17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Willow

No Willow, No Problem. Dexter Stone seen Kissing Supermodel

This is the headline I've been sent, tagged in, and inundated with all morning. Every rendition of the article includes Dexter draped over a gorgeous model. The smile he wears, his hand on her thigh, and her mouth on his neck is lemon juice on the cut you forgot about.

Seems like Dexter has no issue being out with the cover of Sports Illustrated. You'd never find a photo like this of the two of us. The second Dexter thought there was a camera in the vicinity, he'd act like we were middle schoolers at our first "boy-girl" dance. Once, I tried telling him it made me feel weird, but he twisted it into how he was doing what was best for me. To this day, I still can't explain why he didn't want to be seen with me.

"Quit subjecting yourself to those pictures," Emilie says while peeking over my shoulder. "That man is not worth it." Some people might be annoyed at the nosiness, but not me.

"I know," I lie.

"Do you? Because it looks like you were questioning why it's different with her…" She tucks her red hair behind her ears.

"How do you know that?" Emilie always seems to surprise me.

"I'm very intuitive. Also, anyone would be thinking that. Let's go do something." She sits across from me and taps her hands on the table.

"Like what? "

"Something in the city. Anywhere that someone will get a picture of you doing something fun. Being unbothered. See where I'm going?"

This Dexter headline is one where the press will do anything to get a reaction. Maybe I make it easy for them?

"Let's shop! You have an invite to a few boutiques in the city and an old college friend recently opened a lingerie shop I've been dying to go to." Her eyes light up. "That's it! What could be better than casually browsing lingerie? Not giving a fuck about Dexter and his flavor of the week?" She gasps in excitement.

Whenever Emilie is confident about something, there's no stopping her. She's a force. Part of me hopes some of her rubs off on me. It's not that I can't put my foot down, but I have a tough time going for what I want, whenever it's not the logical next step. Sometimes, I don't know what I want, and I stay quiet, terrified of giving the wrong answer.

"You know what? You're right. Let's shop."

Emilie made the right calls on the way into the city, tipping off a few members of the press. She seems to always know a little bit about everything. Currently, we're browsing some of the most gorgeous lingerie while the press is lined up at the door—I'm happy the tip panned out. Sometimes, they get tips celebrities will be somewhere but it's just to throw them off from their actual destination.

I take my time in the window. Making sure they have a chance to get a shot of me moving from table to table.

The soft lighting casts a warm glow over the displays, highlighting the intricate lace and delicate fabrics. My fingers instinctively reach out to touch the garments, feeling the softness and smoothness of the fabrics against my skin. Lace, chiffon, silk.

I flip the tags, looking at the sizes. A flush of red creeps up my neck to accompany the panic. It's not uncommon for me to struggle to find things in my size. This is not what I, or my ego, need today.

I've always been thick. Substantial. Muscular. Curvy. The words have changed since I've been a kid but it's all the same. I've never been thin.

Lucky for me, I have access to some of the best personal trainers and dieticians. When I booked my first major tour at nineteen years old, I needed a workout regimen that would let me keep up, night after night. I've always liked to cook, and my dietician helped find creative ways to have healthy meals. The things I've learned have stuck but that doesn't mean I don't ever have terrible body image days; I am human.

I've never been one to beat myself up about what I'm eating or go on a crash diet before an event. That doesn't mean the press hasn't made their fair share of comments regarding each of those items.

My phone vibrates. It's a picture of an ice bath from Tripp. I send him a picture of the lingerie table I'm currently swooning over.

Tripp

your plans are much better than mine

good lord where are you

never mind don't tell me

Me

Emilie's friend opened this shop a few weeks back. We're shopping

Shopping, huh? shopping for who

maybe for my next date? Who knows

it's a shame Mr. MVP has been so busy

The second I click send my cheeks flush. I don't remember being this playful with anyone. Everything was always so serious. I take a picture of two sets, one red and one black, and send them to Tripp.

which do you like better?

