Page 39 of Playing With My Heart Strings

baylor

Dating Show or Dateline

I’ve been slowly spiraling since the elimination. There’s no way Aspen knows who I am. That’s probably not even what she was saying.

But what if it was? The voice in my head nags at me, sending me deeper into a rabbit hole of anxiety over my secret identity being exposed.

I pace around my room, clutching my head as I wrap my mind around this whole thing.

I don’t know how she would’ve figured anything out, but knowing Aspen, there’s a strong likelihood this will come back to bite me.

I wouldn’t put it past her to tell the world what she thinks she knows just to get back at me for sending her home.

And once she does, I have no hope of making it to the end.

I’ll lose my job and all of this—joining the show, believing a career in music could be a possibility, wanting to prove my parents wrong—will have been for nothing.

Even worse, I’ll probably lose Dusty, too.

No. No .

Dwelling on hypotheticals isn’t going to help me. Until something happens— if anything even does—I can’t let myself worry about it.

I take a few deep breaths, mentally running through this week’s schedule.

All four of us remaining women have solo dates before we pack up and head to Chattanooga for our first live concert.

My date is first, followed by Valerie, Sage, and Katherine.

Going first is both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing, because I’ll get to see Dusty sooner.

A curse, because after our date ends, I’ll have to wait longer to see him again.

That is, unless he sneaks away from Alex again to come see me.

I have a feeling that will happen less often now that we’re getting down to the wire, though.

I’ve been waiting for Dusty in this clearing for at least an hour. I shift my weight back and forth as I twist the rings on my fingers.

Maybe he’s not going to show up. Maybe this was some kind of test.

There’s no one else out here, either. Just me and the microphone pack attached to my back.

My heart races at the idea that this could be a ploy to get me alone in the middle of nowhere.

I look down, surveying my wardrobe choice for today.

I’m wearing jeans and boots, so horrible choices for running away from a serial killer.

I’m not Catholic, but I still sign the cross as I send up a desperate plea to not get murdered out here.

This dating show would turn into Dateline real quick if that happened.

Before my thoughts spiral even more out of control, the sound of hooves clomping against the ground gets my attention. I look over my shoulder, and sure enough, Dusty is on a horse. He’s leading a second one behind him, and he may be a country singer, but his farm roots sure are showing.

“Hello, darlin’.” He waves from his seat, high in the saddle. “Sorry to make you wait so long. Petunia here was a bit fussy.”

I nearly snort at the horse’s name. I stifle the laugh in my throat as I reply, “That’s okay. I only thought I was going to be murdered for about twenty minutes.”

“I’m quite relieved that didn’t happen.” He chuckles as he dismounts from his horse then struts over to me. “Other than fearing for your life, how’s my girl?”

I dip my head in amusement before tilting it back up to look at him. “I’m not too bad. Better now, for sure.” I wink.

He takes the sides of my face in his hands and leans down to plant a kiss on my lips.

“Good. I’m better now, too.” Neither of us make any effort to break apart, not until the camera crew slowly trudges through the trees where Dusty entered the clearing.

It was naive of me to think there wouldn’t be any cameras today.

For all I know, the production company has invested in drones and they’re getting footage from above us.

“So, is this my horse?” I point toward the bay horse standing next to Petunia .

He nods. “That’s Biscuit.”

“Uh-huh. Who named these horses?” My shoulders shake slightly as I eye the horses in amusement.

Dusty just shrugs as he tosses the reins over my horse’s head.

“I’m not sure. Some young kids, probably.

Want help?” He offers a hand as I slip a foot into the stirrups.

I wave him off as I grab hold of the saddle horn and swing my leg on the ground over Biscuit’s back. “You’re a pro. You ride a lot?”

“As a kid,” I tell him as he mounts his horse. “I didn’t live on a ranch or farm by any means, but my parents put me in horseback lessons when I was young. I don’t ride much now, but it comes back like muscle memory when I do. And you?”

