The other band members said their hellos, but I barely heard them. I was too busy getting lost in a face I hadn’t expected to see again after he’d left the Willow just days before I did.
Bodhi,I thought.Bodhi ishere.
“Do you two know each other?”
I blinked and turned to my left, where a guy with wavy brown hair that brushed his shoulders glanced between Bodhi and me, his chocolate-brown eyes sharp with curiosity.
“Ye—”
“No.”
I beg your fucking pardon?
My mouth snapped shut. I looked at Bodhi, who was suddenly very interested in the back of his own neck—and everywhere else that wasn’t me. Not that I blamed him; I couldn’t imagine my confused, slightly offended face was a joy to behold.
“Okaaaay,” the brown-eyed guy said, drawing the word out before giving me a warm smile. “Well, it’s really great to meet you, Iggy. I’m Rafe, also known as Riff. I’m also really fucking wiped, so do you mind if we do this again in the morning?”
“Uh.” I blinked, still reeling from Bodhi’s blatant dismissal. “Sure?”
“Cool.” Riff held out a fist, and I bumped it with mine. That was what dudes did, right? “Let’s go to our rooms and crash the fuck out.”
Everyone murmured their agreement, including Bodhi, who practically bolted into the lift the second it opened. The other three piled in after him, then Clara and me. From the corner, behind someone’s shoulder, I heard a muttered, “Dude, that British accent is so fucking hot.” And the corner of my mouth twitched.
The doors reopened on the fourth floor, and we spilled out, some left, some right. My room number pointed me right, so I dragged my luggage down the corridor until I reached four-oh-nine.
And standing outside four-one-one?
Bodhi.
His eyes widened when he looked up and saw me there, like I’d hunted him down on purpose. Which I had not. So, to put him at ease and to make myself seem slightly less like a deranged stalker, I blurted out, far too loudly, “This is my room!”
“Huh?” His brows pulled together, a small wrinkle forming between them.
“Sorry,” I exhaled sharply. “I mean this one—” I pointed at four-oh-nine. “Is my room. I wasn’t following you or anything.”
“Right,” he said slowly, pulling out his keycard.
Damn it. I wanted to talk to him. To see how he’d been. To ask why he’d lied in front of the others. We’d been solid at the Willow. Real friends. Hell, his determination to get sober had helped keep me on track. And now? The second he saw me outside rehab, he acted like we’d never met.
But why?
“Bodhi—”
“Goodnight,” he cut in quickly.
He slipped into his room, the door already halfway closed between us. But just before it shut completely, under the low hallway lights, a pair of stormy blue eyes flicked to mine. Soft and conflicted, as he whispered one word.
“Iggy.”
CHAPTER
THREE
BODHI
My alarm wentoff at nine, not that it mattered. I’d been awake for an hour already, lying there with my eyes closed, pretending I was asleep while my brain replayed every second of last night. I couldn’t believe that Iggy was really here, in Paris of all places, and he was going to be the band’s new makeup artist. He’d be travelling with us for the next three months, which meant twelve weeks of close quarters, shared buses, backstage chaos, andIggy.
If he was still the man I’d gotten to know in rehab, he wouldn’t be easy to ignore. And Ihadto ignore him. For the sake of my sanity. My dignity.
