Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

14. Willow

Chapter 14

Willow

T he next morning, my mom called me and told me Aspen was fine, just upset. They ate the food I ordered and fell asleep to Notting Hill together. Despite the good news, I continued to worry about Aspen all week during the cracks in the long days. Between the exhaustion and the worry, London Fashion Week was an absolute blur. Then, I was whisked away to Milan for their fashion week, which is notoriously even crazier than London’s.

It’s my first full day here, and I’m currently in a dressing room, sitting with gold under-eye masks (none of the other models were given these…message received). A team of three has just begun working on my hair when my phone buzzes. Facetime from Riley. Shit, I haven’t contacted him at all since leaving New York.

“Hello?” I swipe open the call.

“Hell—what’s on your face?”

“Eye masks. Hey, sorry for not messaging for a while…” I say, clicking through my phone and seeing three missed texts from him over the course of the past week. Fuck, I’m an ass. “And I’m so so rry I missed your texts. Really, I’m just seeing them now. I’ve been so busy. London was crazy, and the?—”

“Willow, it’s okay.” He smiles like he’s amused at my anxiety. “Seriously, it’s fine. I know you’ve been busy. Don’t stress.” His accent is like honey coating my worn-down nerves.

“Well, you’ve been busy too, and you still made time for me.”

He grins. “Now you make me sound whipped.”

One of the hairstylists behind me snorts.

“Did he just laugh at me?” Riley asks.

“I did,” the hairstylist responds plainly.

“I’ll get some earbuds. Hold on a second,” I say, bending to reach into my bag, earning grunts of protests from my hair team. “Sorry, guys,” I say, popping in the earbuds.“And sorry they’re making fun of you,” I say to Riley as his audio flows into my ears.

“No problem.” He laughs. “Nothing I haven’t heard already from my friends.”

“They say you’re desperate, too?”

“Well, nobody said desperate , damn.” He laughs as my face reddens. “But, yeah, I may be desperate. But they’re not the ones Facetiming Willow Jordan, now are they?”

I wince.

“Sorry,” he says. “ I didn’t mean it like that. I’d talk to you no matter what your name was or what you looked like. In fact, I’m not even into blondes.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“I do—I mean, I am into blondes. I don’t know why I said that. I’ve only ever gone out with blondes. You’re definitely my type. That’s not what I meant. But, that’s not what I meant either…ah shit, I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” he asks, running a nervous hand through his hair.

“You’re doing fine, Riley.” I laugh. “Better than most, to be honest. Most peopl e would be too afraid to call me in the first place. Big bad Willow and all.”

“You’re neither big nor bad. I’m really not that afraid of you.”

“But you’re still a little afraid?”

“A little.” He pauses. “How are you doing, Willow? You seem…”

“Seem what?”

“Withdrawn,” he finally says.

“I’m just tired.” I wave off his concern. “So where are you, anyway?”

“If you say so. But just know you can talk to me about anything. Who am I going to tell? And I’m always on this damn bus. I have nothing better to do than listen to you rant.”

I laugh. As sweet as Riley is, there’s no chance in hell I’m telling him about my personal issues. “Are you on the bus now?”

“Yeah. We’re driving through Canada, from Saskatchewan to Winnipeg.”

“What time is it there?” I ask, just realizing that since it’s late morning here, it must be really early there.

“Four in the morning.” He grins lazily. “But see, with my trusty built-in reading light here, you’d never know.”

“So why are you awake?”

“I don’t know. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Aren’t you going to wake up your band with your talking?”

“Nah, they all sleep like the dead. Except Nash, but he has his earplugs in.”

“He sleeps with earplugs in?”

“Well, Ethan snores. It’s a whole thing.”

I laugh, “Sounds like it. But you don’t snore?”

“Not that I know of. Do you?”

“Riley! You can't ask a woman that. It’s rude. ”

“Sorry.”

“But I do,” I chuckle.

“You do?” he asks, laughing way harder than merited. “Willow Jordan snores!”

“Oh shut up, that’s not that bad. And you better keep it down, or else you’ll wake everyone up, including Nash and his earplugs.”

That only seems to make Riley laugh harder, which makes me laugh too.

“Willow, if you don’t stop shaking, I’ll hang up that phone myself,” the hairstylist snaps at me.

“Someone’s grumpy,” Riley says between laughs as I try to control myself.

“Riley! Stop saying stuff like that and making me laugh, or I’ll be forced to hang up.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll behave,” he says with a wink that I know would make thousands of other girls swoon.

“Good. So, how is Canada?”

“It’s good. I’ve never been here before, so it's interesting to see how similar it is to the US. Except for the accents. Everyone asks where I’m from here. I guess a Southern accent is a novelty.”

“To be fair, it’s a novelty in New York and LA, too.”

“So you think I’m a novelty, then,” he asks, raising a brow and the corner of his lip.

“I never said I did.” I shrug but can’t hold back my smile. “So, you’ve never been to Canada or London, right? Have you been to Italy? I’m in Milan right now. I don’t know if you knew that.”

“I saw your post last night in your hotel room with the location tagged. Nice robe, by the way.” Again, he flashes that roguish grin.

Despite myself, I feel my cheeks reddening. “It is a nice robe. Slightly thi cker than this one,” I say, looking down at the black silk dressing robe I’m currently wearing. “No mention of the cleavage or bare legs, though? I guess next time, I’ll have to do better.”

“Sure. Though, you could just send that photo to me personally.” He smirks.

“Please tell me you’re not about to scold me for ‘leaving too little to the imagination’ and posting it online for everyone to see.”

“What? No, never. You’re doing everyone a favor by showing off. I mean, fuck, if I looked like you, I’d walk around naked all the time.”

