Page 25 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ivy

Los Angeles crowds are always great, but last night’s show had a magic to it that’s been missing the last few stops of the tour.

Freddie was on fire, filled with a kind of joy I didn’t realize was missing until I watched him on stage.

He’s always amazing. A natural performer.

But last night, he was having fun again.

Like it wasn’t just about hitting his marks and singing his songs.

It was about engaging with the crowd. About letting their energy fill him up.

“Dang,” Carina says as we ride the elevator down to the garage where Wayne and Freddie are already waiting for us.

“Freddie really killed it last night. He’s all over Instagram.

” She holds out her phone, showing me a video of Freddie singing “She’s Got Me,” a fan favorite that always gets the crowds riled up.

“It was a great show,” I say. “His best in a while.” The LA Times already published a review in today’s edition of the paper that I read and immediately forwarded to Freddie. It was a glowing summary—exactly the kind of thing we want to see.

Carina pulls her phone back. “People are saying it’s because he’s in love,” she says, nudging my shoulder with hers. I nudge her right back, making her bag drop onto the floor next to my suitcase.

“Stop it,” I say. “You can’t say stuff like that. He just had a good show. That’s all it was.”

She presses her lips together like she’s suppressing a smile. “I didn’t say I was saying it, I said they are saying it. His fans. The world at large.”

“Good,” I say as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. “That means they’re buying it. Which means Kat’s press release worked.”

“The new meme of you and Freddie kissing is probably also helping,” Carina says. This time, when she flips her phone around, I take it, pausing just outside of the elevator to watch the three-second clip of Freddie taking my face in his hands and kissing me squarely on the mouth.

It’s the first time I’ve seen a video. For all I knew, the photographer only captured images of our kiss. Then again, I’ve made a point to avoid social media the past couple of days. Self-preservation and all that.

The clip repeats over and over, the text at the bottom reading “When your mood is ‘I was just kissed by Freddie Ridgefield’ good.”

It’s disconcerting to watch the clip, to see Freddie lift his hands to my face and lower his mouth to mine. Watching it like this, repeated in slow motion, triggers a flurry of emotions in my chest that make my skin flush and my heart race .

Freddie Ridgefield kissed me. And the whole world knows it.

I hand Carina her phone. “Please stop watching that.”

“I’m just saying,” she argues. “It feels believable that there’s a correlation.”

“Well, stop saying,” I shoot back. “At least in front of Freddie.”

In front of us, Wayne is waiting outside a black SUV with our driver, who jumps forward to take our bags as soon as we approach.

“Freddie’s already inside?” I ask, and Wayne nods.

“It’s rare he beats you,” he says.

I tilt my head toward my sister. “I was waiting on her. ”

“Not a morning person,” Carina says. “Sorry about that.”

Wayne opens the door for us, and I climb in first, realizing as I do that with Carina joining us, I’m going to be sitting very close to Freddie.

Most of the tour staff, including Seth, will be driving back to Nashville on the buses we’ve been traveling on for the past four months, but Freddie and I, along with Wayne and now Carina, are flying so he can get into the studio with Leo as quickly as possible.

At least, that’s been the plan. I have no idea what he’ll actually do once he’s in the studio with Leo since, as far as I know, he doesn’t have any new music to record. But that’s a problem only Freddie can solve.

I settle into the middle seat, trying not to notice the warmth of Freddie’s body or how good he smells.

“Morning,” I say breezily. “Sorry you had to wait for us.”

“That’s my fault,” Carina says from the seat beside me. She leans forward and smiles. “Hi, Freddie. Good to see you again. Thanks for…” She hesitates. “For helping with the whole Margot thing. And for the new phone. ”

“No problem,” Freddie says. “And you’re welcome. How are you feeling?”

“Good as new,” Carina says. She settles back into her seat, and Freddie looks down at me. “How are you?”

My heart rate spikes at the warmth in his voice, at his lower, quieter tone that feels like it’s just for me.

“Good,” I say, voice breathier than I would like. “Great.” I look up and meet his eye. “You’re getting excellent reviews for last night. I already forwarded you one from the LA Times .”

“I saw,” he says. “Thanks for sending it.” He clears his throat, shifting in his seat so that the entire span of his leg, from the top of his thigh all the way down to his knee is pressed up against mine.

