Chapter Eight

Willa

I 'm not at home on the stage, even though it appears I am when others look at me. I put on a good facade. When I'm onstage I become someone else—a caricature of who I normally am. The Willa who performs has confidence, walks with her head high, and shakes her ass for everyone in attendance. The Willa onstage is so much different than the one who likes quiet nights in and ice in my wine.

"How are you doing, Tampa?" I question at a pre-programmed lull in the show, so that the dancers can take a break and switch clothes for the next set. "I hope you're having a great time tonight."

The screams are so loud they move the stage underneath me. As I walk toward the front of the catwalk, I glance over to my friends and family section, searching for Blake and his teammate. When I get closer, I can see them. Blake is standing, clapping, and whistling the closer I get. It's been a long time since I had someone at a show for me who wasn't a family member.

I point toward them and wave. He smiles, waving back at me.

"We have just a little bit more time left in this show, and I know we're all feeling a little tired, but we're gonna make it, right?"

The crowd roars in approval.

There was a time when I was a teenager when I wasn't so good at hiding my insecurities. Then, the stage fright was enough to make me throw up before a show every night. I'm not nearly as bad now. These days I enjoy going out and performing, but I'm still not completely comfortable.

Toward the end of the show, we've incorporated a chair dance. I did this for my ex-boyfriend to see if he liked it. In the privacy of our home, I did the complete routine for him, including the sultry looks in the bodysuit with the boots up to my thighs, and he didn't even respond—at least, not in the way I wanted him to. He said I was playing a part—that it wasn't a turn-on. Nothing hurt my confidence more than that.

When the beat hits to this song, I look over in Blake's direction, trying to determine what he thinks when my back is to him, and I drop slowly on the chair as if I'm dropping slowly onto a cock. Over my shoulder, I glance at him, and he's looking at me with wide eyes, a sexy smile on his face.

Before I know it, the three and a half hours are over, and I'm coming off-stage, hugging the people who make the show happen. My security detail is walking with me. "Can you get Blake back here?" I ask Kevin. "I'd like to see him if that's possible."

"We'll get it for you," he promises as we power walk behind the barricade, heading toward the green room, "but let's get you out of the open first."

"Got it." My feet move faster, because I hate being out in the open too. It's okay in situations where I can control who is around and what they are able to see, and what they are able to do when it comes to me. But here, in places like this? I'm nervous.

I haven't truly been by myself in more than five years. Not since I had a situation with a stalker who showed up in my bed. Not just in my bedroom, but in my bed. It was the single most invasive situation that's ever happened to me. After that, I did a whole overhaul of my security team and my protection. I started taking it a lot more seriously, but even on the stage, I sometimes wonder if someone is going to be able to get to me—especially since I live my life in the spotlight.

Once we get back to the green room, I allow myself to relax slightly. I know my team has swept the room directly before I came into it, I know this is my safe area, and I don't have to worry about coming into this space. This is somewhere I can let my hair down and take a breath that isn't measured. A whole meal and a liter of water are waiting for me. Sometimes I'm hungry when I come off-stage; sometimes I'm not. Tonight I'm ravenous and more thirsty than I've been in a while. I'm sure it's because of the humidity. I twist the lid off the water and take a drink.

I don't stop, gulping it down until my thirst is quenched, until I feel as if I can talk without my voice sounding trashed. Immediately, I dig into the carb-heavy food that's waiting there for me. My mouth waters when I get a whiff of the spaghetti with a ton of vegetables on top. The chicken breast beside it will give me the energy to walk out of this stadium on my own feet. Back when I had an issue with eating enough food to fuel my body, I was carried or rode a golf cart.

There's a knock on the door, and I glance up. Blake stands there, more friendship bracelets ringed around his wrists, his blue eyes gleaming. His friend, who I recognize as Rusell, the Warriors quarterback, hovers in the hall behind him, and I move to stand up, but Blake holds his hand out.

"You killed it for three and a half hours out there on heels. Please sit."

"Thanks." I grin up at him. "I take it you enjoyed it?"

His friend, who I recognize as the quarterback for Nashville, claps his hands. "I've been to so many concerts before, but that was a fucking masterclass. Thank you for allowing us to sit as close as you did. I can't wait to maybe bring my little sister sometime."

I take another drink of my water. "If you want to do that, we can make it happen. Just let me know. Did you like the show?" I ask Blake, prepared for anything he tells me, but deep down, I hope and pray his feedback good.

"It was phenomenal." He smiles, excitement and admiration written across his face. "I don't know how you got out there and do that every night."

"Lots of practice." I laugh. "Tons of conditioning. A lot like how you guys prepare for a season. It's just a longer one for me."

His blue eyes glow in the low light of the room. "I mean, we do it for a few weeks at a time. I can't imagine. You're a fuckin' rockstar."

One of my dancers mumbles loud enough for everyone to hear, "Literally."

"Yeah." He smiles, licking his bottom lip. "Quite literally."