Chapter 20

CHAPTER20

TATE

I’m headed to the restaurant where Scarlett is, only at Simon and Roger’s suggestion. Simon is currently in the car with me, driving me to the location so I can make an ass of myself at their recommendation.

“This is stupid,” I mutter under my breath, staring bleakly at the endless line of stopped traffic ahead of us.

“It’s not stupid,” Simon reassures. “Roger says it’s going to make you and Scarlett even more recognizable and endearing to the public. And I happen to agree with the asshole.”

They’re both assholes, if you ask me, making me do this. “What if I humiliate myself and end up looking like a total ass?”

Simon glances over at me, his brows drawn together. “You still have some lingering PTSD you’re trying to cope with? I thought you were in therapy.”

“I haven’t gone to therapy in over a year.” It got too expensive, and the piddly health insurance I have eventually stopped covering my visits, so I gave it up.

“Maybe you should start those appointments back up. I’ll see to it that the label pays for them,” Simon suggests, just before he lays on the horn and screams out, “Fuck you!” to some random car.

I about jump out of my skin at his aggressive tone, sending him a look. “Sounds like you need therapy more than I do.”

“I see Joanie once a week, sometimes twice.” He shrugs.

I’m assuming he’s talking about his therapist. “And what does Joanie say about you?”

“That I’m full of rage and should stop taking it out on my clients.” The sharkish grin Simon sends my way has me laughing, the fucker.

The laughter is short lived, though, and I sober right up, trying to calm the nerves jangling inside of me. Funny how a person gets performance anxiety for something that only a few weeks ago would’ve been no big deal.

While I know it won’t be hard, what I’m about to do, there will be a lot of eyes on us. If not at the restaurant, then at least via social media.

“You’re going to be great,” Simon finally says to break the tension-filled silence—most of it coming from me. “Stop getting all worked up over something you used to do all the time.”

“I don’t remember me doing anything like this,” I tell him.

He sends me a quick look. “You used to perform all the time.”

“With four other people. Now I’m on my own. All eyes on me.”

“You’ve totally got this. They’re all in love with you.” Simon reaches over, gripping my knee and giving it a quick shake. “Number seven! Unbelievable!”

“Thanks.”

“Red” broke the top ten in its debut on the Billboard Hot 100. Fucking unbelievable. I never imagined for a second I could make something like that happen again.

Now the pressure is on. Hotter than ever.

“You should be feeling on top of the world, my friend.”

“Easy for you to say.” I shift in my seat, my phone declaring the destination is in one mile. Traffic is moving, and as we draw nearer, I realize there are a lot of people outside the restaurant.

Huh.

Simon approaches the building and pulls over to the curb, parking in a red zone. “Go ahead and get out. I’ll find parking and come back.”

“You’re going to leave me here alone?”

“What, are you scared?” The way he says it actually annoys the shit out of me.

What’s wrong with having a little stage fright?

“I’m not fucking scared,” I spit out. “But there are a shit ton of people hanging around this place.”

“It’s a popular restaurant. Get over yourself.” He hits unlock on his car, and I reach for the handle, opening the door. “Don’t forget your guitar.”

I climb out of the car and open the back door, pulling my guitar out and leaving the case behind. I sling the strap around my neck, the beat-up old guitar resting in front of me, and I bend my knees so I can make eye contact with Simon, still in the car. “Want me to wait for you before I start?”

“Nah. Someone will start recording the moment you start singing, so I won’t miss much. See you in a few.”

I’ve barely slammed the car door before Simon is pulling back into traffic, causing a few cars to honk at his impatient ass. Turning, I face the restaurant, realizing that quite a few people are watching me.

A young girl screams out, “Tate Ramsey!” when she spots me, ready to charge in my direction, but the man standing with her—pretty sure that’s her dad—grabs her by the shoulder, holding her back.

Her yelling out my name draws plenty of attention—heads swivel in my direction, curiosity in their gazes, recognition dawning.

Shit. Looks like I’m performing for an audience.

The restaurant Scarlett is at has plenty of windows lining the front, and as I approach the building, I’m squinting, trying to find her sitting inside. Finally, I spot her, her long brown hair streaming down her back, smiling as she sits across from a cute blond I recognize from her party. Her best friend, Rachel. The one who’s supposedly going to visit us in Los Angeles.

Hopefully she’s a Tate Ramsey fan.

Grateful she’s sitting so close to a window, I position myself directly in front of it and grab hold of my guitar, strumming it. Ignoring everyone watching me, and that’s pretty fucking difficult since they all have their phones aimed right at me, capturing what I’m about to do, I clear my throat and march right up to the window, knocking on it so hard the glass rattles.

