"I've got to go," I said shortly.
“Right now?"
I stood, smoothing down my skirt. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"You don't need to run," he said quietly.
"I'm not—"
Liam could see right through me. I couldn't lie. I was running.
"Be at the studio by nine," was all I said. "We practice every day until five."
"Cerise…" Liam started to say.
"If my brother asks, tell him I bailed early."
With quick steps I hurried out of the VIP lounge, making a beeline for the exit. A blast of fresh air hit me the moment I stepped through the door. I inhaled slowly. The cool night breeze helped steady my swirling head.
As I waited to hail a cab, I rubbed at the indentations on my palm, soothing them. I felt the phantom touch of Liam's fingers against my skin. I could still smell that warm, masculine scent of his, as if it were imprinted on my brain.
I knew choosing Liam as my guitarist was a bad idea. I hadn't known how bad. It was one thing to be attracted to someone I knew I had to stay away from. It was another thing entirely when that person kept on reminding me of what I'd lost.
I thought I'd set aside those memories, those emotions, years ago. If I hadn't exactly dealt with them, I'd at least been able to push past them and move on.
But being around Liam was stirring up a whole mess of stuff I didn't want to deal with. Not when I was so close to finally getting everything I'd dreamed of. I couldn't fall apart now.
I was Cerise Moreau, lead singer of Cherry Lips. I was strong. I was fierce.
I refused to let grief overtake me again.