Black. Always black

sold. Remember, these are in my possession.

whenever you're free

Tripp's schedule is always packed. It could be that mine feels light since I'm getting back into album mode, it feels that way. We haven't been successful in making plans. It makes me wonder if he's into me the way I'm into him. The idea of chasing someone who doesn't want me flips my stomach.

tomorrow night? I'll move things

I'll be around :)

I don't let on how excited I am. If there's one thing I've learned it's to keep your cards close. I don't lay them down unless I like my odds to win.

As I browse the racks, I'm struck by the sheer variety of the designs. There are classic styles that exude elegance and sophistication, as well as more daring pieces that hint at a sense of adventure and allure. Every garment seems to tell a story, each stitch a line and every detail a twist .

It kind of reminds me of music. Every word, beat, instrument a piece of the story. Honestly, it makes me think of why I wanted to get into music in the first place. I wanted to tell stories. I'd spend my days daydreaming before putting pen to paper—getting lost in an empty notebook was an ideal way to spend free time.

Once I figured out I could sing, it was over. I remember putting on little skits and shows for my parents and since I didn't have any siblings, it was always the three of us in the living room. The day I sang a song I wrote, I'll never forget my mom's reaction.

"Willow Jo. Where did you learn to do that?" Two little tears slid down her face.

"Holy shit," my dad says.

"Alan!" My mom hits him with a couch pillow. "Don't talk like that."

"Kath. Did you hear her?!"

"Of course, I heard her." My parents always got along. They sometimes bickered but always made up before things got out of hand.

"I don't know. I just tried to do it. Wrote a song and tried to sing it."

"You wrote that?!" My mom lightly takes the paper out of my hand, looking at my scribbled lyrics.

I nod and my cheeks turn pink.

"Honey, this is lovely. Do you want to try singing or music lessons?"

And that was it. Everything was music after that. My parents never pushed me but always gave me a chance to try new things. Ultimately, I landed on learning the guitar and the piano.

"Tell me this stuff isn't gorgeous," Emilie interrupts my thoughts while her friend stands next to her.

"It's all beautiful. I can't get over the intricate details." I'm holding a few pieces in my size.

"Let me wrap those up for you," the shop owner says. I feel like she's going to try and give them to me for free .

"Thank you but you are not giving these to me. I'm paying full price." I follow her to the register.

Emilie and I are at dinner. She picked a Thai spot I could never get sick of. We order a bunch of dishes to share and I'm already drooling about the leftovers we haven't even eaten yet.

"That did not happen to you." I try to cover my mouth before my laugh disrupts the whole restaurant.

"It totally did. I thought I was showing up for an assistant interview. They thought I was there for the backup dancer audition."

"So, they handed you a black sports bra and spandex shorts and you did what?"

"I put them on and spent the next three hours pretending I knew what I was doing," she says like that was the only logical option.

"Why didn't you tell them you got it wrong?" I can barely get the words out.

"I was nineteen! It was one of my first big opportunities. I had zero backbone then."

"Are you a good dancer? Did you get picked?!" I ask, eyebrows raised, trying not to laugh.

"Willow. Do you think I got picked for one of the largest rap and r&b tours to date? I did hold my own but no. No, I didn't."

Her sarcasm is my favorite. We both laugh, feeding off each other, wiping tears from our eyes. She looks at her phone.

"I may not be a good dancer but damn I'm good at this!" Emilie shows me her screen. It's pictures of me at the lingerie shop. Someone even got a photo of me texting Tripp, judging by my smile. The headline reads What's Got Willow All Smiles?

"You really are."

My smile almost matches the one in the photo. Today turned into a great day and I'm hoping tomorrow is even better. The lingerie bag sits on the bench next to me, the pieces I bought wrapped in blush pink tissue paper. I think of the lace, dark and delicate.

I press my lips together, trying not to blush.

I'm unsuccessful.