“I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”
Boone turns back to me. “It’s a blessing and a curse. I wouldn’t trade this life for anything, except for maybe to have my privacy and anonymity back. You’ve already seen it. It’s hard to make a move without someone saying something about it, or the press getting wind of it and twisting it into something it isn’t. Then you’ve got the pressure to put out another number-one hit, a platinum album, a sold-out show ...”
These are all things I never would have really considered, but he’s right. When you think about how famous musicians live, it’s easy to only think about the good parts, and not the crushing responsibilities and expectations that go along with it.
“How do you handle it?”
Boone smiles but it’s a little lopsided, and something about it makes me want to kiss it off his face.
“At first, I loved every second, but when it started to get old, there was a lot of booze, women, and drugs. And there were some fights ... My brother kicked my ass when he showed up at a show, and I was high as a kite and barely recognized him. He reminded me that what I have is a privilege and I needed to be smart about it. I’m not saying I don’t still get high on occasion, but it’s nothing like the road I was on for a bit.”
My eyes must be wide because Boone adds, “Don’t look so surprised. You know I’m no Boy Scout.”
I shake my head. “That’s not why I’m surprised. It’s just you sound so self-aware about it all.”
This time he laughs, and it’s a genuine one. “Because I am. I’ve got a family that keeps me grounded and stops me from screwing up too bad. And then I’ve got moments like this, when I can get away from being Boone Thrasher, country music’s bad boy, and just be Boone. Catching my own dinner, cleaning it, and cooking it has a tendency to remind me that even though some things have changed, I’m still the same redneck I’ve always been.” He shoots me a wink. “Although my kitchen’s a little fancier these days, the fish still tastes the same.”
I can’t help but voice the thought I had earlier. “You’re a good man, Boone.”
His smile takes on a wicked edge. “I might be a good man, but I want to do very bad things to you.”
That heat between my legs flares into a rush of need. With my fingers sticky from wings, I lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. My voice is husky when I speak again.
“Good. I can’t wait.”
Boone deepens the kiss, and I’m wondering if we’re going to get naked right on this dock, but the sound of another ATV coming toward the pond breaks us apart.
“What the fuck?”
A headlight cuts through the dusk, shining on us.
“Boone! You gotta come back to the house. We got a big fucking problem,” Anthony yells.
“What kind of problem?”
“The cops. They’re here with a warrant for your arrest.”
Boone and Ripley’sstory concludes inReal Sexy.