Chapter Twelve

Willa

I lean back, holding tightly to my stomach. "Oh my God, I haven't eaten that much food in almost a year. I feel like I could throw up."

"Worth it though?" he asks, his eyebrow raised.

"Totally worth it. I'd do it again tomorrow night if I didn't have to be in the recording studio."

He takes a drink of his water. "Are you doing something new?"

I contemplate if I'm going to tell him. Not many people know my plans, and I've managed to keep them on the down-low. There isn't a lot I've been able to keep to myself since I started in this business, but this? I have.

"You don't have to tell me." He holds up his hand like a stop sign. "I was just trying to make conversation. Not trying to get information from you."

"I know." I take a drink of my Coke. "This is just something that no one else knows about. It's not like I'm contractually obligated not to say anything, but I'm trying to keep my nose clean, and not start any drama, or get any rumors started before I drop this info."

"You can trust me." He puts his hand on his chest, over his heart. "I've been burned by the press and rumors too. Not like you, obviously, but it was enough to make things difficult when I was trying to concentrate on doing what I needed to do in order to work."

In the back of my mind, I remind myself he doesn't have to use me to make himself popular. He's already got the fans in his own right. He doesn't want to keep me hidden, just because I have a lot that comes with me. In fact, I think he'd be willing to be seen with me right this minute if I asked him to. I'm trying to protect my peace because there are people who have purposely tried to destroy it. The only way I'm going to know if I can trust him is if I choose to do so with this information.

"I'm thinking of doing a rock album, and I'm going to lay down a few tracks to see how it sounds. My old record company wasn't completely behind it, because Mercer was my producer, and he told them that there was no way I could do it." I blow out a breath. "He's still doing it, and he's pretending that it's because he cares so much about my damn career, when he's worried I'll be smarter than he ever was. The new company is giving me a chance. I'm going to go in the studio and cut two song, see what happens."

Blake whistles. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I have these angry songs that won't fit into America's Sweetheart, and I want to give them a shot, ya know? These callouses"—I show my hands to him—"are from chords that have made up both the pop hits, and these angry songs. It pisses me off that I can't let every faucet of myself out there. I want to give it a try and see what happens. Who knows, maybe I'll get in there and realize this isn't me."

"So you're really gonna do it?" he confirms, kicking his feet out in front of the couch.

"Yeah, I have a new record company since Mercer and I broke up. They don't listen to him as much as my old one did. He's slightly older than me, and he has a reputation for being a musical genius, so my previous company wanted me to bow down to him. This one, doesn't kiss his ass as much." I smile, thinking about how the head of the company had come in and told me they would allow me to try a few things out. It was truly one of the first times someone in a position of power believed me.

"I can't imagine someone just automatically think I can't do something because we broke up and they want to make my life miserable. I'm sorry you have to go through that."

I shrug. "It's what being a woman in business is like. I'm honestly damned if I do, damned if I don't. I've stopped trying to be everything that everyone wants me to be, and just started trying to make myself happy. It's hard when you're taught that you need to be a good girl, and good girls don't question things or make waves."

He leans forward, cupping my cheek in his palm. His eyes drop to my lips. "Rest assured, the only place you need to be a good girl for me is in the bedroom. And that's only if you want to be. Sound good, Willa?"

I'm mesmerized by the clear blue of his pupils. "Yeah. Sounds amazing."

"Would you want to be?"

I've never wanted to be before. But with this hulk of a football player basically telling me he'd enjoy it? Fucking sign me up. "For you? I think I'd love it."

A slow smile spreads across his face. "Good girl," he praises me.

The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stands at attention. I'm in so deep with this man, that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to dig myself out. But the truth is—I don't even want to try.