Beard Science(40)

I felt my smile grow as she spoke and was grinning when she finished.

Claire’s clever eyes held mine. “So don’t worry about your lack of experience. You wait—if you want—because when the right guy comes along, he won’t mind about your technique or lack thereof, and you won’t mind about his. He’ll care about you. You’ll care for each other.”

Music, the muffled sounds of a live performance, invaded our space, but I paid it no mind. Claire’s words were like a salve to my nerves. Unthinkingly, I turned to Cletus, maybe to thank him for bringing me backstage, for making this stolen chat with Claire possible, but the words immediately caught in my throat.

His eyes were already on me and his look hit me squarely in the chest, a hot spike of awareness. It was another of those rare windows into the real Cletus Winston, unmasked and raw, but this time he didn’t look angry. He looked ravenous.

The hot sensation spread lower, to my abdomen and lower, to my . . . other . . . area.

I flushed, felt overheated. His gaze singed, and yet I also felt oddly liquefied by it, loose and adrift.

The muffled sounds dissolved, as though I’d been pulled into a tunnel where only he and I existed, Cletus and his ravenous appetite and his fiery-blue eyes.

But then I jumped, flinching and tearing my eyes away, because an unexpectedly loud knock rapped against the door. A moment passed where no one spoke and I couldn’t see, but the invasive clamor of live music met my ears followed by sounds of cheers and applause.

“I’ll get it,” Cletus said, his voice gruff, as though he hadn’t used it in days.

I watched him stand, watched him move to the door, his big shoulders rising and falling with an expansive breath. I noticed his hands were balled into fists and his forearms were bare. He’d rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. I tried to recall whether I’d ever seen his arms before. And, if so, why they were so distracting now?

A gentle nudge against my calf had me turning back to Claire. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open. She mouthed, You and Cletus?

I shook my head quickly.

Her gaze narrowed and flickered over me. She nodded her head, mouthing again, You and Cletus. This time it wasn’t a question.

My stomach fluttered with panic-induced vertigo. I shook my head again, whispering, “We’re not like that,” just as Cletus opened the door.

“Mr. Winston. Fine performance,” an unknown female exclaimed, drawing my attention back to the door.

“Mr. Platt, Ms. Flom. I imagine you’ll be wanting to speak to my partner?” Cletus crossed his arms, tilting his chin up and adopting a tone I’d never heard him use before. Most of his accent was gone. He sounded like a Yankee.

“Where is the lovely Ms. McClure? We’d love to congratulate her as well, maybe talk some things over. Did she get the champagne we sent?” a voice asked, which I guessed belonged to Mr. Platt.

Cletus nodded once. “She did.”

“Good. Good. So perhaps we can—”

“Let’s cut to the chase.” Cletus leaned against the doorjamb and a friendly smile curved over his lips, but from where I was sitting his eyes were remote and remarkably shrewd. “I want your Buick, Ms. Flom. You want Claire McClure in a contract. I’m sure we’ll be able to reach an equitable arrangement, where everyone leaves the table happy.”

“That sneaky bastard,” I heard Claire whisper and I looked back to her. She didn’t look upset. In fact, she was smiling.

“Did you know?” I leaned close to Claire so as not to interrupt the negotiation occurring at the dressing room door.

“Beau warned me,” she said on a low breath.

“What are you going to do?”

Her gaze held mine and I saw indecision, but I also saw excitement.

“Well, Cletus wants that car.” Claire smiled and shrugged. I returned her grin, laughing lightly.

She sighed, it sounded happy, and her attention moved back to the man in question.

I followed her gaze, repeating the words Beau had said to me less than an hour ago. “And Cletus always gets what he wants.”



Soon after Cletus concluded preliminary negotiations with Ms. Flom and Mr. Platt, I made my way back to my seat. They needed to get back on stage for the awards.

Claire and Cletus came in first place. Knowing the truth—that whether they won or lost made no difference, because Claire was already on her way to signing a record deal and Cletus had successfully negotiated the purchase of the car he wanted—was a bit like catching a glimpse of the Wizard of Oz standing behind his curtain.

