Page 41 of Playing With My Heart Strings

I thought asking her what her intentions are would ease my mind, but it only leaves me more confused than I was going into this whole conversation.

“I think it’s probably best if you head back to the hotel.” I’m probably not supposed to cut our date short, but I’m annoyed and I need time to think. I also desperately want to talk to Baylor, but I’m not sure when my next opportunity to do that will be. “I like you, Aspen, I do. I think you have an incredible voice and we’d have a great partnership. But it hurts me to hear about a potentially hostile environment here.”

“You know what, you’re right. I’m sorry this made you want to cut our time short, but I understand. I do think you need to talk to Baylor. You may not believe me, and the other girls may not see it, but there’s something off about her.” With that, she walks away, not even giving me a second glance as she heads to the elevators, the camera crew trailing behind her.

Fuck. I forgot about the cameras.

I rap my knuckles against the wood grain of Baylor’s hotel room door. When she opens it, she doesn’t even look surprised to see me.

Instead, she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at me. “What do you want, Dusty?”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I smirk, ignoring her question. “Are you going to let me in, or are you going to risk me getting caught by our lovely producers?”

She lets out an exasperated sigh and opens the door wider, gesturing for me to come in. “You know, you’re going to get us both in trouble if you keep doing this.”

I walk past her, heading straight for the king-size bed. “That’s a bridge I’ll cross when I get there. Besides, seeing you is worth it. Gives me an adrenaline rush knowing any moment I could get caught.” I wink, and she rolls her eyes.

“So funny. Seriously, why are you here?”

I sigh, letting my guard and media persona fall. “Truthfully, I just wanted to spend time with you. Away from the cameras. Away from the producers. I can’t even say hi to you and the other girls without someone being in my face. I just want a break from all the noise.”

Her expression softens at my admission, like she understands. She walks over to the bed and sits next to me. “And you came to me?”

“Yeah, of course, I came to you. I like spending time with you, believe it or not.” I chuckle. “I want to get to know you. Our date was a start, but I want to knowmore. I want to know who Baylor is.”

“I’m not sure you do.” She snorts.

“Sure, I do. I want to know the real reason you came here. Your hopes and dreams. Your darkest secrets.” I nudge her playfully to let her know the last part is only a joke.

“It’s only fair if I get to know thereal Dusty Wilderthen, too,” she fires back.

“Ask away, darlin’. I’m an open book.”

“Okay, did you always know you wanted to come to Nashville and be afamous country star?” She’s teasing, but her question hits hard.

“Not always, no.” I shake my head. “But music has always been a part of my life, and when the opportunity arose, my parents encouraged me to take it. I don’t have any siblings, soI’ve been supporting them—giving back what they gave to me—ever since.” My music career has been a big reason my family is able to live a comfortable life. If they wanted to, they could sell the farm and be completely fine. I know they never will, and they insist on me keeping the money I’ve earned for myself, but I still want them to have options.

“What’s your family like?”

“They’re some of the most hardworking people I know.” The admission comes easily, and the words start to flow out of me. “Everything I am, everything I’ve come to be, is because of the sacrifices they made. I was able to leave home at eighteen to pursue my dream because of them.” I owe them everything, and that’s why I’ve been working my ass off here in Nashville. Why I’ve allowed myself to fall into the persona Rob Acerra created for me. It’s all for them.

“Wow, that’s amazing. I’m glad you have such supportive parents. I’m sure they’re really proud of you.”

“They are.” I nod. “I owe them everything.”

“Your parents sound like incredible people. They clearly raised you to be an incredible person, too.”

“The media may portray me as someone who only cares about himself, but they don’t know the real me,” I reply softly.

“I can see that,” she murmurs back.

In the time we’ve spent talking, we’ve naturally gravitated closer to each other, and our legs brush.

“What about yours?” I ask gently.

Her eyes darken again, like they did during that first conversation we had. “I…I love my parents. I really do. But we have different ideas of what’s worthwhile.”

I want to pry, get her to divulge more than just a vague answer, but I can tell that’s not what she needs at this moment, so I let it go, despite my desire for her to let me in.

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