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stupid clown face,” she said. “The second bonus is that it really grates on him that I got a primo timeslot long before he ever will. It proves once and for all that I’m not riding his coattails.”
    “That’s what he thinks?”
    “His exact words were I owe him big time for riding his coattails to the top.”
    “What a sonofabitch.” He shook his head. “At least now you can see he did you a huge favor by breaking it off.”
    “Oh, I know. It’s too bad I wasted two years of my prime before finding that out.”
    “Never fall for anybody who treats you ordinary,” he said. “I think I read that on a bumper sticker once.”
    She smirked. “How about ‘Never fall for anybody who works in radio.’ That’s my motto from now on.”
     

 

 
    Chapter 3
     
    The stylist rotated a round brush through Dayna’s hair as intense heat from the dryer softened her kinks into smooth, silky submission. “You ever use a flat iron?”
    “Yeah, but it’s so much work, I save it only for really special occasions,” she said. “Mostly, I just wash and go.”
    “I’d die for natural curls like yours. It’s a crime we’re straightening them out.”
    “Couldn’t agree more,” Tack said, shrugging off his jacket in the doorway of the photo studio. “So why are you doing it?”
    “Bonnie’s orders,” Dayna replied, staring at his reflection. With his back turned to her, she stole a moment to admire his broad build, from those sprawling shoulders down to a nice, tight butt that did proper justice to well-fitted jeans.
    The stylist switched off the dryer. “We’ll set you in rollers, so that will still give you plenty of body.”
    He crossed the room and stood beside Dayna’s chair. “I say that body’s got plenty good going for it already.”
    She laughed. “Meet my charming and oh-so-subtle co-host, Tack Collins.”
    “Hi.” He nodded.
    “So, how did your remote go?”
    “Ah, all right. A few people came by to kick tires and one guy bought a fully-loaded F-150,” he said. “A couple of the sales guys tried to persuade me to trade in my Silverado, but I told them nooo way. I’ll be a Chevy man ’til I die.”
    She smirked. “I hope that wasn’t while you were on the air.”
    “Nope, I stayed on script and talked only about Ford’s superior standards. Yeah, it hurts, but I know which side my bread’s buttered on,” he said with a laugh. “So, what am I getting done today?”
    “Shave and a hair cut,” the stylist answered without lifting her eyes from the tray of rollers.
    He protectively stroked his man fur. “Sorry, but I’m not shaving.”
    “Just a trim to clean you up a bit,” she said. “If your face is going to be ten feet high and twenty feet wide, you’d better make sure it looks its best.”
    Dayna shrugged. “She’s got a point, cowboy.”
    “Have a seat over there at the sink.” The stylist pointed toward the shampoo bowl and chair against the brick wall, and he conceded with a sigh.
    Dayna smiled reassuringly. “Don’t look so glum. Girls’ day at the salon is supposed to be fun. Maybe we can get matching mani-pedis afterwards.”
    “Real funny.” Before dutifully going to the sink, he went to the coat rack and dug something out of his pocket. He then returned to Dayna’s side. “Brought you something.”
    “Oh yeah?” She smiled and fished her hand out from beneath the vinyl bib draped over her. “What is it?”
    “Your schoolin’.” He handed her a plastic bag, tightly wound around a small box and then walked away.
    Baffled, she quickly unrolled the plastic and reached inside. It was a new MP3 player. “Tack? What is this?”
    “What’s it look like?” He called out from across the room.
    “Well, it looks to be a shiny new MP3 player.”
    “That’s where you’re wrong, sugar. It’s a one-of-a-kind player pre-loaded with over a thousand country tunes from my personal music collection. If you’re going to be riding with me, then you better know