Page 2 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

“I know what I saw,” the other woman says, “and there’s a bus in the parking lot.”

“The bus could belong to anyone,” the first woman says, their voices growing quieter as they walk away. “Besides, that guy isn’t nearly as hot as Freddie Ridgefield. ”

Freddie huffs out a laugh. “Should I feel insulted?” he whispers, his lips torturously close to my mouth.

I could turn my head a matter of centimeters, and we’d be kissing.

Instead, I force myself to think about the time Freddie got food poisoning from a post-concert burger and fries and spent the next three hours holed up in the bathroom of his tour bus.

Anything to break the spell he’s casting over me right now.

“That you aren’t as hot as yourself?” I finally manage to say. “I don’t think so.”

Based on the sounds floating back from the front of the store, the women are checking out, but Freddie and I don’t move. At least not completely. We do relax a little, shifting into what feels more like a regular hug than an actual performance.

He lifts his head, and mine falls onto his chest before he drops his cheek to the top of my hair.

It’s easy, comfortable in a way I don’t expect, and we stand like that until the women have left the store.

It’s not like Freddie and I have never hugged before.

I’m sure we have. But we don’t do it often enough for this to feel natural, which is why it’s so disconcerting that it does.

Finally, Freddie takes a deep breath and steps back, letting his arms fall from my shoulders. “Close call,” he says, a softness to his words that makes me suddenly incapable of meeting his eyes.

After years of working for Freddie, I know exactly what will happen if we make eye contact. He will see me, just like he always sees me, and he’ll know there is something up. Then he’ll push because he cares, and he’ll want to make sure I’m okay .

But there is no way I’ll admit the problem is that hugging him in the diaper aisle at two a.m. felt really good—good enough that I didn’t want it to stop.

I haven’t been hugged like that in a really long time.

A sudden wave of emotion makes my throat tighten, and the threat of tears builds behind my eyes.

What is wrong with me?

It was just a hug.

But then, who do I ever hug? My life is all work, all the time. Everyone I spend any amount of time with also works for Freddie. Tour managers. Caterers. Drivers. Sound technicians. Crew members.

I tend to keep my work relationships as professional as possible. I need people to take me seriously when I’m running Freddie’s life, and hugging doesn’t help with that.

But in general, I am a hugger. I like the contact. The connection.

It occurs to me that might be the real reason it felt so good to hug Freddie. It wasn’t my feelings—it was just human connection.

The realization makes me sad. Honestly, how out of balance is my life right now?

“It was a close call,” I say, agreeing with his assessment. My voice comes out a little harsher than it needs to be, but I can’t seem to rein it in. “And it could have ended really badly.”

Freddie frowns. “Relax. Worst-case scenario, I would have just talked to them. Taken a few pictures. It wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“You don’t know that it wouldn’t have been a big deal,” I say. “You’ve dealt with unpredictable fans before. ”

I’m not being fair to him.

I know I’m not.

I mean, things really could have gone sideways—they sometimes do—but I’m self-aware enough to recognize that’s not why I’m being so hard on him.

“Just stay here, okay? I’m going to go check out. Then I’ll ask the employee if she can let us out the back door. I’ll text Wayne and have them pull around to meet us there.”

“Ivy, I really don’t think—” Freddie starts.

“Don’t move,” I say, cutting him off, then I turn and head toward the front of the store. At the end of the aisle, I look back and whisper-yell, “And put your hood up!”

Freddie scowls, but he does as I ask and pulls his hood over the top of his hat.

I'm probably being ridiculous, but the whole encounter has me flustered and off balance, and neither of those are feelings I can afford right now. I have a job to do, and while keeping Freddie safe isn’t my primary responsibility and he is a grown man accountable for his own actions, I’m also responsible for my actions.

In that regard, I probably shouldn’t have pretended to make out with my boss. But it was an extenuating circumstance. A spur-of-the-moment emergency situation. And it worked. I saved Freddie from curious fans, and everything is fine.

At least on the surface, anyway.

I reach my abandoned cart and wheel it up to the lone worker at the front of the store. I was hoping for self-checkout, but the kiosk is closed, so I dump my purchases onto the counter and do my best to avoid eye contact.

“Did you find everything you need?” the employee asks as she rings up Freddie’s Starburst.

I force myself to smile. “Sure did,” I say, but the answer isn’t even a little bit true.

I didn’t even come close.