Scarlett startles, her head swinging my way, her eyes going wide when she spots me. I glance over at her friend, who’s watching me with equal wide-eyed wonder, and I clear my throat one more time before I begin to sing.

She’s a beautiful girl who changed my life

Oh, what a feeling, I’m on this ride

She’s the prettiest thing I ever did see

What the hell does she want with a guy like me?

Red in the face, shy as can be

Maybe she’ll want to run away with me

Oh, Scarlett, my Scarlett

You’re a beautiful thing

Oh, Scarlett, my Scarlett

Will you make my wishes come true?

Oh, Scarlett, my Scarlett

I just want to be with you

The crowd is clapping and cheering the moment I stop singing, and I wonder if Scarlett could even hear my ass when she leaps from her seat and practically runs through the restaurant, heading toward the exit doors. She’s outside in an instant, her steps slowing when she draws closer, her expression vaguely confused.

“Did you just sing me another song?” she asks.

Damn it, I knew she didn’t hear me.

“You didn’t hear it?”

“Not really,” she admits, her expression turning shy. “But I want to.”

Her friend stops just behind her, a cheesy grin on her face. “Sing it again, Tate! The restaurant was too loud for us to hear you.”

I launch into the song once more, knowing that it’s not the best, lyrics-wise, but I busted it out in a matter of minutes per Simon and Roger’s suggestion. An addition to the “Red” song, in celebration of it breaking the top ten on its debut.

“Go sing to her,” Roger said. “Like you did for your little girlfriend back in the day. Remember how you used to do that?”

Yeah, I definitely remember. Can’t believe they actually made me recreate the moment I wrote a song for my ex-girlfriend when we were first in Five Car Pileup. That was a song I only sang a handful of times, eventually becoming too embarrassed by the simple lyrics. Yet the moment is forever captured on film thanks to the reality show I was on.

The song was called “Jess, You Make Me a Mess.”

Talk about foreshadowing, goddamn.

My gaze never strays from Scarlett’s as I continue to sing, hoping she can understand what I’m really trying to tell her.

That this is a complete publicity stunt. They made me do this. The words to this lame-ass song mean nothing. We’re just trying to keep the interest on social media going. Please don’t think I’m a cheesy asshole.

Scarlett’s lips curl up when I get to the “Oh, Scarlett, my Scarlett” line, and I stumble over the strings of my guitar, making them twang out of tune. I find my rhythm again; it’s a quick mishap, but she notices, her eyes sparkling, her body subtly moving to the music.

I could never admit to her it was the glow in her gaze that threw me off. The faint smile curling her lips. That beautiful face of hers. It’s like she’s actually enjoying the song, buying into the entire moment and falling for it.

Falling for me.

The song ends with me drawing out the last word, and I strum the guitar before clamping my hand on the strings, making the song stop. There’s actual silence in the air. I don’t even hear a car horn honk or the nonstop drone of a siren like usual. These last few seconds feel downright . . .

Magical.

And then the entire crowd erupts into applause. There’s clapping and screaming and whistling. Scarlett’s face turns the prettiest shade of pink, and her friend Rachel grabs her shoulders from behind, giving her the lightest shake.

“Come to Los Angeles with me.” I release the neck of my guitar and hold my hand out toward her.

She takes a step forward, her friend’s hands falling from her shoulders, Rachel bringing them up so her clutched hands are now beneath her chin as she observes us. I feel like I’ve just earned the best friend’s approval, and I tug Scarlett as close as I can, swinging the guitar so it’s behind me.

Scarlett’s chest collides with mine, her breasts smashed against me as she murmurs, “Yes.”

I take my opportunity, cupping the side of her face, swooping in for another kiss, fully expecting it to be like all the rest. Simple. A little on the sweet side.

It’s not. Not even close. This one feels completely different, starting from that first moment our mouths connect. Her lips are soft and sweet and open, and I take advantage, my fingers sliding down to her neck, my thumb pressing beneath her jaw, tilting her head back so I can kiss her deeply. Our tongues tangle, but I’m trying to keep this classy so we don’t look like two horny people making out on the street.

That’s just another day in midtown Manhattan, if I’m being real.

Scarlett eventually pulls away, breathless, her cheeks even pinker. She blinks those velvety brown eyes open, and she’s smiling.

I’m smiling. I can hear people shout our names, can hear the click of photos being taken, of videos being recorded, every single person watching us desperate to get our attention, but I can’t focus on anything else but her. This girl.

It’s at this moment I realize I might be in too deep.