I feel my sanity slipping away with every migraine, with every sharp stab against my temple. Our first time should be sweet, drawn-out, a picturesque fairy tale. She deserves to be cherished.
I’ll never forget those text messages she sent me. The way she talked about sex like it was a debt to pay, a duty to endure, something she needed to check out of when a relationship reached a certain point. That gutted me. She needs to know sex is about connection, not obligation.
But right now, the beast inside me is roaring. Hungry and animalistic.
So I need to step away. Put space between us before I do something I regret.
Annie reaches for my hand. “Chase, wait. Tell me what’s wrong.”
I pull back, the realization stealing my breath. “Sorry…I need to go.”
“Chase—”
Spinning around, I charge toward the bar. Order a whiskey. Double. Neat.
I swallow it down, relishing the burn.
Annie ducks her head in my periphery, looking broken, before she trudges back over to the group. I just stand there, the taste of bourbon clinging to my tongue like ash. The music pulses in my skull, but it’s muted compared to the pounding in my head.
Like something’s clawing to get out.
I brace my palms against the bar, breathing deep, trying to find the version of myself I recognize.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, a soft voice curls around me, seeping into the chaos.
“Hey.”
I turn.
It takes a beat for recognition to wash over me.
Sunny yellow hair. Tiny frame. Chocolate-brown eyes.
One of the citrus twins.
“Jaclyn, right?”
“You remembered.” She beams, sliding closer to the bar, her drink dangling from two fingers. “I didn’t expect to find a famous rock star brooding at a rooftop bar. You just set the stage on fire. Thought you’d be basking in it.”
I clear my throat and lift two fingers to the bartender, signaling another whiskey. “Keeping tabs on me?”
“Maybe.” She flashes a wry smile, tracing the rim of her glass. “I came to your show at The Soundproof but couldn’t find you after. Then I saw your video blow up. Impressive.”
“Things happened fast. The last few months have been a blur.”
“I bet. Congratulations.” She twirls her straw through something neon and sweet. “And thanks for the bragging rights. I told all my friends I met you way back when.”
I grunt a reply, distracted, as the bartender slides my drink toward me. “You been following the tour?”
“A little. Not in a stalker way, I swear.” She holds up her hands, palms forward. “My friend lives in Oakland, so I made the trip out here with my girls. We were in the second row.”
I hadn’t noticed. “Hope you enjoyed.”
“Are you kidding? It was revolutionary. I swear you fixed something in me I didn’t even know was broken.”
I force a smile, but it feels hollow.
