Page 41 of Extended Bridge (Passionate Beats #2)

We’re led through the seventies’ style kitchen and past the stairway that goes up to the second floor.

Elise explains that the upper floor has remained closed off to visitors following Elvis’s death there in 1977.

We are brought to the famous Jungle Room next, which more than makes up for the skipped floor.

The room was renovated to resemble the look and feel of Hawaii, and boy did it do its job!

The pièce de résistance , however, is the Recording Studio downstairs with its six old-fashioned television sets.

Bennett spends time examining every piece of equipment and soaking in the atmosphere in here, Elise hard on his heels answering his many questions .

As I don’t want to intrude on his special moment, I hang off to the side and pull out my neglected phone.

I delete a ton of spam messages. Ma left me a voicemail sometime last night when Bennett and I were doing our “Love Me Tender” imitation, to borrow an Elvis title.

In our case, it should be renamed “Love Me Hard and Long.” I rub my red cheeks and shoot off a text to Ma that I’ll call her in a little bit—I’m at Graceland! I include a photo.

Court’s text reaches me next. Damn. Holding my breath, I open it.

Seems like our local paper ran the press release I wrote about the graffiti, which has now been repainted.

Good. She says things are flowing smoothly at the clinics, so I don’t have to worry.

I text her back, telling her I’ll try my best. The fact Michelle hasn’t retaliated means she’s thinking about her next move, I know it.

I’m about to open Court’s next text—sent two hours later—when Bennett and Elise reappear at my side. To Elise, he says, “Thanks so much for staying late to show us around.”

Without my prompting.

My boyfriend is wonderful.

Elise’s ears tip red. Even working in these famed walls can’t prevent her from fangirling over a current-day rock star. Amazing. “When my boss told me who our special guest was going to be tonight, I jumped at the opportunity to take the tour. I love Untamed Coaster.”

Here we go again .

“Why thank you.” Bennett smiles. “Thank you very much.”

I shake my head. At least he didn’t try to layer in a Southern drawl.

Elise produces a Graceland program and a pen. “Do you think you could autograph this for me?”

“Of course.” Bennett signs the program. It seems to take him longer than usual. “I added a note for the box office. Show it to them and you and a friend will be VIPs at our show tomorrow night. I look forward to seeing you backstage, when I can return the favor and be your tour guide. ”

“Oh wow,” the poor girl melts under his green-eyed appraisal. With shaking hands, she retrieves her treasure. “Thank you!”

“Elise, could you tell us which restaurant we should try around here? Speaking for myself, I’m famished.” The hotel room snack has long since been burned off—thanks in part to our extracurricular activities on our way here.

“Oh.” Her head swivels toward me. “Of course. A couple of blocks away is a great little place.” She stops. “It’s nothing fancy, but it has good food.”

“Sounds wonderful,” I reply to her. “Who needs to waste money on hoity-toity food that leaves you hungry?”

“Right?”

She gives us the restaurant’s name, which I plug into my phone’s GPS. “See you tomorrow night.”

Together, Bennett and I walk out of the famed home. Since the map shows the place she mentioned is only a ten minute walk, we decide to go on foot. He tugs an Elvis hat low on his forehead—a gift from Elise—and keeps his head down as we exit through the gates one final time and turn right.

We manage to get to the restaurant without any hassle and are seated in the back of the bustling eatery.

The place is clean, flowers adorn every quartz-topped table, and televisions hang from the rafters playing a variety of shows from local news to a baseball game to a talk show.

Bennett tosses his disguise onto the chair next to him. “This has been a damn great day.”

“I loved touring Elvis’s home. Have to say, though, it makes me happy not to live with the styles of the seventies anymore.”

“I don’t know. Seemed like you were into those peacocks.”

“Well, they were fascinating. They had a purpose—to bring creativity. The rest,” I shudder. “The rug in the kitchen would be the first thing to go.”

He leans back in the chair, studying the menu. “Yeah, not your aesthetic. I remember the kitchen at your house. Not a scrap of rug to be seen,” he teases .

“Nor at Secluded Rest,” I remind him.

“Speaking of which, King emailed me the paperwork for the purchase.” He smiles, his green eyes lighting up. “Looks like we’re going to be neighbors. Although, I think it would be more practical if we shacked up together. Think about all the gas we’d save driving between our homes.”

Inside, my center of gravity tenses, then falls. “This is moving fast.”

“Sweetheart, I love you. You love me.” His gaze flicks to me for confirmation, which I can’t help but give to him. “Why keep it a secret?”

“I don’t want to hide, if that’s what you think. It’s just, all the media?—”

“Fuck them.”

Our server appears. I’m the one who’s embarrassed for his cursing, even if I agree with his sentiment. We give him our orders and he retreats to the kitchen.

I return to our conversation. “Not to mention Michelle. I’m not sure what her next move will be, but I doubt she’ll back down now.”

His hand covers mine. “All the more reason to stay with me. Together. We’ll make a statement.” When he reads the uncertainty across my face, he adds, “Your mother could have her own wing.”

