I wipe my face, feeling the sting of it all. She holds out the tissue box, her expression unreadable.
“It’s pointless,” I reply, taking a tissue and dabbing at my eyes. “It’s not like we have a future.”
Lilah shifts on the couch, studying me with that knowing look of hers. “Look, I get it. He was an asshole at the club. But honestly? I think he was just jealous. He probably thought you were still with Owen. The gossip magazines still haven’t caught up to the fact that you two are over. That’s why he was acting like that. Jealousy makes people do stupid shit.”
I turn away, staring down at the popcorn bowl in my lap, my fingers idly picking at the kernels. I don’t want to admit it, but I can’t shake the truth. West’s touch had affected me far more than I want to acknowledge. And Lilah doesn’t even know the half of it.
For a brief moment, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something between us that could survive all the hurt, all the time that’s passed. And the realization that I was wrong and the feeling was fleeting still hurt.
I frown, frustration and confusion mixing inside me. “I don’t even know how he could think I’d let him touch me if I had a boyfriend.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and my stomach tightens just thinking about that night. His touch, his scent, the way everything around us disappeared, even before I knew it was him. “Why would he think I’m still with Owen? I’m not a cheater. He knows better.”
Lilah leans forward slightly, her eyes softening as she considers my words. “Maybe the West you left all those years ago would have believed that. But all of them are different now. I can see it, even just from watching interviews over the years. West doesn’t know who you are now. And honestly, Ash, neither do you. You’ve spent so long hiding, projecting that perfect image to the world. Hiding from the hurt they caused you. I think this is your chance to bury the past, to put it where it belongs—in the past. So you can have a new beginning.”
I let her words sink in. She’s right. She always is, even when I hate it.
“You helped me find my scent matches,” Lilah continues, her voice quieter now but still firm with conviction. “I want the same for you. You deserve to be happy, Ash. Not just in front of a camera, but for real.”
I let out a slow breath and offer her a tight smile. I want that too, but I’m not suremy scent matchesare the solution to that.
The next day’srehearsal goes off and I keep my jealousy in check, thank god.
The steady hum of the amps fills the backstage area, mingling with the faint scent of metal and dust. I tell myself I’m still here to double-check the choreography notes, but it feels like a lie. The band is wrapping up rehearsal, their voices echoing from the stage as they argue over the setlist.
I should leave before they realize I’m still here. I can go over my notes at home.
But my feet don’t move.
The stage lights flicker, then go out, plunging the room into shadow. A muffled curse echoes from somewhere nearby—West’s voice, low and rough. Moments later, a flashlight beam cuts through the dark, bobbing toward me.
“Ash—what are you doing here?”
“Just finishing up,” I say.
He gives me a strange look then says, “Looks like the power’s out.” He steps closer, the flashlight illuminating his face. His jaw’s tense, the light casting long shadows across his cheekbones.
I grip the tablet tighter, the light from it pressed against my chest, adding to the darkness. “I can see that.”
He quirks an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my tone. “The box is behind you.”
Swallowing hard, I step to the side. He brushes past. My whole body goes on high alert.
“You know we’ve been doing this for years. We aren’t going to fall apart if you aren’t here supervising.” He isn’t facing me, his attention is on the power box.
“West—” I say, shaking my head at how wrong his words are. “It’s obvious that you never needed me.”
I snap my mouth shut as his jaw clenches. I did not just go there. Shit, and I thought my jealousy was under control.
“That choice was yours,” he says as he turns slowly back toward me.
I glare at him, my heart beating too fast.
“I’m leaving,” I say, turning toward the door. I don’t want to fight with him.
But before I can take another step, my foot catches on a loose cable. I stumble, the tablet flying out of my hands. West moves faster than I expect, his arms catching me before I hit the ground. The tablet skids noisily across the floor.
For a second, neither of us moves.
His hands grip my waist, steady and warm, as my chest presses against his. His scent—whiskey with vanilla and almonds with a hint of something more—wraps around me, making my breath hitch. Desire. My breath stutters inside my chest catching on nothing, attempting to hold his musk in my lungs.
