“Ghosted?” I fill in for him. “Absconded like a thief in the night?” I raise my eyebrows, hoping he can see the amusement there and not just my disappointment. I don’t think I’m ready to admit just how much that night affected me.
“Look, I…” He takes a breath. “I should have left a note. I wanted to,” he adds quickly, words tumbling out now. “I woke up every day for weeks replaying what I should have done, and I thought–” He cuts himself off, scrubs a hand over his mouth, then shakes his head like he’s annoyed with himself for rambling. “I don’t want it to sound like I’m making excuses, because I’m not. I left myself with nothing but regrets.”
“What happened, then?” I can’t help but ask.
“We’d played a show earlier that night near the Boardwalk. The next morning, I woke up to dozens of texts. A producer had beenat the show and wanted to bring us to New York to discuss a recording contract. Everything went really fast after that.”
“My life was pretty busy, too,” I say, choosing not to mention the days I’d stayed behind, hoping he’d come back. “I was drafted the next week.” I remember the hotel room in the city, how loud it was. I remember lying awake with the air conditioner blasting because sometimes I could pretend that I could hear the ocean.
“We were in New York at the same time and didn’t even know it,” he says, sounding amused but a little pained.
My chest lurches at the thought, and I almost admit that I’d gone looking for him, that I’d made Shawna call everyone she knew to ask who the green-eyed stranger with the guitar was. That I sat out on the beach for hours and willed him to walk back to the very spot we’d first noticed each other.
“You look different,” he remarks. “Bigger.” His gaze drops and snaps back up like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. His lips stretch into a crooked smile.
Heat flashes up my neck. I want to tell him he seems bigger too. Larger than life, even more than he seemed back then. He’s sharper around the edges now. Cockier. Dangerous, even. And gorgeous in a way that makes me feel like the world is spinning too fast. Instead, I say, “You have more piercings,” and focus my eyes on the piercings in his nose and eyebrow.
It sounds dumb, considering everything about him, from the color of his hair to the way he holds himself, is different. I’m looking at a completely different person, but I still see the boy I met in the green of his eyes and the shape of his mouth.
“Quite a few more,” he says, and either I’m mistaken or he’s flirting with me. I try to arrange my face into a semblance of asmile rather than gawking at what he might be insinuating. He winks and I nearly choke.
The door bursts open without warning, saving me from what I’m sure would have been an awkward response to his blatant come-on. A harried staffer pokes their head in. “Jess, they need you back for press photos. Please.”
Jesse grimaces but doesn’t argue. “I’ll be right there.”
When the door shuts, he looks back at me with urgency in his eyes. He stands, and so do I, my posture stiffening when he takes a few long strides to close the distance between us.
“Without coming on too strong, I’d really like the chance to get to know you. For real this time. I know we’ve both got crazy schedules, but maybe we can get together sometime soon?”
“Okay,” I say. “Yeah, that might be nice.”
“Might be?” He smirks. “I’ll take it. Can I see your phone?”
I hand it to him and watch him enter his number and then send himself a text. When he hands it back, I notice he added himself as “Ghost”. My breath hitches a little.
Someone knocks on the door, and Jesse groans. He places a hand on my arm and leans in slowly. His breath tickles across my cheek. “Text me. Please,” he says, his lips grazing the corner of my mouth.
“I will,” I promise.
Because I know I will. Even though the cautious parts of me are screaming that he’s trouble, I know without a doubt that I can’t resist the man in front of me. This close, he’s… inevitable.
And then he’s gone, swept back into the chaos that is his rockstar life, leaving me in the quiet hum of a room that smells faintly of cloves, cinnamon, and sweat.
The team bus idles outside. AJ leans halfway out the open door like he’s been waiting for me and might come haul me in by the ear.
“Where the hell have you been?” He asks the moment I get close enough. His eyes are questioning and weirdly excited. “Dude, it almost looked like Jesse Moore really ran off stage and sprinted after you like some kind of corny rom-com.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, because I don’t have a better response prepared. “Get on the bus, León.” My voice comes out hoarser than I intend, and I can tell he senses weakness. He clocks it and makes a show out of pressing his lips together, but his smile tells me it’s not going to hold for long.
I drop into the seat beside him and busy myself with my phone to avoid his gaze. There’s already a message from Jesse.
Ghost: If it wasn’t obvious enough, I’m really glad we found each other again.
Me: You mean, that you found me, tracked me down, and set up an elaborate ploy to corner me instead of just sending an email like a normal person?
The three little dots that indicate he’s typing pop up immediately.
Ghost: Semantics.
