Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

25. Riley

Chapter 25

Riley

A fter dinner, my parents and I help bring Willow’s bags upstairs to Olivia’s vacant room. They leave us up here and head back downstairs, where they’ll presumably stay for the rest of the night since their bedroom is down there.

“So,” I say, leaning on her door frame but not quite stepping into her room.

“So?”

“I texted Nash and Waylon, and they’re both free for the bar tonight if you still want to do that. And Nash’s sister is free, too,” I add. “He just told her I was asking, though, we didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“God, I hope I don’t give the poor girl a heart attack.”

“So you’re in?”

“I’m in,” she affirms. “But I’d like to humbly request a nap before we go. I didn’t get much sleep last night…jet lag.”

“For sure.” I take my cue and turn to leave. “Just knock when you’re ready. My room is the one directly across from yours.”

Around 8 p.m., I hear a faint knock on my door. “Come in,” I call from where I’m sitting on the edge of my bed. I was strumming on my guitar, trying to work out a melody that’s been stuck in my head all day.

I hear the door creak open and see Willow looking straight out of a Southern man’s fantasy. She’s wearing bell-bottomed jeans that hug her curves and a plain white T-shirt, tight enough to be a second skin. I didn’t realize my gaze had drifted so far down her body until I noticed the golden boots I gave her poking out from beneath her jeans. I snap my eyes back up to her face and see her smirking. Suddenly, it’s a hundred degrees in here.

“Take your time,” she jokes, shaking her newly curled head of hair at me. “I’m guessing I nailed the country girl look?”

“You look great,” I manage to say.

“Perfect. So when do you want to head out?”

“Now’s good with me.” I stand, setting my guitar on its stand, trying not to think about what her jeans would look like on my floor—and failing miserably. “Nightlife starts a bit earlier out here than it does in New York. If you’re cool with it, I’ll text Waylon to come pick us up so we can both drink. He lives just down the street and is driving anyway.”

“Great,” she says, leaving me in the dust and heading downstairs. I grab the worn leather jacket off the back of my desk chair, mainly for Willow in case she gets cold, and my favorite cowboy hat.

“Sure, I could have a bite,” I hear Willow saying from the kitchen.

My mom must be offering her more food. It’s one of her love languages, as well as mercilessly making fun of the people she cares about .

As predicted, Willow’s standing by the counter eating chocolate cake as my mom admires her hair.

“Is it natural?” Mom asks, lightly playing with a lock of Willow’s hair in awe. Willow laughs, a sound infinitely better than any song.

“It’s highlighted, but other than that, yes,” Willow answers. “I used to keep it trimmed short so designers would have the choice of keeping it short or adding extensions and making it long, but I stopped doing that. I like it long—if they want it short, they can give me a wig.”

“Amen, girl,” my mom echoes. “If I had hair like this, I’d never cut it either.”

Willow looks up and sees me, offering a bite of her cake to me on her fork. I take it.

“Oh good, you’re here, Riley. I was just about to tell Willow about how beautiful your hair was as a baby.” She turns back to Willow. “It was so gorgeous, a platinum blond that not even a nice salon could get you. So I left it long on him, not wanting to cut it. But then everyone would come up to me and compliment me on my beautiful daughter .” Mom laughs. “So eventually, I felt forced to cut it.”

Willow laughs again as I roll my eyes. “She forgot to mention that I was in first grade when she finally gave in. The other boys in my class teased me mercilessly.”

Willow grins, looking at my mom. “I would love to see photos of that.”

A car honks outside, and I silently thank God—and Waylon—for saving me from the humiliation of my baby photos.

“I’ll get his whole baby album out for you to flip through tomorrow,” my mom promises Willow as she walks us to the door. As Willow walks in front of me, I notice the large red stars on either back pocket of her jeans, before quickly averting my eyes. I’m starting to think that I accidentally got in way over my head by inviting Willow to visit.

“You guys have fun,” my mom calls as we climb into Waylon’s old pickup. I open the door to the passenger seat and offer it to Willow, but she shakes her head and climbs into the back.

“Goodnight, Mom,” I call back.

“Goodnight, Laura,” Willow echoes.

“First name basis, wow,” Waylon says as we buckle in.

“You must be Waylon,” Willow says from the middle seat, leaning her head between Waylon and mine. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. What’s your name again?” he asks, crinkling his brow at her with feigned confusion.

“Waylon,” I chide.

Willow just laughs. “I like you,” she says to him, leaning back into her seat as we reverse out the drive. We swing by Nash’s house on the way so he and his sister, Nellie, can drink with Willow and me.

“Is it true that you guys really had a—” Nellie clamors as she approaches the car before stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of the blonde head in the backseat. “Shut the fuck up,” she starts. “Nash, shut the fuck up, ” she repeats, still frozen in her tracks. Her face has lost all its color.

“I didn’t say anything,” Nash murmurs.

Waylon is cracking up like he’s watching a new South Park episode. Willow raises her hand meekly, offering Nellie a warm smile through the window.

“Are you getting in or what?” Waylon calls to them, cranking the volume of the rap music he’s playing loud enough to shake the car.

“Come on,” Nash says, dragging his awe-stricken sister toward the truck .

“I promise I don’t bite.” Willow grins as they get in on either side of her.

“Nellie, meet Willow. Willow, meet Nellie.”

“I can’t believe you dicks didn’t tell me she was coming!” Nellie says, roughly punching each of our arms in turn. “Sorry,” she apologizes to Willow. “It’s a pleasant surprise, I promise…I just would have done my hair or at least not have worn my old high school jeans.”

“No worries, I just hope I don’t disappoint. And as for the jeans, they have that ‘fashionably worn’ look—you know, like Yeezy or Vivienne Westwood. I like them.” Willow winks.

We pull into the nearly full parking lot of the bar a few minutes later. Willow hops out, and Nellie’s jaw drops. “You’re tall! ”

Waylon snorts as he leads the way to the bar. “Not everyone is barely over five feet, pumpkin.”

“I appreciate it,” Willow diplomatically responds.

I catch my arm extending toward the small of her back, but I quickly pull it away.

Get it together, Riley. You’re just friends. She doesn’t want you touching her.