I reach for her tentatively. “Can I...”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” she says.
“But—” The sound of my stomach growling embarrassingly loudly cuts off my argument.
Addison laughs as I throw a hand over my face to hide, and she gently pulls it down. “You weren’t at dinner.”
“You noticed?” I ask without thinking. Then I worry that I sound too pleased with the fact that she was watching for me.
“Only because we need to keep tabs on the VIP guests, obviously,” she says, but I know she’s joking.
Pulling my underwear back into place, I tell her, “I guess I got lost in playing the piano and forgot to eat.”
“I can go down and heat something up for you.”
“Oh my gosh, no.” I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that.”
She sweeps a strand of hair behind my ear and leans in to press a brief kiss to my lips. “What if I want to?”
I don’t know what to say to that. I almost want to laugh at the fact that the woman who practically berated me for asking for syrup weeks ago is now lying in bed with me, offering to make me food long after the kitchen has closed. But I can tell she means it.
I’m glad she’s allowed me to see past her prickly exterior. She’s much softer underneath than she wants people to believe.
“I wouldn’t turn down some food right now,” I admit. “I’m kind of starving.”
Laughing, she says, “Yeah, I heard.”
“Shut up.”
I shove at her playfully, and she captures both my hands, pinning them to the mattress as she kisses me. To my disappointment, though, her tongue only slips into my mouth for a few seconds before she pulls away.
“I’ll be right back,” she tells me.
“I’ll be here.”
I can’t stop smiling as I watch her get out of bed and walk to the door. Once I’m alone in the room, I realize I’m still mostly naked, so I rush to put some clothes on before she gets back. I put my dress away and change into my silk pajama shorts and camisole top.
Sitting back on the bed to wait for her, I start fidgeting. I wasn’t nervous when we were fooling around, but now I am. And I don’t know why.
I guess because she’s going through the trouble of bringing dinner up to my room for me. And then what? Is she going to stay with me while I eat it? And after?
I’d like her to stay, but I have a feeling I’m going to be an awkward mess now, sitting and talking with her after she’s seen me naked. I also have no idea if she’ll even want to stick around.
What was this to her?
What was it tome?
It wasn’t some sort of lesbian experiment. I’m sure of that. I didn’t do it just to see if I’d like it. I did it because I’m attracted to her. Because I like her. But it’s not like I can go ahead and start a relationship with her, right? I need to go back to Nashville when my manager tells me to. I need to go back to being the Riley Rowland that hundreds of thousands of people buy tickets to see on a stage.
There isn’t room in my life for a relationship with a woman who lives in Massachusetts. And it’s not like I can ask her to quit her job and come back with me.
God, I just met her. How can I even be imagining that scenario?
I need to chill.
By the time she comes back, even though she doesn’t take long, I’ve managed to work myself up into a mild panic. But then she smiles softly at me, and my brain quiets as I smile back at her.
“Do you wanna eat here”—she waves the plate she’s holding toward the small table on the side of the room—“or stay in bed?”
