Nashville SEAL: Jameson: Nashville SEALs by Sharon Hamilton Page A

new black SUV.
    “Spending your money before it’s sent, are we, Thomas?”
    “Oh, I got some funds for promo. This isn’t mine, but I’m taking over the lease when sales start coming in.”
    “So it’s a done deal?” Jameson said as he placed his carryon bag and guitar in the second seat.
    “Yup. You are officially lookin’ at a Sony Music Recording Artist!”
    Jameson punched Thomas in the arm as the two left the airport. “So, how did you score the Starwood?” Jameson asked.
    “I got this manager, a friend of Candy’s from the Halfway? And oh, man, we had ourselves a party there on Wednesday night. Just like the old days, Jameson. Ladies from wall to wall.”
    It didn’t interest Jameson, but he was happy for Thomas. The man looked ten years younger. “So of course you did some sampling.”
    “You bet I did. Is it my imagination, or are the women hotter these days? I mean, I was shown things I’ve never even seen in a flick, you know?”
    Jameson was nodding, looking at the scenery buzzing by. All of it had been familiar to him at one time, but now it seemed lackluster. He was warming to the bright sun and blue skies in San Diego and to the greens and golds of Sonoma County. Nashville didn’t hold any magic for him now. And something else was different. He was actually nervous.
    He remembered Thomas’ performance at his wedding and wanted to ask him the question that had been nagging him. “So you write more lines to that song we started? The one you played at our wedding.”
    “As a matter of fact, I did. You’ll see.”
    “You’re playing it tonight?”
    “Indeed I am.”
    This worried Jameson. Thomas should have obeyed the rules of respect between artists and asked him first. One thing to hear it at the wedding, but another to go playing it in front of five thousand people.
    “Shouldn’t we have talked about this?”
    “I thought you would have when you heard it.”
    “I was a little busy trying to romance my bride.”
    “We’ll have a little chat after tonight. We should talk about it. I agree.” He began to slow down, the theater coming into view. “So you got a couple songs you can sing, things you might want to peddle?”
    “Maybe.”
    “You wanna have a chair all by yourself, or do you want some backup? The band’s real first class. I was rehearsing with them yesterday afternoon, when I sobered up.”
    “Careful on that, Thomas. You know you can go overboard.”
    “Oh hell, Jameson, you don’t regret letting an older guy have a little fun? Who knows, maybe I can save up for a facelift or some tucks here and there.” He extended his chin and rubbed against it with the backs of his fingers. “I just can’t believe my luck.” Thomas kept glancing between the road and Jameson’s expression. “You all right now? I’m sure happy you came out here to help me launch.”
    “I’m fine. I’m happily married, Thomas. That’s where my gold is. But I sure do love seeing you hit yours. You’ve worked a long time, played in a lot of places we don’t even want to talk about.”
    “Ain’t that the truth? I guess it was worth it.”
    “Just pace yourself. Don’t blow it being stupid. You want a long career, not an exceptionally bright and short one. Shooting star and all? Remember that talk you used to give me when things were starting to gel?”
    “I still think if you hadn’t met those SEALs you’d have done well for yourself, Jameson. They’re looking for real legitimate songwriters, not just pretty boys to sit up there and croon. Heck, Willie and Waylon—they made more money as old guys than they did when they was young. I’m like a bottle of your fine wine, aged to perfection.”
    Jameson chuckled. “More like stewed.”
    “Hey! Don’t go doin’ that. No complaints. I paid for your ticket and your room, remember?”
    He was right, Jameson thought. A tiny part of him was a bit jealous. When he compared his methodical habits, the work ethic he had about producing