“No. No, I definitely think I would remember doing that.”
“It was after the ACM awards when you lost album of the year.”
My mind travels back to that night, but the memories after the red carpet are hazy. I was nervous as hell to be nominated. “Oh.Oh.Shit.”
“Yeah. You were halfway out of your sequin bell-bottoms at the time, stumbling into the bathroom. I had to hold your hair back.”
I sink back into the sofa, the leather creaking beneath me, and I hope it’ll swallow me whole. “Even if I wanted to pursue something with Liam, he’s not into me like that.”
“Ruby.Everyoneis into you like that.”
“Even you?”
She barks out a laugh. “I mean, sure, if you’re offering—but I don’t commit. Best I can do is a one-night stand and an awkward walk of shame the next morning.”
I snort. “I’ll keep that in mind. I should probably get back to working on this album.”
“Have you looked over the offers? There are several labels ready to fall to their knees to sign Ruby Lynn Hayes.”
I tie off the end of the braid and toss it over my shoulder. “I’m still thinking about it.”
Truth is, I’m not ready to make any life-changing decisions. I just got out of one shitty contract, and I’m not in the right headspace to jump into bed with more predatory men. There’s only one man I want to jump into bed with.
It doesn’t even have to be a bed.
“Ok,” she says. “I’ll let you get back to it. And Ruby?”
“Yeah?”
“If that man doesn't make another move, it’s because he’s waiting for you to do it. There’s no way he would do what he did if he wasn’t interested.”
“Thanks, Abby. I’ll let you know what I decide… about the settlement and the contracts, I mean.”
She laughs. “Sure. Talk later. Love you, girl.”
“Love you.”
The call with Abby is exactly what I need to set my mind right. By dinnertime, it’s starting to feel like I might be getting my shit together. I’ve written another song for the album and reached out to a few other artists and songwriters for collaborations. If only I could make up my mind about the legal stuff.
With Liam away at work until morning, dinner is my responsibility, and I loath to admit that I’ve run out of kid-approved meals that are within my wheelhouse.
I’m elbow deep in the fridge when Aiden comes into the kitchen.
“What should we do for dinner?” I ask.
“Froot loops!” he says, eyes wide with a massive smile.
“I think your dad might fire me if I let you have them for breakfastanddinner. Let’s see…” I pull open the freezer and find exactly what I need. “Dino nuggets?”
“Yes! And fries?”
“You got it.”
It takes less than twenty minutes to have dinner on the table. I debate for a second whether I want to partake in the dino nugget fanfare or make myself something more appealing, but the nuggets sound a lot better than cooking two separate meals. I grab the hot honey and ranch from the fridge, and settle at the island with my best bud and our prehistoric dinner.
He bites the bottom off what I think is supposed to be a T. rex, and dunks it in the dollop of ketchup, pretending to be a gravely injured and flailing dinosaur while the others around the plate cheer for its demise.
“I had no idea I was in for dinner and a show,” I say.
