“If you hadn’t made me sign that contract, I could think of more fun ways to distract you,” he says, and I clench my thighs together at the memory of just how good of a distraction he can be.
“First of all, I’m sick, so contract or no, it wouldn’t be happening,” I say. “And second, having sex with you again wouldn’t be a distraction. It’d be an obsession.” His entire body stiffens beside me, and I wonder if I’ve taken things too far, so I say, “Talk to me. Please.”
“You’re not sick of hearing my voiceyet?” he teases.
“No.”
“What do you want to hear?”
“Something real. Something true,” I say. “Something just for me.”
He’s quiet for a while, and I close my eyes, focusing my attention on how good it feels—having him in my bed next to me. How…normal. Like we’ve done this a hundred times already. Then I immediately regret letting my brain wander down that road, since as soon as I’m better he’ll be back in his own bed, and I’ll be alone.
Just like I insisted.
“Despite Josh’s fun little nickname for me, I wasn’t always good with women,” he begins. “I was nerdy and awkward as fuck when I was a teenager, and I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty-six, but of course, I did the teenage boy thing and lied about it. So, if anyone asks, the official party line is that I was fourteen.”
I chuckle.
“How did it happen?”
He lets out a deep sigh, like he’s unsure if he wants to talk about it.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say, sensing his unease. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. That was rude. It’s absolutely none of my business.”
He’s quiet for a while and just when I think he’s decided against telling me, he starts talking.
“It was right after I got the spot in the band. I knew my life was going to be…different. Once I went off to college and felt confident enough to ask girls out, I always enjoyed being in relationships—taking things slow and really getting to know someone on an emotional level before crossing the line and making things physical. But I knew relationships would be difficult on the road, and that I was about to be dealing with temptations I hadn’t dealt with before. I didn’t want my first time to be a one-night stand. I also didn’t want to be known as a goddamn idiot in bed, so…” he shifts slightly beside me.
“I drove to a brothel in Nevada. I just wanted to get it over with, but on the way up there, I decided I didn’t want to just have sex and leave…I wanted tolearn. I wanted to know how to pleasure a woman—to make sure it was as good or better for her than it was for me. I wanted to know where everything was and how it worked and what felt good.
“So, I paid for two hours, and then I paid attention. The woman I was with was cool as hell. She was sweet and patient and a total knockout. I went in there with the intention to focus on her, but she pointed out that it’s just as important that I learn whatIliked. So, she experimented with me, too, and when it was over and I left, I felt like I was seeing the world through a different set of eyes.”
“Well,” I say. “As someone who has been on the receiving end of those very thorough lessons, I feel like I should thank that woman. Maybe send her some flowers. Or chocolate.” He laughs and when I feel it vibrate through me, I realize how much I love this—just…existing with him. Hanging out, talking, and making each other laugh.
“Her name is Stacy. I see her every time we’re playing in Vegas.” I stiffen, my heart sinking. “Not like that,” he says, telling me he felt my unintentional reaction. He gently runs his fingers over my forehead, then quickly flattens his palm against it, checking my temperature—like he was trying to cover up the fact that he’d touched me. “She’s been retired for a few years and is happily married with three kids. We meet up for lunch or dinner to catch up. I’d love to introduce you to her when we’re there.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I say nothing, opting to take advantage of this moment of vulnerability we’ve found ourselves in instead. Relishing in the fact that he’s here, with me, not because our schedule dictates he be here, but because he wants to be.
It’s not long before my eyes flutter closed again, and I’m unsure if the feeling of Eric’s fingers brushing my cheek and the featherlight press of his lips to my forehead is real or a fever dream, but I can’t remember a time I’ve felt more at peace than I do right now.
SIXTEEN
Eric
? Night Owl – Galimatias ?
Tyler’s fever broke just as I was seriously starting to worry and watching her suffer through three full days with a high fever stressed me the fuck out. I spent those days with her in her bed or her hotel room when we got to Nashville, making sure she ate, had plenty of fluids, and rested as much as possible, only pulling myself away from her for one radio interview, sound check, and the first of our two shows at Bridgestone Arena.
She’d been upset about missing the first night, but I assured her that by the end of this tour she’d be so sick of seeing the show, she’d be taking breaks on purpose.
She vehemently disagreed.
As I walk through the hotel lobby with the guys a little after midnight, I fight the urge to send her a text to see if she’s still awake. She wasn’t feeling one hundred percent yet, and sheshouldbe sleeping, but I’m still so amped up from the show, the only thing I want to do to unwindis hang out with her. It’s become my new normal, and I already miss her presence as I start to come down.
The door to my suite clicks shut behind me, and I’m surrounded by silence. There are no sounds from the city or the bar in the lobby. No pounding bass, snap of a snare, or cheers from the crowd. Just a quiet, almost oppressive stillness that, especially after the last few weeks, feels wrong. The adrenaline rush is subsiding, the sweat drying on my skin, and everything feels both too loud and too quiet at the same time.
I drop my bag by the door in the bedroom, the weight of it pulling on my shoulder as I try to shake off the last vestiges of the performance. The highs are finally slipping away, and there's a sense of loss in that, as if I'm walking away from something precious. But I’ve grown familiar with this limbo—the space between the stage and the next show. The personal detachment from the performance I just gave. The return to myself.
