“What?” Sam asked at the same time.
She spoke into the phone. “I wanted to do this on my own.”
“I don’t care what you wanted, Tiffany. I stuck my neck out for you to have this gig, and you’re not skipping out,” he insisted.
“I’m not riding someone’s coattails again. I’ve been doing that for way too long.”
Jared didn’t speak for a second. Then he said, “You better be here in half an hour, or I’m never giving you a shot again.”
10
As she got off the phone, Sam let out a breath. “Well, I don’t mind being a media plug for you,” he offered. And he didn’t. There were times when people were sneaky about using him and he resented it, but not for her.
She twirled her hair that was already drying into perfect curls. “I just…” She turned away from him.
He couldn’t resist touching her shoulder.
She didn’t move. “I told you what Brett always said to me.”
Anger pounded into him, again.
Her eyes flashed back to his. “I wanted to prove to myself that I could this without him.” She took a step back from him. “And now I have a famous football player around.”
The way she said it, like he was pond scum, made him grunt out a laugh. “Wow.”
At his reaction, she actually smiled. He loved how beautiful she looked in this moment with her mascara smudged beneath her eyes.
He couldn’t stop himself from softly reaching out and running the back of his hand down her cheek.
Blinking, she turned away from him. “Don’t do that, Sam.”
Letting out a sigh, he moved away from her, trying to think of how to fix this. Taking out his phone, he realized they only had twenty minutes.
“And Jared won’t just let you sing by yourself?”
Running her hand through her wet hair, she turned back to him. “You heard him, he wants a band.”
“And you don’t want me to play?” he asked again.
She shook her head. “Yes, I want you to play, but—you know if you do…”
“They won’t hear the music, they’ll see Sam Dumont, scorned Destroyer’s player.”
She hesitated. “Yeah.”
Noticing a hot dog stand, he motioned for her to come with him. “C’mon, I think better on a full stomach.”
She fell into step next to him, and he ordered two hot dogs. He held one out to her.
“No thanks.” She shook her head, then frowned. “We just had a late lunch.”
Flashing her a grin, he stuffed half of one in. “We just worked it off surfing.”
She pulled out her phone. “I just got a text from Roman. Josh is on track to come home tomorrow, and Katie is going to stay on her trip.”
“Good.” Sam almost felt bad for forgetting the real reason he was hanging out with Tiffany. “Real good.” He pulled out his phone and saw the same text from Roman.
Nodding, she bit her lip. “So how long will you stay then?”
He shrugged. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead since Roman had needed him here. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll probably leave tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Tiffany said, looking wistful.
Loud music started, and both of them turned to see a band playing in the park. People were putting out lawn chairs and blankets.
Sam had an idea. “C’mon.” He jogged back toward the pavilion.
She was beside him. “What are you doing, Sam?”
He grinned and stuffed the rest of the hotdog he had left into his mouth. “You’ll see.”
After interrupting the park band’s first number, which made the lead so mad at Sam that he almost punched him, Sam pitched his plan, telling them up front he would triple whatever fee they were getting paid.
11
After running back to the hotel, with Sam staying back with the band so as not to attract attention to her, Tiffany tried to salvage her appearance. Good thing her mother always kept a back up make up bag in the truck.
She’d cleaned off the mascara smudges and reapplied some base and blush and lipstick and then another round of mascara. She’d taken her halfway dried hair and piled it on top of her head, holding it down with a band and then tugging out some wisps so it looked soft and messy.
She stared at herself in the rearview mirror of the truck and thought it had actually turned out okay. Then she thought of getting up on stage. With a band she didn’t know. As the lead. With no one else to share that spotlight. Sam had made it crystal clear they were all back up singers if they wanted to get paid.
Her mouth went dry. She picked up a bottle of water she’d left in the truck. It tasted lukewarm, but it was wet. She drew in a long breath through her nose.
The terror stayed right inside her chest, making her pulse race like when she was a little girl hiding under the blankets at night when she thought there was a monster.
No. No. No. She could do this, she told herself. She closed her eyes, wishing Brett’s face didn’t appear in her mind as she relived the moment he’d told her she wasn’t meant to be a lead.
Dink. Dink. Dink.
“Bahh!” She jerked back, completely unhinged.
There was Sam’s face in the driver’s side window. He lifted his eyebrows and pulled open the door. “What’s going on?”
“Seriously.” She threw her hands up.
He frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, feeling completely jittery.
The look in his eyes told her he didn’t believe her. “Uh-huh.”
“What?” She was defensive.
He swallowed and then folded his arms over his chest. “Then come on.”
Frozen, she took in another long breath.
“I knew it. You have that look.”
Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to do positive imagery. “I’m fine.”
But he didn’t leave.
“Just give me a sec.”
“You’re like a rookie before his first pro game.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re psyched out.”
She leaned back into the seat of the truck. “Maybe,” she whispered.
He sighed and turned away from her, leaning back against the truck, not facing her. “Listen, I get it.”
She kept her eyes closed. “Right, you get it.” No way.
“Hey, have you been watching this past season? I—”
She cut him off. “You’ve been a pro player for three years. So you had a bad season. That doesn’t mean you’re afraid to go in.”
He didn’t speak, letting out a puff of air. “Okay.” He whipped around to face her.
She couldn’t stop herself from looking at him.
His face was animated. “Okay, you’re right. You don’t have the same junk I was dealing with, but…I do remember the first little league game I ever played in.”
She puffed out a breath. “What does this have to do with that?”
“In sixth grade, I had made the top team, and I felt all this pressure. I remember it so well because my mom was still alive, and my dad hadn’t started drinking yet. Both of them were there. I remember looking at them, seeing their expectant faces on the sideline as the team gathered. I remember the coach looking right at me as he told us we were going to kick the snot out of the opposing team. I remember being terrified—that I would choke. That I couldn’t throw the ball where I’d practiced. The plays were all jumbled in my head.” He nodded. “If I would have had a mirror then, I would have looked just like you.”
Part of her thought he was ridiculous, but her mind had been focused on the picture he put in front of her. She kept hearing the part when he’d said, ‘When my mom was still alive and my father wasn’t drinking yet.’ That touched her. It got through to the part of her that was having a freak out session.