Tuscaloosa.
Wow, this is better than reality shows about rednecks.
> wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong
It’s not wrong. All you’ve ever had is Harold Fawn. You deserve some hot-boiled ’Bama love.
> what if I fell for him?
Oh, hell, Sarah, let him go down on you if he wants.
Wendy Mann
Senior Consultant
Stargazer Public Relations
Late that afternoon, Sarah drove Rachel and two new employees she’d hired to the photo shoot for the album cover at the statue of Vulcan. The Cheatin’ Hearts were already there, lying in lounge chairs in the bed of Quentin’s truck, watching the photographers set up their tripods around the wall at the base of the statue. Quentin jumped down from his truck and met Sarah at her car door.
He kissed her briefly, softly on the lips. “I missed you today.”
“I missed you, too.” She smiled up at him. This was the understatement of the year. Normally she loved the office work of her job, in which she dotted all the i’s, crossed all the t’s, made sure everything came together, and networked in a friendly way with the media. Even back when she thought she was in love with Harold, daydreams of him never distracted her from her job.
Quentin was a different story. Sarah had known she was good at multitasking, but she’d amazed even herself at her ability to give statements to the press about the band and the album release and the upcoming concert while simultaneously fantasizing about making Quentin come.
He glanced toward the new employees climbing out of the backseat of her BMW. “Since when do you give rides to the paparazzi?”
“The Cheatin’ Hearts’ star is still rising. After your concert, Rachel’s going to need more help. These ladies were hanging around at the bottom of your driveway, and they seemed perfect for the job, so I asked them to keep doing what they were doing but report your movements to me as well as the media. That’s how I knew you’d gone to the bar at Five Points with Martin the other night.”
Quentin’s eyes followed the women across the parking lot. “You hired the art school girls?”
Sarah laughed at his name for them. “They’re well qualified. They have lots of experience following you around. And Beige will graduate from college in August. Amber will, too, if she can manage to pass geology.”
In the same surprised tone, he asked, “Their names are Beige and Amber?”
“I thought it was weird, too, that they have such neutral names to go with their black garb. You’d think they’d be Drucella and . . . I don’t know.”
“Noir,” Quentin suggested. He drew Sarah by the hand toward his truck. Erin stood nearby, with a makeup artist touching up her lipstick. Owen and Martin still lay in chairs in the payload. Martin wore long sleeves in the heat.
Sarah looked back at her car and motioned for Rachel to join them. Rachel shook her head almost imperceptibly and sat on the hood of the BMW.
Quentin lifted Sarah onto the tailgate of his truck, hopped up beside her, and draped one heavy arm around her shoulders. “You look tired. You should have eaten breakfast.”
“I had the first course,” she whispered.
He gave her a lopsided smile, green eyes sparkling. “Maybe that’s why you’re tired.”
“Then I could get used to being tired.” She sighed with satisfaction.
He rubbed her arm. “I’m sorry. You’re tired because I woke you up in the middle of the night.”
“Don’t be sorry. I always have trouble sleeping. And anyway, how do you know I was awake? You were asleep.”
“I could feel you tossing and turning.” His voice softened. “I dreamed about you.” He wrapped both arms around her from behind.
She tried to enjoy it. Just drop all the schemes and worries and enjoy it for a moment: the hot sunshine, the fresh summer breeze slightly cool at this altitude, and Quentin’s protective embrace, almost as if he loved her. Of course, he didn’t love her, and fantasies aside, Natsuko insisted that Sarah keep this in mind.
And then he kissed the top of her head, absently, asking nothing in return. As if he loved her.
It was all for show, she reminded herself. For Erin, who watched them from a few yards away as one man pulled at her hair and another coated it with hairspray.
To distract herself so she wouldn’t cry, Sarah asked Quentin, “What’s the name of my album?”
Quentin said, “Buns of Steel.”
Sarah squinted up at Vulcan high on his pedestal. “I thought the statue was made of iron.”
“Buns of Iron ain’t funny,” he told her with exaggerated patience.
The crew moved away from Erin’s hair. “Your turn, Q,” she called from underneath her enormous coif.
“I’m not going to wear makeup,” Quentin said stubbornly. “We go through this every time. I won’t be facing the camera anyway. I have an idea.”
Erin looked apprehensive, Martin groaned, and Owen cursed.
Quentin released Sarah from his hug and slid off the tailgate. She noticed for the first time that his faded black T-shirt was emblazoned with white words: Will cook for sex.