Page 100 of Darlin'

The host smiles at me. “You look lovely this evening, Alabama.”

"As do you," I say, garnering a blush from our sleazy middle-aged host.

"You're too kind." He grins, flipping his cue cards. "Alright, Alabama, our question to you is: what is one piece of advice you'd give a young woman in today's society?"

A beat passes as I think about the question. Reallythink about it. Probably more than I should. Advice? Who am I to give anyone advice? I'm still learning. About myself. About the world. About life. About...love. What do I know? What can I share? What can I contribute?

Hmm...

"A couple of months ago, my answer to this question would've been something along the lines of...know your self-worth, trust yourself, and treat yourself with respect?—"

I pause, catching Momma's worried expression. Swallowing, my gaze shifts a seat down to Marlow, and I smile, remembering our first encounter and the initial judgmental thoughts I had about her.

"And while that advice is solid and important, what I want to share with y'all today is..." Memories of the past summer flood my mind and relax my shoulders. "Is the importance of knowing one's internalized prejudice."

The crowd stays silent, a distant cough echoing from the far end of the room.

"I think as humans we all tend to flock toward people and things that are familiar, that are comfortable, that are known and secure, and sometimes, that tends to put a divide between us andothers." I clear my throat. "This past summer, I met many people that I instantly labeled as other. Their way of life was different than mine, their appearance was different than mine, and though I hate to say it out loud, I thought I was better than them.

"But then something magical happened..." I grin down at Marlow. "I got to know them. I got to see behind the surface, behind the labels, behind my own preconceived notions of who they were. When I shed thosesocially constructed standards of proper and improper, of good and bad, of right and wrong, I discovered that these people were some of the kindest, warmest, most loyal, and loving individuals I'll probably meet in my whole life.

"So my advice to everyone, not just young women, is to get to know people before you judge them and brush them off asother, because, if you're lucky like me, you might find a best friend, a sister, even a—" I take a breath, my heart on the verge of breaking all over again. "Maybe even a soulmate." I glance over at the host and give him a melancholy smile. "Thank you."

Shoot. That was definitely not short or sweet. That was long-winded and far too personal. Momma's gonna kill me.

"No, thank you." The host clears his throat. "Alabama, everyone."

It starts off slow, the applause, but within seven seconds, the crowd roars and rises to their feet. Like a beating drum growing louder and louder, I hear my name being chanted at the back of the venue. I narrow my eyes, following the husky hoots and hollers until my gaze lands on a sea of leather vests and plaid bandanas.

Oh, my Lanta...

A sparkly hot pink sign that readsPrincess for Presidentis hoisted in the air, and the arms holding it are attached to none other than the Vice-President of one of America's most notorious biker gangs.

No. Freaking. Way.

CHAPTER 31

Pink Glitter

What ishappeningright now?!Jesse's here? In Alabama? At the Miss USA pageant?! And he brought the entire freaking roster of brothers?! How did they even know I was here? I sure as hell didn't tell 'em about it. Oh, I bet it was Meddling Miss Marlow. I'm sure of it. I need to get off this stage A-freaking-SAP!

"As the judges deliberate, please enjoy the sensational vocal stylings of Lily Mitchell and The Chimes," the host says as the stage manager wrangles all three finalists off the stage for the final wardrobe change.

"Quickly, ladies! You've got ten minutes to change before crowning! Move those tushes!" I attempt to push past the stage manager and beeline to the audience, but she grabs my arm and tugs me back. "Where do you think you're going, Alabama?"

"I need to go?—"

"The only place you're going is to the dressing room," she says, dragging me down the hall. She dang nearshoves me inside the room, stern and menacing as she adds, "Eight minutes now."

"Argh!" I groan, running to the vanity and frantically searching my purse for my cell phone. I type out a frantic text to Marlow before I unzip my cocktail dress and rummage through my suitcase for a strapless bra. "Why can't I find anything?!"

"Woah, calm down, Alabama." New York chuckles as she passes me. "You've got time. Just breathe."

"You're right, you're right," I mutter, calming myself down. "I need to chill. It's not like a man who I thought I'd probably never see again is standing a few hundred yards away holding a freaking hot pink sign." Digging deep into my suitcase, I pull out the adhesive bra cups, exclaiming in triumph, "Yes! Okay, Dress!"

"Here—" I spin around to find Marlow standing behind me, grinning like a moron at my flustered demeanor. "I guess it's no longer a surprise?"

"You knew!" I swat her repeatedly with my bra. "You. Are. Such. A. Turd! What were you thinking inviting them?!"

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