“Thank you for stopping by and feel free to barge in any time,” I say, giving her a tight hug goodbye. “How about lunch next week? Any day, your choice.”
“I’d like that. I’ll text you.” She hurries down the stairs, but stops and turns back. “You’ve made a bigger impact than you realize, Holli. On all of us.”
“Then maybe one day he’ll stop by.”
She nods, understanding.
I go back inside and see Tracy standing on the bottom step. “You okay?” she asks.
Finally feeling like I’m starting to make sense of things, I reply, “I think so.”
“Life isn’t about right or wrong, but learning to live with your choices.” ~Johnny Outlaw
The fallout from the convention has died down in the media. Photos were sold to tabloids, making me relive that day for weeks after. The ‘Lime Lady and the Rock Star’ makes for interesting press, I guess. I don’t see the appeal, but they’ve finally moved on just like Dalton has. The public’s idol is now being tied to every single socialite, starlet, and groupie. The photos showing up online and in the rags at the supermarket don’t look incriminating, but the headlines say otherwise. I know how the media twists the truth to fit the story they want to tell.
Or maybe I just don’t want to believe that Dalton and I are done for good.
Tracy has the week off to entertain family from out of state and to wrap up wedding details. I’m getting at least five calls a day from the nervous bride and two from vendors, not counting my business calls. So when Danny stops by with beers, I welcome him with open arms, needing the break. I turn off my phone to block out my obligations, kick my feet up on my coffee table, and tip back the bottle. The beer is more refreshing than it should be. “Ahhhh,” I moan, closing my eyes as I lean my head back on the couch. “I needed this.”
“You look tired.”
Lifting my head up, I give him the evil eye. “Gee, thanks, neighbor.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, laughing. “But the way you’re laying there, looks like you might fall asleep on me.”
“I just might. I don’t sleep well, haven’t in a while.”
He’s about to say something, but he turns back to the TV, watching the quiz show, and takes a drink instead.
“Go on,” I say, “get it off your chest.”
“What?”
He’s playing dumb. “Nice try. Let’s just talk about it, so we don’t have to talk about it again tonight.”
“Still no word?”
“Nope,” I emphasize the word.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
With his foot, he pushes my legs off the table, making me fall on my side. “Dude,” I complain, holding my beer in the air so it doesn’t spill. “What’s that about?”
“You. Look at you in your sweats and baggy tee, holey socks, and your hair…” he says, moving his hand above his head all crazy, “… like that. You need to snap out of this funk. You need to get out of your house and get a change of scenery.” He stands and pulls me up by my arm. “C’mon, I’m taking you out. If I remember correctly, I owe you some drinks.”
Offended, I put my hand on my hip, and say, “First of all, these are yoga pants, not sweats. You’re a model. You should know these things. Secondly, this,” I say, swirling my hand above my hair, “is the latest in working-from-home-hairstyles. All the coolest entrepreneurs are sporting this look, don’t ya know.”
“Yoga instructors, maybe, but not people who have to leave the house on a regular basis.”
“But I don’t have to leave the house much.”
He taps me on the nose, twice. “That, my friend, is why I’m getting you out of here.”
“Did you just boop me?”
“What’s a boop?”
I tap him on the nose and say, “Boop.”
His eyebrow lifts. “Well, in that case, I did just boop you and I’m gonna do it again. Hold still.” He boops me again, then says, “Now go change, slacky. I want you lookin’ hot.”
I want to argue, but I also want to show him how good I can look. I go with the latter. If I’m doing this, I’m doing it right. I shower quickly, and get dressed, pulling on tight, white jeans and a purple tank top that flows over my curves, ending at the top of my hips. I slip on my brown wedges and do my makeup and hair, deciding to let my hair hang free with my natural waves showing.
When I come back downstairs, Danny’s standing there with the beer to his mouth, but he stops, and slowly lowers it. “Shit. I was just planning on grabbing drinks down the street. But with you looking like that… I might want to show you off.”