The quiet hum of the ceiling fan filled the room like static. Her heart was louder. Finally, she started to type.
Rio… I….
She paused. Deleted it. Tried again.
I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.
Her chest tightened. Her skin flushed warm.
She stared at the blinking cursor as if it held the answer.
Was this wrong?
Jake had cheated first.
She hadn’t even touched Rio. But God… she wanted to. She backspaced the entire message.
She set the phone down on the nightstand. Picked it back up. Her pulse thudded between her thighs at the memory of his voice, the way his hand had brushed her lower back, the way he’d looked at her like she was the only woman in the room.
Kylee typed again:
What are you doing right now?
She stared at it.
And stared.
Her finger hovered over “send.”
Then she locked the phone and dropped it face-down.
She couldn’t do it. Not yet.
But the seed was planted. And it was growing fast.
She laid back in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of her choices pressing into her chest. She didn’t reply.
Kylee couldn’t sleep. She tossed, turned, fluffed her pillow, turned it over, and pulled the sheets tighter across her chest. Jake was still snoring softly beside her, blissfully unaware of the storm unraveling just inches away.
She reached for her phone again. This time, she didn’t open the message. She opened the search bar instead.
Rio Riot.
Her breath caught as his name filled the screen. Pictures flooded in stage shots, interviews, paparazzi pictures. But the ones that stopped her cold were the ones that weren’t staged. Him laughing with a drink in his hand. Him shirtless on a balcony in Italy.
Him playing guitar barefoot in a recording studio.
His tattoos. His smirk. His damn jawline.
She swallowed, her body slowly heating as she scrolled deeper. It felt dangerous, indulgent. Like she’d just opened a door she wouldn’t be able to close again.
She zoomed in on a photo of him leaning against a mic stand, sweat glistening on his chest, his mouth parted like he’d just said her name.
Her thumb hovered above it like she could touch him through the screen. At some point, sleep finally claimed her but not gently.
In her dream, they were back in New Orleans.
The lights were low, the air thick with music and desire. Rio stood behind her, his hands sliding slowly around her waist, mouth at her ear.
