“I know you do, but I don’t.”

“I can take care of you, cher.”

I knew he could, since he’d been doing that since I graduated college (mostly).

“It’s not about that.”

“Baby—”

“Preacher, I want be with you. I want to live my life with you. You make a boatload of money and I never will. I get that and that’s not the problem.” I dipped my face closer to his. “But you know me, honey. I have to do something and not just be Preacher McCade’s girlfriend.”

“You aren’t just my girlfriend, Lyla, you know that, I know that. Even all those assholes know that.”

I had to admit, this was true.

“They wouldn’t be askin’ Tom to approach you about pushing their shampoo or whatever the fuck if you were just my girlfriend,” he went on.

Yes, what he said was true.

I was probably the only woman in the world who had zero desire to be a model.

But I was a definitely a woman who had zero desire to be a model.

Though, with the number of offers Tommy was constantly turning down, this didn’t seem to be getting through to people.

“You can get a job after the tour,” he declared.

Was he high?

Wait, he was.

But still.

“The tour lasts a year,” I reminded him.

He put both hands to the sides of my head and said, “Baby, you need a second. You need to chill. You need to take a breath. You need to figure it out. You’re bouncin’ from one thing to the other because you think you’re lettin’ your mom down. Audie. And it burns in you, thinkin’ you’re disappointing them. Now, I didn’t know your mom, but I knew Audie, so I don’t think I’m wrong in sayin’ the only thing they’d want is what you want. They’d want you to do something you dug and something that makes you happy. You can’t figure out what that is, latchin’ onto whatever comes at you and tryin’ to force it to work then takin’ another hit when it doesn’t.”

His hands at my head gave a little squeeze.

“Take a second,” he urged. “Figure it out.”

He was the one who needed a second.

To have a moment to breathe.

Still…

If I was on the tour, I could look after my man.

And I could hang with the guys.

“You know, that isn’t a bad idea,” I muttered, and he smiled.

“I’m not just a dumb rock star.”

I pressed my lips to his, pulled away and said firmly, “No, you’re not.”

I was losing his cock, so he lifted me up, adjusted my panties and then helped me into my seat beside him.