I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, exactly. Maybe some inclination of wanting to see me again or some hint of a connection that went beyond the heat of the moment—especially after hanging out and getting to know each other before and after the show.
But there was nothing. Just…goodbye.
I run my fingers over the tiny heart she doodled next to her name before dropping the paper to the floor and collapsing back onto the bed.
Even after everything—after I told her I wanted her to stay—she still thought I wanted her to leave. Could I blame her? Would I have believed me if I were in her shoes?
The scent of her perfume wafts up from the sheets and into my nostrils, causing flashes of last night to run through my mind again—the conversations in my dressing room, watching her in the crowd, how easily conversation flowed between us in the diner, the way that first kiss stole my breath. The way her skin felt under my fingers, the way she tasted,the way her dark hair looked when it splayed across the pillows. The way she smiled, and how it made everything feel lighter, like the world wasn’t quite as heavy as it had been before I met her.
But now…now the bed next to me is cold, the sheets rumpled and absent of her warmth. I brush my fingers over the pillow she’d laid on, unsure why I feel so fucking sad about this. I’ve been at this a long time, and I know how things work on the road—how fleeting everything can be. People come and go all the time, but something about this, something abouther, is gnawing at me more than I want to admit.
I stand up and walk to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face before staring at myself in the mirror. My hair’s a mess from the way she ran her fingers through it, and I smile at the memory of her gripping the strands in her fist while my head was between her thighs. Then I remember the sounds she made and the way she tasted on my tongue, and I realize that I need to get the fuck out of this room.
I pull on a hoodie and a pair of jeans and head out into the hallway, not exactly sure where I’m going, just sure that I need to move.
When I make it down to the lobby and out onto the sidewalk, the cool morning air hits me like a slap in the face, and I breathe it in, trying to clear the mental fog. The city streets are unusually quiet. It’s early enough that everything feels suspended, like the world hasn’t woken up yet.
I walk for a few blocks before ducking into a Starbucks and grabbing a mocha, taking a slow sip, trying to focus on the warmth of it instead of the cold ache in my chest.
Jesus Christ.Why can’t I stop thinking about last night? Why did one night with that woman send me into some kind of spiral?
Maybe she thought it was just sex, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t want more. More of her—more of whatever it was between us. The way she fit, the way we connected. I’ve had plenty of one-night stands, but with her, it felt different. It feltreal, in a way I haven’t experienced before.
As I wander the streets of Manhattan, I realize that one night with Ty was not going to be enough for me. I need to find her.
And when I do, I’m going to fight like hell to keep her.
SEVEN
Ty
Three months later
? The Archer – Taylor Swift ?
I’m sitting in the break room at the salon, staring into familiar sapphire eyes. Only this time, those eyes aren’t staring into my soul as I’m being so thoroughly fucked that I literally see stars. No, this time they’re on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine. A cover and a five-page article highlighting Velvet Shadows’ new album and upcoming U.S. tour.
Three months. It’s been three long, grueling, months since I’ve seen Eric Ambrose’s painfully handsome face. Ninety days that I’ve tried (unsuccessfully) to get him out of my head. Two thousand one hundred and sixty hours of trying to forget a night that I know damn well will be ingrained in my brain for all eternity.
But it was getting easier.
Until they did a surprise drop of their new album at midnight and announced the tour this morning. And now, he’snot just in my head…he’s everywhere. The topic of conversation in every magazine, every social media post, and every music break on the radio station playing over the speakers in the salon.
“Hey, Ty,” my co-worker, Mya, says, popping her head into the break room and thankfully taking my focus away from Eric. I look up from the article spread out on the table in front of me and she smiles. “We’ve got a walk-in for a men’s cut, can you take them?”
I check my watch before saying, “Yeah, I have some time before my two-thirty gets here.”
“Alright, cool. They asked for you by name. Said they’ve had you before.”
I chug the last of my iced coffee before popping a mint into my mouth and grabbing a fresh apron from the rack on the wall beside the door, tossing it over my head, and tying the straps behind my back.
This is good. I need the money. And a distraction. I can’t sit here all day and keep thinking about a man who hasn’t thought about me once since—
I round the corner and freeze in my tracks when I lock eyes with the man standing in front of the check-in desk.
“Eric,” I say on an exhale, and the entire salon goes eerily still.
“You’re a difficult person to track down, Tyler Rose Norris.” Hearing my name in his deep voice does something to me. Awakens that woman I was in his room that night. Someone only he could bring out of her cage.
