Chapter Four

Willa

I 'm nervous now that I know he's with my security team. That means he's not going to back out. Not that I really thought he would. He seems like the kind of guy who goes through with whatever he says he's going to.

I've changed my outfit three times, and I refuse to change it again. I've gone from dressing up to where I am right now—in a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a comfortable gray crop top, with socks on my feet. My hair isn't fixed at all, but I've run a brush through it, and today I don't have my signature red lip color on. Instead, I've gone for no makeup. If he's going to get me, he's going to get me at my most natural.

There's a knock at the door, and I almost want to throw up. "Yeah?"

"Willa, you have a guest." Kevin escorts him in.

"Thank you." I smile.

Kevin leaves as quietly as he came. Blake and I are stuck in the silence of the hotel room with nothing but the TV playing in the background. He takes up more space than I assumed he would, so much bigger than I thought he was. He doesn't dwarf me, but he's big enough to make me feel small.

"Good to see you." He smiles back at me. "Thanks for finally realizing I'm into you."

I can't help it. I laugh loudly, throwing my head back. "Do you know how many people tagged me on social media about you talking about it? Then you had the nerve to tell everybody I rejected you. I was hearing it from everyone."

His face turns red. "I've always kind of had a big mouth."

"It's okay. I like a guy who has a bit of arrogance. I've never really met anyone who would make a grand gesture for me." I hook my thumb in the belt loop of my shorts.

"Well, good thing I'm here then, huh? I've been known to give a little arrogance. Usually out on the football field, but I can wrestle up a little bit of it for you in person if you need me to?" His blue eyes are shining, and just like that I know he's going to surprise me in ways I never imagined.

"You've already done that. Now? I think I'd just like to get to know you."

"I think I'd like to get to know you too." He leans back against the couch, relaxing against the cushions.

We're quiet and awkward as we stand in the middle of the suite. If I had been the type of girl who went to high school instead of being home-schooled, I imagine I would've been in a situation like this previously. However, I'd been the girl who was focused on what her career was going to be, the girl who wanted to get there as quickly as possible. Instead of enjoying the journey, I'd gone full-steam ahead and had to learn to construct a whole belief system not only for myself, but for everyone else around me.

Part of me feels like I should apologize for the cloak-and-dagger pickup, the private meet up, the fancy suite, but I worked hard for this, and I won't. I've had to learn to sit in my accomplishments and give myself credit for what I've done. That's never taught—it's not a part of life that people put emphasis on. At least, it's not emphasized for girls and women who are steeped in the tradition of 'being seen and not heard.' I was so focused on being the woman who didn't make waves that I became a shell of my former self. I became someone I didn't recognize, and I swore I'd never go there again.

Instead, I will root for myself, I will tell myself good job , and I will take the time to appreciate what I've managed to accomplish.

So here I am, standing in the middle of this suite, wondering how I should handle this. My eyes flit over his body, when it catches on a bracelet he's wearing. "I like that." I nod toward it.

"Thanks. My niece made it before we went to your concert in Nashville with the help of her mom. I haven't taken it off since, and it's become something of a superstition at this point."

Be still my heart. "That's super sweet."

"I don't let it get around too much." He grins.

The silence stretches between us again.

"Do you wanna watch a movie?" I ask, my voice sounding wobbly even to my own ears.

He smiles slowly, the diamonds in his ears shining as bright as his teeth. "Yeah, I'd love that. Are we allowed to talk during the movie?"

I scoff. "Of course. We're just going to pretend to watch it like all people getting to know each other do."

"I can think of other things I like to do during movies," he laughs, and after-dark images flicker in my mind. I shiver. "But I like talking too, of course."

We both take seats on the couch. I do give us credit that we don't sit at opposite ends; instead, we both pick the middle. My thigh touches his as I grab the remote and find us something to listen to in the background. Once I find a movie I'm sure we've both seen at least ten times, I press play, and then turn to face him, pulling my leg up under my body.

"So, you play on Sunday. Are you nervous?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You're just going in for the kill, huh? Tampa's a good team, but we're better. Do you watch football?"

"Watch football? No, except for the Super Bowl. However, my brother has threatened me with bodily harm if I somehow get you all screwed up because you're on his fantasy football team."

He laughs loudly, throwing his head back. "Not the bodily harm for the fantasy football team."

"Yes." I reach out, grabbing his forearm. It's strong, thick, and so much warmer than anyone else I've ever touched. He can definitely do all the heavy lifting I've imagined happening during sex. "Bodily harm. He was serious about it. Apparently there's good money in fantasy football."

