Keyton jerked back like I’d thrown a punch.
Oh shit. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t—” And now I was the dick—again. Had I ever stopped being the dick? “That wasn’t a comparison comment.”
A muscle in the side of his jaw jumped. “Don’t worry about it.”
He felt so put together now. So in control and completely over what happened between us, like it hadn’t irrevocably changed him down to the cellular level like it had me. It had leveled me. Throwing myself into work was the only thing propping me up.
The rough time he’d mentioned over coffee wasn’t a flicker in his gaze, but now he was wound up, all tension and tightness.
Guilt crashed into me that I was searching for the cracks in this new version of him rather than being happy he’d found his way out of the haze that often overtook him.
And I was happy for him.
“I wasn’t going in for a dig.” I reached for him before pulling my hand back. We weren’t that close anymore.
“Don’t worry about it.” He shot me a glance, like he couldn’t look at me full on.
That he couldn’t share an intimate moment with me stirred an irrational irritation. He could talk to me so openly and it didn’t mean anything to him other than moving past what we’d had.
“We’re ready for you both.” Gwen stood in front of Keyton, holding out his coat.
He smiled at her and rolled his sleeves back down, taking the cufflinks she had in her outstretched palm. He fastened them, then took his jacket from her and slid it on.
We stood beside each other like wooden soldiers. And I hated it. As much as I’d promised myself it was only for the foundation, of course I was here because I wanted to see him again. Be near him again. Talk to him again.
“Why don’t you just ask what you want to ask?” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
The strong warmth of his fingers around my shoulder sent smoky flares racing up and down my arm.
My shoulder pressed against his chest and I fought against the urge to lean into him like I had so many times before. I wanted to wrap my arms around his waist from the front and press my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat pound against my ear.
The flash went off. We both smiled for the camera as an incendiary crackling rippled through the set.
I kicked my heel up and widened my smile until my cheeks hurt. “What do you think I want to ask?”
His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me tight against him.
The brush of his fingers barely missing the gap between my sweater and waistband as the fabric shifted, and I cursed the near miss, wanting to feel his touch against my bare skin.
Through barely parted lips, he leaned in. The heat of his breath skirting across my cheek. “You want to ask if Gwen and I are sleeping together.”
“You can sleep with whoever you want to. I’m sure you do.” I snapped back too quickly, like I’d had the comment locked and loaded. The grating anger warring with my frayed nerves from his closeness pissed me off even more.
The flashes continued to go off and we kept posing, following the photographer’s direction without really hearing him. My body was on autopilot while my mind fixated on the man beside me. Every brush, every touch, every look made it harder to remember there were other people in the room—other people like Gwen.
Why was I making a big deal about this? He could screw half the Eastern Seaboard and it wasn’t my business. So why did it feel like someone was trying to scoop out my heart with a rusty spoon?
Maybe because I’d thought I’d gotten over it. I thought I was totally okay with him being engaged and moving on. I’d talked myself into believing it. Then, when I’d found out he wasn’t engaged, I’d thought I had a chance. It had been a stupid, hopeful flare from my boat of one out in the middle of the dark, inky night. I’d hoped that seeing him again had all been for a reason, a way for us to come back together, but maybe it just wasn’t.
A bitter laugh brewed in my chest. Looks like the pop princess didn’t get everything she wanted.
Turning, I faced him, unable to keep up this pretense and needing to know what I was getting myself into by performing at SeptemberWeen. I needed to rip that expectation band-aid off right now.
Dropping my voice even lower, I whispered the words I was afraid to have answered. “Are you and Gwen sleeping together?”
His eyes bored into mine. “Are you and Holden? Have you and Holden…”
I was tempted to say, ‘I asked you first.’ Looking into his eyes, I could see the burning need to know the answer as keenly as I did, and it brought with it another spark of stupid hope. “No. Never. He’s my best friend at this point, but it’s a line we’ve never thought about crossing.”
He faced forward and put his arm around my shoulder again, leaning in close. This time his lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Same.”
The relief was swift and complete. Like a coil I hadn’t realized I’d been tightening since I first saw them together, it exploded in my chest, not with pain, but with an unbridled, uncontainable joy. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He parroted back.
I opened my mouth, the sounds dying there. What exactly was there to say? Maybe grab him and find a closet somewhere?
The photographer clicked one last, I’m sure stellar, picture of me with a bad case of fish mouth. “Thank you both so much.” She walked over and shook our hands. “It was amazing to meet you. I’m honored.”
We both went into professional mode. Thanking him and everyone else in the room. Oh yes, there were other people in here. My darting glances toward D—Keyton were met with his own. Every time, someone drew my attention right as his gaze collided with mine. These were fleeting moments. Stolen seconds.
A crowd of people arrived to break things down and have us sign releases. Every so often, there would be a clearing in my people and he’d be there dealing with his own people.
Holden touched my elbow and lead me toward the door. “We’ve got to get back to the hotel. You’ve got to get to the studio tonight and we only have it reserved for four hours.”
I put the brakes on, twisting to see Keyton, only to find him being led out of another door. Disappointment thudded in my stomach.
Timing, am I right? Sometimes it felt like we’d never get it right, like we’d never have more than a few minutes to actually talk to each other alone before we were interrupted or one of us was whisked off to somewhere else.
There was always SeptemberWeen. Maybe we could steal more than a few moments together. For what? I wasn’t sure, but the hope that I’d soon find out burned brighter and deeper than it had in a long time.
12
Bay
Bent over the sink in my hotel suite bathroom I dragged the washcloth over my face. It wasn’t one of theirs. I’d never subject the poor housekeeping staff to the gallons of bleach that would be needed to wash a pound of makeup out of the fabric.
The whole room was marble and chrome, with a walk-in shower and a soaking tub. I’d have taken a bath tonight, but I’d been worried I might fall asleep in there.
This week was SeptemberWeen. I’d see Keyton again. I hated that I didn’t have any way to get in touch with him. The number I’d had for him back in LA had been changed long ago. I found that out the hard way when one of my last messages to him had gone to a new person with the number who’d told me to stop texting their grandfather.