“I try to go as much as I can, but my schedule is pretty demanding. I also don’t have my own horses here, so that makes it difficult, too,” he explains as we head toward the woods, the camera crew following.

“What do you do to destress besides music?”

His head tilts to the side at the question. Then further. “I… You know, that’s a good question. Music has always been the thing to calm me down. And even though I’m in the music industry, it’s hardly ever the music itself that’s causing me stress. If that makes sense.”

I nod. “There’s a lot of external pressure that comes from being a public figure. You see it a lot with social media. There’s pressure from fans to be genuine, there’s pressure from your label or agency to look and act a certain way, and sometimes you just want to be .”

He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You get it. I don’t know that I’ve ever met another person who gets it. Most people would tell me to be grateful for my success.”

A laugh slips from my lips. “As if you aren’t grateful.” Then, under my breath, I say, “I’d like to see some of those people in your shoes and see how they handle it.”

“I guess it just comes with the territory.” He shrugs. “If it was easy, everyone would do it.”

As we continue riding side by side, sunlight streams through the treetops, speckling the ground with pale, buttery light and the shadows of leaves. A gentle breeze blows through my hair, cooling the nape of my neck.

“That’s true. Guess that just makes us a special breed, huh?” I joke.

“Exactly. We should probably stick together in that case. Makes it less lonely.”

“Do you?”

His brow quirks up.

“Get lonely, I mean.” Maybe it was a stupid question. Everyone gets lonely now and then. But Dusty always seems to have people around him. I mean, he’s got the other artists at his label and Brooklyn James, and?—

“Sometimes, yeah. It’s odd.” He pauses. “A profession where you’re constantly surrounded by people who ‘love’ you is sometimes the loneliest one.

” When I don’t respond, he continues. “Everyone thinks they know who I am. That they’re entitled to every aspect of my life because they know my entire discography or have been a fan since the beginning. Sometimes, I just…” he trails off.

“Sometimes, you just…” I parrot his words back at him.

“Sometimes I just want to show them the true side of me. Who I really am, where I grew up. But I’m afraid they won’t love this Dusty as much as they love the Dusty they think they know.”

We’ve talked about this before, briefly. But it was a conversation behind closed doors, not in front of the cameras.

“If they don’t love the real Dusty as much as the country singer Dusty, then maybe they’re not real fans,” I suggest but then wince, because I don’t think that’s any more reassuring than not having fans at all.

“What’s the point, then?” He looks at me with curious eyes. “If the only version of me they love is the idea they have of me, why continue?”

“Do you love it? Singing. Performing,” I elaborate.

He nods. “I do. I love performing, and I know I’m here for a reason.”

“Then that’s the only thing that matters in the end. It shouldn’t matter what other people think, because there’s nothing more important than doing what you love.”

He hums in agreement. “That’s true, Baylor. It shouldn’t matter what other people think.” He repeats my statement, and he’s gotten his point across. It’s about time I start taking my own advice.

We finish the remainder of the ride in comfortable silence, hooves against dirt and soft huffs from the horses as our soundtrack.

When we step out of the woods, we’re not in the same clearing where we started.

Instead, next to a couple small posts to tie up the horses, is a small hot tub and a few small panels to change in privacy.

“Thought we could rest our muscles here for a bit before heading back,” Dusty explains as he brings Petunia up next to Biscuit.

“Give the horses a break, too. There should be a swimsuit for you behind the panels.” He dismounts and ties up Petunia before approaching Biscuit, on the side where I would dismount, and offering his hand for me to grab.

This time, I take him up on his offer as I slide off the saddle.

He’s already tying up Biscuit, so I take the opportunity to step behind the privacy panels.

Just as Dusty suggested, there’s a swimsuit hanging inside for me.

I change quickly, noting how modest the suit is, unlike other dating shows where the bikinis leave little to the imagination.