After what he’s gone through with his own mother, I’m shocked he’d suggest such a thing. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. I want the woman I love to be surrounded with those who love her back. Your mother fills the bill, hands down.”

Ma’s not his biggest fan, but perhaps if I share this option with her, it would soften her opinion of him. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Never said I would.”

Hashtag true. “I still don’t know.”

He nods toward my cell phone, resting on the tabletop. “Call her and ask.”

“We’ve been missing each other. The last time she called, you were having your wicked way with me in the shower. ”

He grins wolfishly. “If I remember right, you were the one who suggested the blowjob.” One eyebrow lifts.

I shrug. The television catches my attention as it’s showing photos of UC performing on the stage in Louisville. I recognize the staging. Leaning across the table, I say, “They’re going to play the speech from last night.”

His gaze flicks up and locks on the show. It’s set to silent, but the closed captioning does the trick. “Yup, they’re replaying what we announced.” We read the replay of last night. Was it less than twenty-four hours ago?

The camera pans to the show’s hosts, sitting next to...Lissa. My breath falters. Bennett’s, however does not. He leaps to his feet. I try to coax, “Be careful.”

Ignoring me, he stalks to the television set. I join him and read the lies she’s spewing. About how Bennett was the one who dumped her right before prom. Then ran off and joined UC, never to come back for her. He abandoned his best friend Curtiss as well.

Bennett’s hands form fists.

Lissa spins tales about how she reached out to Bennett, but the rock star refused to acknowledge her once he signed with the band. The camera pans back to her. Big, fake tears streaming down her face, she claims Bennett knew she was pregnant with his baby when he left.

“No fucking way,” Bennett snarls. He pulls out his phone. “What freaking show are they on? What station?”

How can I defuse this situation? Do I want to? I’m about to say something—anything—when the hosts invite people to call in with their comments, the telephone number flashing on the screen. Without hesitation, Bennett’s fingers dance over the keys.

The show hosts do a double take at each other. Grinning into the camera, the woman with long, brown hair—Francis—beams, “Is this the Bennett Hardy, lead singer of Untamed Coaster?”

Bennett adjusts his stance. “Yes. ”

The male host, Logan, challenges, “Prove it. Let’s hear you sing some lines from ‘Upside Down.’”

Bennett’s face contorts in disgust. While not a fan of what he’s doing, I understand my man’s need to clear the air. I grab his forearm and whisper, “How can they take any old caller at his word? They need proof.” His face relaxes.

Into the phone, he says, “Only because you can’t see me.” Then he sings a few bars of UC’s first number one hit. Someone in the restaurant adjusts the televisions so the show is playing over all of them. The volume is turned up.

Logan plays with his suit jacket. “Well, I can safely say that I’m a believer. It’s a pleasure to have Bennett Hardy on the line.”

His co-host gushes, “How can we get this hotter-than-any-other, uhm, singer, to come into our studio?”

My eyes roll. I want to grab the phone and tell her he’s much more than window dressing. However, given the circumstances, I remain silent.

Ever the consummate professional, Bennett doesn’t take the bait. “I’m calling in to rebut what your guest told the public. Everything she’s said—with the exception of our dating in high school—is a lie.”

His bombshell rings throughout the studio. And the restaurant, given how all the diners have stopped eating and are watching this train wreck.

Lissa’s blue eyes fill with more fake tears. “We meant the world to each other in high school. You never stopped telling me you loved me.” Fat crocodile tears roll down her cheeks. The only thing fat on her body.

“For fuck’s sake, we were seventeen years old, Lissa. A lifetime ago.”

I hope the show is on delay, otherwise the censors will be having a field day.

Lissa places her hand over her ample chest. “We meant the world to each other. You gave me the best gift of a new life.” She bends forward and sobs, her arms stealing around her waist .

“Then it must have been immaculate conception, because we never had sex.”

Bennett’s truth echoes throughout the restaurant and the television studio. But it doesn’t stop the show. His childhood girlfriend now sports black mascara running down her cheeks. “How can you say that, baby?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

The hairs on my arms raise at his tone. If he was in the same room as her, I would fear he might not stop himself from strangling her.

Francis consoles Lissa, passing her a box of tissues. Speaking directly to the camera, the host says, “Lots of teenagers get pregnant.”

“Only if they have sex. Which. We. Did. Not.”

Lissa waves a tissue in the air. Not in surrender, more like encouraging the hosts to continue her defense.

Logan’s head swivels between his guests and the camera. “What happened to the child, Lissa?”

She hiccups. “Bennett ran off to join the band and refused to pick up my calls. I was so young, I knew I couldn’t tell my parents.” She raises the tissue to her nose. “I turned to his best friend, Curtiss, for help in reaching Bennett, but nothing worked.” She blows her nose.

“For fuck’s sake.” At least Bennett said this for the benefit of the diners, and not into his phone.

Wary at how her story is going to conclude, I touch his chest.

Lissa lifts her head and pronounces. “I had a miscarriage.”