I should say good night to my bandmates, but I don’t want to go back inside once I’ve reached the door, so I send them both a text before heading out to find a cab.
Just as I slide inside the first one that stops, Blue Eyes slides in next to me.
I look at him, open-mouthed, and he leans in as the cabbie awaits instruction on where to go.
He kisses me.
Soft and tentative, this kiss is only slightly hotter than the last one. But still, he pulls away, that conflicted look back on his face as he says, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
Then he hops back out of the cab, shutting the door, leaving me to squeak out my address to the driver, wondering what in the hell just happened?
As I unlock the door to my apartment, I breathe into my hand, wondering if my breath stinks or something. Why would he follow me out, kiss me again, and then leave? And I still don’t have a clue what his name is. Does it matter, Billie? You’ll never cross paths again. Whatever. It was fun until it wasn’t.
I know one thing. I need a shower. I start the water, stripping and stepping into the spray with a sigh. After wetting my hair and lathering up with soap, I find my mind back on the guy with the strange, iris-blue eyes. His hair short but shaggy on the top and sides, and the prettiest colors. I decide he looks a little like a panther in human form but not as confident. What a strange guy.
Without much thought, I find myself rubbing at my nipples, now peaked and hard at the thought of this attractive stranger. My hand moves between my legs, fingertips plucking at my sensitive clit, hot water sluicing over my nipples.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a quick physical reaction to someone, and I’m a bit mortified by the way it turned out. I guess I’m out of practice. It was enough, though, to wake my body up. I flip the stream to steady, spreading my lips to expose my sex to the sharp jet of water, my free hand pinching at my hard nipples, electricity shooting to my core, climax coming fast and hard, enough to take my breath away and make my vision go fuzzy. I step out of the shower in a daze, the sexy stranger’s face the only thing I can see clearly.
7
a party with strangers?
Cal
Shit.
I should not have done that. Her kissing me I could explain. Me following her, getting in the cab, kissing her back? That’s on me.
I could blame it on the beer I had, but honestly? I wasn’t drunk. Not even close.
I shove my hands in my pockets and slouch down the road in the direction I think my apartment might be. It’s probably a mile walk but I need the air. What the heck was I thinking? Seriously. I just told Em we would make this work, and here I am kissing someone else.
Maybe I’m just lonely. Yeah, that’s all it is. I don’t have anyone here. No friends. I haven’t bonded with the team. I don’t have family here. It’s just loneliness. And she was nice to me. She liked me a little. Enough to dance with me.
And kiss me.
Ugh. I’m an idiot.
You liked it, though.
Cal Lefleur, professional idiot. Also, colossal moron.
I give myself the mental smackdown while I wander around a city I don’t know, feeling lost and starting to panic when I realize I don’t actually have any idea where I am. Christ. I need a routine. I need to get into a pattern. I need people around me who can help me navigate my life.
This isn’t going to work. Being here in Las Vegas with no one.
That’s all that kiss was. A moment of weakness because I felt alone. Em and I have been together for almost three years, and although I can sense her pulling away now, it hasn’t always been that way. I’ve never looked or touched another woman. Never been tempted.
Moron.
Finally, I give up and hail a cab, giving my address and then feeling stupid when I realize I was only two blocks from my building.
When I fall into bed, the whole night catches up to me instantly. My head hits the pillow and I’m out.
I wake up disoriented, face down on my bed, still in my clothing from the night before. After taking a long, too-hot shower before shuffling to the kitchen to get something to eat. I stare at my cell phone for a long time, contemplating calling my agent. Will this restlessness ever disappear?
Still, the money is good. The contract is good. And if I can play here for a year or two, I can save a ton, then go back home. I settle on calling Emily instead.
“Good morning, Cal.” She sounds sleepy.
“Hello, love. How are you this morning?”
“Tired,” she says, yawning for punctuation. “I stayed up way too late last night.”
“Doin’ what?”
“I had some of my classmates over. We played games and drank wine and ate crappy Chinese food while bitching about our thesis projects.”
“Oh? Sounds fun, I guess.”
“It was.”
I try to push back the bitterness I feel, knowing she was surrounded by friends and having a good time without me. “I went out and saw a band.”
“That’s good. You love live music. Were they any good?”
“They were, in fact. I went to an after party with them after their set”
“You went to an after party? With strangers?”
“I did.”
She laughs lightly. “Well, that’s new.”
She’s not wrong, but it gives me dark satisfaction that she’s surprised by it. Still, she doesn’t ask for more detail. Doesn’t ask anything. She just starts babbling about some story one of her classmates told her about a shared professor. It’s meaningless to me since I know none of the people she’s talking about. I listen and make noises to show I’m still paying attention, but my mind wanders to the dark-haired drummer. Her hands on my hips. The way her body moved. The feel of her lips against mine.
Billie.
Her bandmate called her Billie.
“Calum?” Em snaps from the other end of the line. “You in la-la land?”
“I guess.” An understatement if ever there was one. “Sorry. Listen, Em?”
“Yes, Cal?”
“I really need to see you. Please, please figure out a time? I’ll fly you out. This is hard for me, you know. Not having anyone.”
She’s quiet on the other end for just a heartbeat before answering, “I know. I know it must be hard for you. A whole new routine. New people. New environment. That’s probably really hard for you.”
“So, you’ll find some dates?”
“I’ll find some dates.”
I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “Good. That’s good.”
“I’m Alicia,” the tall, dark-skinned woman says. She holds out a hand, which I shake as she says, “I run the Crush Foundation.”
“Cal.” I give her a nod. “I’m the new goalkeeper.”
She laughs, a loud, infectious sound. “I know who you are.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Alicia explains that she’s got a car waiting to take us over to Children’s Services Las Vegas, where we’re supposed to get a tour and then talk about the new music education program the club is hoping to do with help from the Crush Foundation.