Still, I have to resist the urge to cover myself up when I step back out. It’s not like Dusty hasn’t seen every inch of my body. But people on the Internet haven’t, and people on the Internet are mean . I don’t want to leave this social-media-free bubble just to find trolls critiquing my body.

My insecurities don’t last long, though, because moments later, Dusty steps out and rakes his eyes over my body like he wants to store the image of me in his brain forever.

“You are a vision.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me for a second, and I’m filled with gratitude over the small boost to my confidence.

“Oh, this old thing? Practically rags,” I tease, doing a spin.

“You could wear a potato sack or a garbage bag and I’d still think you look beautiful.” He gestures to the hot tub. “Ladies first.”

I climb the small steps and gingerly dip a toe into the water before lowering my body inside. I don’t think I realized how tense I was. I practically groan from the warmth enveloping and soothing my muscles.

Dusty slides in next to me, his reaction to the jets similar to mine. The tub is just big enough for the two of us, and our legs brush if we move too much.

He gently squeezes my thigh, giving me a soft smile. “How are you feeling?”

Content. But also like I want you all to myself.

“I didn’t think I’d feel so…relaxed this late in the process. I mean, we’re down to the final four. I assumed I’d be more stressed,” I admit then let out a shallow laugh. “Then again, I wasn’t sure I’d make it this far.”

“Really? What makes you think that?” His gaze is filled with curiosity.

Besides the obvious? The fact that I wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place?

I shrug. “I don’t know, there were just so many other talented women. I never expected Aspen would be gone already.”

He tenses at the mention of Aspen, which, same. But his reaction only piques my interest, and I raise a brow.

Dusty just takes my hand, rubbing circles across my knuckle. “I don’t want you to worry. I don’t want you to think about the possibility of leaving. I like you a lot.”

“I like you, too,” I whisper. Maybe a bit too much.

As much as I try to push it away, anxiety bubbles up in my stomach and uncertainty gnaws at me.

Would he still like me as much if he found out who I am?

What I actually do for work? If he found out the real reason why I’m on the show is not because I’m an aspiring musician who was also looking for love, but because I was forced to join to save my career?

“What’s going through that pretty mind of yours?” Dusty’s soft voice brings me back to the moment.

“Nothing,” I lie. It’s easier than explaining what’s really going on.

To prevent him from asking questions, I maneuver myself so I’m straddling his legs.

His eyes widen in surprise but then darken as lust creeps into his features.

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips before he places his hands on my waist, tugging me closer.

Warm breath tickles my face as my eyes trail from his down to his lips and back up again.

Then, in a split second, his lips are on mine, stubble tickling my chin.

The kiss is slow, sensual, unhurried. These kisses are my favorite, because they remind me that, although time is ticking on our relationship with only three weeks remaining until the final decision, we don’t need to rush.

We’re allowed to savor each other, savor the moments we have together, because that’s what makes the time we do have together special.

These types of kisses are like my own reminder to slow down and appreciate the man before me.

My hips grind against his, creating delicious friction between us. His fingers dig into my skin, hard enough that I’m confident I’ll wake up with tiny bruises in the morning.

With a strained groan, he breaks the kiss, despite the small protesting noise that escapes my lips.

His mouth moves along my jawline, and I hope the microphone isn’t sensitive enough to pick up what he whispers in my ear, because it’s enough to make heat rise to my cheeks and desire pool between my legs.

Combine his filthy mouth with how dangerously close his fingers are to the strings on my swimsuit bottoms, we’re about five seconds away from making an X-rated film instead of a reality TV show.

The awareness of the cameras is enough for me to slide off his lap back onto the wooden seat.

“Give me a few minutes then we can head back.” He chuckles as he discreetly adjusts himself under the water. Then he leans in close again to whisper, “I just can’t get enough of you. If the cameras weren’t here, there’s no telling the things I would be doing to you. Later.”

I mumble back jokingly, “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”