I snort. “I’d love to see that.”

“You would?”

“Not literally,” I say, putting a quick stop to that train of thought. “Just friends, remember.”

“Right. But to circle back to your Italy question, no, I’ve never been. This is actually my first time out of the country.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. I know it must seem lame to you, but my family never had much money when I was growing up, so our vacations typically consisted of a road trip to Myrtle Beach or?—”

“Riley, I don’t think that’s lame at all. I think it’s great—you have so much left to see. Although, I guess I also have a lot to see, in a way. Sure, I’ve been all over, but I’ve never really been . As a kid, I was carted around by my parents to wherever they wanted to go. As an adult, I’m pretty much only traveling for work. I never really go anywhere for fun.”

“Well, I hope you get to change that soon.”

I grimace. “After fashion month.”

“Yes, after that,” he confirms as the hair team leaves and the makeup team begins prepping my face, removing the eye masks. “Who is this now? ”

“The makeup team,” I answer while tightening my robe.

“That sounds fun.”

“Usually it is, but I think I’m missing the top two layers of skin off my face from how many times I’ve had my makeup done and removed in the past three weeks. But on a more positive note, I’ve been listening to your playlists this past week.”

“You have? Do you like them?”

“I love them. You’re right, I think I just had never heard any good country music. You might have just turned me into a fan.”

“Any favorites standing out so far?”

“I really love the breakup stuff, to be honest. Something about hearing people vent their negative feelings makes me feel better about my life.” I laugh. “Also, anything by George Strait or Keith Whitley. I may or may not have taken a deep dive into them…”

“You like George Strait and Keith Whitley?” Riley asks, eyes crinkling from smiling so big. “That’s awesome. They’re two of my all-time favorites, too. Wait, so what kind of music do you normally listen to? I realized that I’m a dick, and I never even asked.”

“Did you just assume I listened to pop music?”

“No.”

“Be honest,” I pry.

“Yes.”

“Well, I do like pop music, to be fair. But my favorite will always be 90s and early 2000s hip-hop.”

“Old hip-hop? You’re full of surprises,” he says, shaking his head with a smile. “I hope you know I’m gonna need a playlist of that from you. It’s only fair.”

“But I gave you the shirt!”

“Yes, and I love it. Thank you. But I still need a playlist. ”

“You got it?”

“I texted you a thank you when I got it,” he adds.

“I must have missed that, sorry.”

“No apologies. You were busy. But speaking of which, go look at my Instagram.”

“Okay…holy shit! It fits perfectly! I had to guess on your proportions but it looks like Marc did his job. It looks fantastic.”

“You guessed that? I was assuming it was either a coincidence or you got my measurements from my manager.”

“Nope, I guessed. Fashion is my job, in case you forgot.”

“No, I know that, but…holy shit, you’re good. Have you ever thought of designing anything yourself?”

“Um, other than that shirt?”

“ You designed that?”

“Yeah,” I say nervously. “It’s not that big of a deal. It's just a shirt.”

“Willow, it’s embroidered with the most beautiful flowers and greenery I’ve ever seen, snaking up the sleeves and across the chest in a way that makes me look like Vin fucking Deisel when I wear it, complete with matching embroidery and fringe on the back shoulders. It’s fucking incredible.”

“You like the fringe? I wasn’t sure, but I thought it would be fun,” I start.

“Even Ethan couldn’t give me shit for that, it looked so cool. Who knew fringe could be so badass? Sorry, I’m just in awe that you designed that.”

“It wasn’t that hard. I drew it up in like five minutes.”

“Willow, stop flexing, Jesus. Some of us are mere mortals without an ounce of your raw artistry.”

“Okay, and some of us are tone deaf and can’t string two coherent notes together, unlike you, especially that run in ‘Three a.m. in Asheville.’ ”

“So you listened to my album? And that’s your favorite song? Not ‘Moonlight and You’?”

“Yes and yes. I like the breakup stuff, I told you. Sad and angry always hits harder than happy, for me…hence the nineties hip-hop. By the way, who eviscerated your heart like that?”

“Ahhh, long story. She’s ancient history, though.”

“Doesn’t sound like it since you wrote a whole album about her…”

“Hey, only most of it is about her, not all of it, if we’re really getting into the nitty gritty. I’ll tell you the whole story sometime, but yeah, we’re done for good.”

“Noted. I really like this photo of you, by the way. The one you posted in the shirt I sent you.”

The photo is an action shot of him leaning the mic stand away from him, holding the mic in his opposite hand. The fringe on the back of the shirt is visible since the shot was taken in motion from the side, and his face is cast in the most beautiful partial silhouette thanks to the stage lights. A sea of hands is reaching for the stage, and Riley’s smile is so genuine, you can see his eyes crinkling.

“Thanks. I think the shirt makes it, really.”

“Mhm, nothing to do with the tall, ripped, blond country boy having the time of his life onstage.”

“Tall and ripped? I’ll take that. Happily.”

“Willow?” one of the makeup artists starts from behind me, and I turn my head to look at him. “I’m going to need you to hold still for this last part. We have to do the lips and eyeliner.”

“Sure, one second,” I say before looking at Riley again. “I hate to do this, but I have to go. They have to do the detail work on my makeup, and then I have a show. ”

“No worries at all, do your thing. But remember to make me that hip-hop playlist whenever you have time.”

“I’ll send it over the second I get some free time,” I promise.

“Bye, then. Good luck at your show.”

“Thank you. Good luck at yours today or tomorrow or whenever you have one.”

“Thanks.” He smiles as I hang up.

“Thank you, sorry about that,” the makeup artist says, gently angling my head so he can do my eyeliner.