I don’t think it was intentional—three grown adults sitting across the bench seat of an SUV makes not touching practically impossible—but I’m still keenly aware of every place we’re touching. “Did you sleep okay?” Freddie asks.

I think back, trying to remember if Freddie has ever asked me about my sleep before. I don’t think he has, but it could also be that he does all the time—it’s just never felt significant until now.

Until my stupid brain started cataloging every little thing, adding meaning where it isn’t intended.

“Good,” I answer. “I only woke up once. But only to pee, which, you know. That’s normal. So all in all, a really good night’s sleep.”

Freddie lifts an eyebrow as I silently die inside.

Did I just tell him about peeing? What am I doing? Have I forgotten how to talk to this man?

“Good to know,” he says through a smirk. “I got up to pee twice, but that’s my own fault since I drank coffee before bed. How about you, Carina?”

He’s teasing me—I know he’s teasing me—but I don’t care because this at least feels normal. Like the kind of stupid banter that has always been a part of our relationship.

“You don’t have to answer that,” I say to Carina. “Freddie’s just making fun of me.”

He grins. “You started it.”

“You guys sound like an old married couple,” Carina says. “But actually, I just heard Dad say the other day that peeing a lot in the middle of the night could be a sign of prostate trouble, so I’m just saying…you might should get that checked.”

“Oh my gosh, can we please stop talking about pee?” I say.

“I second that request,” Wayne says from the front seat.

Freddie chuckles, then leans his head back on the seat and closes his eyes.

I poke my sister in the ribs, hoping she knows it’s for the married couple comment, then occupy myself by tackling the morning’s long list of unanswered texts and emails.

The first two messages are easy. One from Wren about her wardrobe budget for the second leg of the tour, and one from Freddie’s stage manager, Charlie, about needing Freddie’s approval on the stage setup for the Nashville show at the end of the break.

I look over the setup, then flag the message so I can show it to Freddie later. He’d be annoyed if I tried to make him work right now.

Before I can open a third, Freddie’s voice sounds close to my ear. “You know, you don’t have to be working all the time. ”

I tilt my head and look up at him. “Do you know how unmanageable my inbox would be if I didn’t?”

“Unmanageable as in…people will get responses in forty-eight hours instead of one?”

“I do not answer emails in…” My words trail off because the time stamp on the email I just opened really was less than an hour ago.

I sigh and turn off my phone. “Fine. But there could be something urgent in there. And now I’m missing it.”

“There isn’t,” Freddie says.

“There could be,” I fire back.

“Not urgent enough that you can’t enjoy a twenty-minute car ride without reading your emails.”

“They’re your emails,” I grumble, and he smirks.

“Which only strengthens my point.” He lifts his arm and drapes it over my shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze. “Just relax.”

I lean into him, the action more reflexive than intentional, turning his quick shoulder squeeze into what feels more like a side hug. But then I don’t pull away. He lifts his arm, but when I don’t move, he drops it back down again, letting his hand rub up and down my back.

It all happens so suddenly, I don’t quite realize what I’m doing, not until his hand brushes down my opposite side, hitting a ticklish spot between my ribs and clueing me in to the fact that I’m basically snuggling with Freddie.

With my sister less than six inches away from me.

I shift away, and Freddie immediately moves his arm, giving me space, and I slide over so I’m practically in Carina’s lap.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I don’t know what I was… ”

“No worries,” Freddie says casually. “I thought you might be practicing.”

“Right,” I say, grasping onto whatever thread he’s willing to give me. “Exactly. That’s exactly what I was doing.”

“Oh my gosh,” Carina mutters under her breath. “That is not?—”

I elbow her—easy since I’m sitting so close to her now—and clear my throat loudly enough to cover however she was going to finish her sentence.

“Actually, practicing isn’t a bad idea,” Freddie says.

“If we’re going to sell this, it would probably help to have a conversation about how we’re going to act around each other.

How much touching is too much, that sort of thing.

” He looks at me and grins. “For the record, you leaning against me in the car is not too much touching for me.”

I swallow, embarrassed enough to want to hide and hating that we’re talking about this with Carina present.

Freddie is far more immune to having private conversations with members of his team listening, but now that I am the subject of said private conversation, I would rather crawl through the desert naked than talk about how much touching is acceptable when my little sister is listening in.