“And that’s when I decided I wouldn’t let anyone else tell my story for me again,” I say. “No more surprises. No more finding out who I am through someone else’s mess.”
He’s silent for a little longer.
Then he says, flat and certain, “That guy was an idiot.”
The way he says it, simple and unquestioning, makes my chest ache.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Colby shifts behind me, then clears his throat. “For the record,” he says carefully, “if I ever apologize through an agent, you have full permission to throw something at me.”
I snort before I can stop myself.
“Noted,” I say. “What if it’s a strongly worded email?”
“Worse,” he says solemnly. “Definitely throw something then.”
He shifts behind me and adds, lighter now, “You want coffee? I make a decent cup. Nothing fancy, but it’s reliable.”
I smile despite myself. “I could definitely use coffee after last night interfering with my ability to sleep.”
He nudges my hip gently. “Worth it, though,” he adds, voice low and amused. “Lack of sleep and all.”
“Definitely worth it,” I say, glancing pointedly at the bed. “And I’m pretty sure caffeine is now medically necessary to function today.”
“Kitchen’s this way. Let’s get up before Dex texts me something unhinged. How do you like your coffee?”
"Black."
"Got it."
I slide out from under the covers and reach for the shirt on the floor beside the bed. His shirt. The one he peeled off without thinking hours ago.
It’s soft from wear and smells faintly like him when I pull it over my head. It hangs loose on me, brushing my thighs, comfortable in a way that feels far too intimate for someone who keeps insisting this was just one night.
Colby watches me with an expression I can’t quite read.
I pretend not to notice and follow him toward the kitchen.
“By the way, my artist, Raina, has a concert coming up,” I say.
He shifts slightly so he can see my face. “Yeah?”
“Big one, in Nashville” I admit. “High visibility. If it goes well, it could change everything for her.”
I hear the pride in my own voice and don’t bother hiding it.
“I’ve planned every detail,” I continue. “Timing. Lighting. Crowd energy. I even have contingency schedules for the contingencies.”
He smiles. “Of course you do.”
“I have tickets for you,” I add quickly. Then, too quickly, "You don’t have to come. It’s probably not your scene.”
He doesn’t even pause.
“Are you kidding?” he says. “Who doesn’t like music, especially in this town? As long as it’s a night we don’t have a game and I’m in town, I’m there.”
I blink.