Reality didn’t negate the triumph of their win, but the festivity that followed felt less about winning and more about just wanting to celebrate with family. Even though Jethro and Sienna’s wedding was literally three weeks away—and they’d all be seeing each other again for the occasion—the siblings and their partners seemed to jump at any opportunity to celebrate together. I loved this about the Winstons.

Thanks to Sienna’s clout, the entire second floor of the family’s favorite barbeque restaurant in Nashville had been secured. Billy was on my right and Beau on my left. Claire was way down on the other end, chatting with Sienna and Jethro. Roscoe sat directly across from me, with Cletus across from Beau and Jessica across from Billy. Duane sat on the end cap.

Next to Cletus was Ms. Flom, and she seemed intent on monopolizing his attention. A fact that had me both irritated and relieved.

I didn’t want to meet with another of his ravenous looks and deal with the confusing longings that accompanied it. I didn’t know what it meant and I had no experience from which to draw. Therefore, I sat quietly—avoiding eye contact with Cletus—and slipped into my role of people watcher. It was interesting to study the different dynamics at work.

The record executives had been invited to join our gathering and Mr. Platt was fawning all over Sienna. The servers were also hovering over her. Even while we were standing in front of the restaurant she’d been recognized and mobbed by strangers in the street.

“What are you staring at?” Billy asked, attempting to follow my line of sight.

I indicated with my head toward a graciously smiling Sienna. “Sienna Diaz.”

Billy’s gaze moved over me. “What about her?”

“How does she do it? Everywhere she goes, people—strangers—want to talk to her. I would hate it.”

“Would you?” Billy seemed surprised.

Beau nudged me with his elbow, obviously having been eavesdropping. “What about all that publicity your momma arranges for the Banana Cake Queen? Don’t you dress in costume and do appearances? And don’t you have a million followers, or something crazy like that?”

“The Banana Cake Queen has just over a million followers on Instagram. Jennifer Sylvester has zero.” I pushed my pulled pork around on my plate.

Beau nudged me again, this time with his shoulder. “I hate to break it to you, but you are the Banana Cake Queen.”

“She doesn’t look like the Banana Cake Queen.”

I lifted my eyes to the speaker of this comment and found Roscoe looking at me funny.

“Hey, Jenn,” he said, still looking at me funny. “How are things?”

Other than polite hellos early in the evening, I hadn’t spoken to Roscoe at all so far. But I’d caught him sending curious glances my way.

“Things are good, Roscoe. How are your things?”

“My things are great. To tell you the truth, I didn’t realize who you were until we sat down for dinner. I didn’t recognize you at all.” He squinted at me, then Billy, then Beau. He also smiled. “So which one of these jokers brought you?”

“I did.” Billy administered a no-teeth grin to his youngest brother.

“Technically, we both did.” Beau nudged me a third time, giving me a conspiratorial side-eye.

“Is that so . . .?” Roscoe leaned back in his seat.

I didn’t get a chance to respond because movement at the other end of the table had us all glancing up from our conversation.

Claire had stood and was passing out hugs, to Jethro first, then Sienna. She turned to the rest of the table. I thought for a moment she was planning to go around and say goodbye to us, one at a time, but her movements halted suddenly when her eyes crashed into Billy’s.

I sensed him go stiff at my side, heard his quick intake of breath. Almost immediately, she tore her gaze away.

I fought the urge to lay a comforting hand on his arm. Emotion rolled off the big man, wild and reckless and so very sad. I just wanted to hug him.

“I have to get going, y’all. I have an early morning.” Her smile was wide, though it looked a little rattled to me.

This news was met with various sounds of disappointment, protests, and well-wishes. She waved and blew a kiss to Jessica, who acted like she caught it in her hand and stuffed it down her bra. This made everyone laugh.

Claire also laughed, then turned, striding purposefully away from the table. I watched her go, feeling both happy and sad.

I wish . . .

I wished I’d made an effort to know Claire before she left Green Valley. She was definitely someone worth knowing.

“What is it, Cletus?” Billy asked sharply, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I glanced between the two brothers and moved my twisting fingers to my lap; it was the first time Cletus had looked in my general vicinity since the backstage sex pow-wow and the subsequent ravenous look.