"Apparently so." He rolls his lips together. "But what about you? You're playing a show there. Are you nervous?"

"I know ths isn't the answer I'm supposed to give, but the truth is always . I've managed to make my hands stop shaking. You can't actually see it when I'm on stage anymore, but I'm always worried."

"Worried about what? You seem to be a professional, and you've probably rehearsed enough that's it's just muscle memory."

I wonder how much I want to admit to him. How deep do I want to get into how I'm feeling? The things I worry about. I decide that maybe allowing him to see inside what I tend to hide from everyone else might be more helpful than I've assumed previously. "It's not really about the show itself. You're right, a lot of that is muscle memory. I've rehearsed it until I can perform it in my sleep, and if I somehow manage to make a mistake, it'll be laughed at on the Internet. I'll be the one reposting it and laughing at myself too. It's the stuff I can't plan for that worries me. Like someone coming into my show and making it a mass casualty event..."

"Oh shit." He tilts his head to the side. "I try not to think about that type of stuff when I'm just out there enjoying myself."

"Me neither, but unfortunately it's a reality we have to plan for, and one I've almost come to expect. It hasn't happened yet, thank God, but I can't help but wonder when it's going to. I have strict, strict security, as you can attest to," he nudges my shoulder. "But someone who wants to get around all of that can and will." I rub my hands over my thighs. "I feel responsible for every single person who's at my shows, everyone who works for me—their safety is my utmost priority. So while I am enjoying myself on stage, I'm also scared to death."

"Willa..." Those laughing eyes of his trn serious. "I wish you didn't have to worry about that."

"It's the world we live in." I shrug. "So, what is your biggest fear? Ya know, since I just told you mine."

"Mine is much more altruistic." He chuckles. "I worry about getting hurt all the time. It's not like I've ever been hurt in a way that I've been scared I wouldn't be able to continue my career, but it's a fear I have."

His face is pink. "Understandable. I'm sure you have contracts that count on you being healthy and performing at a certain standard."

"I do." He nods. "There's a lot of money riding on my shoulders, just as there's a lot riding on yours. That's something we probably have in common. Not many people understand that kind of pressure."

"That's true." I swallow roughly. "My last relationship? He didn't like the attention."

"The fuck? Wasn't he an actor? Seems to me he should've understood what comes with you."

I slip my bottom lip in between my teeth, sucking on it, as I think about how deeply I want to go into this. "No, he's a music producer, and he's made things difficult for me since. At the time..." I reach over and grab my water bottle, taking a healthy drink of it. "I thought the world didn't want to see me anymore. I thought they were sick of me—that they wanted me to no longer be as open and as public as I was. So when we met, when we got our relationship started, I was okay with hiding. Kind of like I'm okay with us doing this." I gesture between Blake and me. "In private. The public doesn't need to see everything."

"A-fucking-gree." He claps his hands.

"However, at some point, I wanted us to be able to be seen in public. I wanted to tell the world I was in love, and I did, in a documentary. He had five minutes of screen time, and I was so proud to show the world who I was with, but he wasn't proud to be seen with me. We went out a few times in public, and we were even photographed together. But one night in New York, the paparazzi followed us and he didn't want our picture or video taken, so we ran for the fucking SUV. Like he dragged me there, and while I could've respected, and did respect what he wanted for the most part, it just started to feel like he didn't want to be seen with me. Like I was okay to fall in love with in private, and it was cool to tell me he wanted to be with me forever when no one else could hear it – just so long as it wasn't in public. I finally had enough, and while I just made the announcement a few months ago, we've been apart for almost a year. I moved out in January." No one else knows that, but for some reason I feel comfortable enough to tell Blake these secrets.

He's quiet for a minute, his blue eyes burning into mine. "One thing you're gonna find out about me? I'm okay doing some things in secret because I don't want the world to know my business, but when I'm ready? I want everyone to know who I care about, whether that's a good friend, my brother, my niece, or my parents. I want to be seen, and I love the attention. So if that's a problem with you? I need to know that."

My stomach bubbles with excitement. "It's not a problem with me. I like that."

"Then, Willa Potter, I think we're going to get along just fine."

"Me too." I smile at him. Because regardless of where this ends up? The beginning seems to be pretty good so far.

And just like that, he leans in, his soft lips settling against mine, and in the blink of an eye, I think my life has just changed.