Ripley laughs. "She sounds like an amazing woman."
"She is. Both she and my dad believed in teaching us the value in hard work, so I perfected my omelet-making skills in the kitchen of Country Critter for two summers in high school."
"Country Critter? Sounds . . . interesting. Where exactly did you grow up?"
"East Tennessee. Not too far outside Knoxville. Had the Smoky Mountains in my backyard. God's country." When I think about that view and watching the fog rise off the mountains in the morning, I miss it. I'm due for a trip home.
"Do your folks still live there?" Ripley asks.
"Sure do. In the same house where I grew up. No matter how many times I've tried to buy them a new one, my dad won't hear of it. He says it was good enough for him before, and it'll be good enough until the day they put him in the ground."
Ripley's eyes go wide. "I can guarantee that's not what Pop would've said if I were in your position. He'd be first in line holding out his hand, telling me that I owe him for all the sacrifices he made while I was growing up."
Again, I want to knock her dad's teeth out. It's probably a good thing I've never met the man, because I have a feeling Ripley wouldn't be pleased at the outcome. Instead, I change the subject back to my family, wishing she'd had what I did growing up.
"My brother lives a half mile from my folks. Ma watches his little boy while he and his wife work. They still have Sunday dinner together after church." As I tell Ripley about my family, I realize how much I've missed them lately, and an idea hits me.
"It sounds like . . . it sounds like what you'd see in a movie. Idyllic."
"It's pretty damn perfect. But when I was eighteen, all I wanted to do was go to Nashville and make my mark. I wanted to be famous, tour the world and sing in front of thousands of fans in sold-out shows."
"And you did it." She reaches out and squeezes my arm. "You're pretty incredible too."
I shrug. "I got lucky. Right place, right time, right sound, and the right record exec. That's how it happened, and if any one of those things had been different, I probably would've ended up moving home eventually and working with my dad and brother."
"What did your parents think of you wanting to make it big? Leaving behind the small-town life?"
"They were awesome. Totally supportive. My folks have been to more of my shows than probably anyone else in the world. I owe them everything."
Ripley's hand tightens on my arm again. "They sound wonderful."
An idea keeps rolling around in my head, but it's not ready to be put into words quite yet. Instead, I stand and grab both our plates and take them to the sink to rinse.
"I can do that."
"I'll worry about the dishes. You worry about being naked in bed when I get there."
Ripley's cheeks turn pink. "Are we going to . . ."
The reason for the blush becomes clear. "Not yet. I've still got some work loosening up that sweet little asshole of yours."
The blush darkens, and she spins around and disappears as Esteban squawks, "Get a room!"
19
Ripley
Oh. My. God. I feel like a broken record because I've said it so many times, but I can't help it. Boone does things to my body I never knew were possible.
Round three in the books, my eyes drift closed. "I'm going to take a quick nap. Only a few minutes."
He presses a kiss to my hair. "Take all the time you need, sugar."
* * *
When I open my eyes the next morning, the sun is sneaking through the curtains, and I feel like I've just woken from a coma.
With my arms stretched above my head, I search the room but see no sign of Boone. There aren't any sounds coming from the bathroom either. I grab my jeans from the floor and pull them on, along with another one of Boone's T-shirts. I tie it in a knot at the side so it doesn't hang down to my knees. He's deceptively big. I don't know what it is about him, but you don't realize how massive he is until he's right up on you. The ache between my legs is another sign of what else is massive.
Good God, if all those groupies knew what kind of equipment Boone is packing, he'd be even more overrun than he already is.
A flash of possessiveness streaks through me at the thought of anyone else knowing what I know.
He's not yours, Ripley. Calm down.
Another part of me disputes that because he could be. All I have to do is say yes.
I shove those thoughts aside and make my way out of the bedroom to wander the house in search of Boone. The kitchen and living area are empty. I don't see him on the back deck. His truck and his 442 are in the garage, so I know he has to be around somewhere.
Part of me doesn't want to snoop in other places, but when I hear the muffled sound of a guitar drifting up the wide stairs leading into the basement, I follow it.