NOT TOO LONG AGO I WAS waiting tables, serving overcooked burgers and teaching dance to rambunctious teenagers. Anyone who told me then that in a year I’d be on the set of a video, performing a duet with one of hip hop’s brightest stars would have gotten laughed right out of The Note. From a greasy spoon diner to the top of the music charts. It’s only now that I’m accomplishing my goals that the sheer audacity of my own ambitions strikes me. Thousands of girls trek to LA, bags packed full of the same hopes and dreams I have. Only a fraction of them achieve any real success.
Even fewer find what I did. Not only am I experiencing that one-in-a-million kind of success, but I found a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. That’s the most overwhelming part of this unlikely journey.
“When’s Rhyson back?” Ella, my friend and stylist, snaps the last few hooks on my skimpy leather bra top.
Every time someone mentions his name, I grin like a loon. I need to figure out not looking absolutely besotted when I hear “Rhyson.”
I dip my head to spare Ella the recurring goofy grin.
“He flies back in tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh, good!” She blows at the pink strands of hair spilling onto her forehead. “He’ll be back in time for your birthday.”
With so much going on, I’d almost forgotten my birthday is in a couple of days.
“Yeah, he’ll be home.” I slip on the ridiculously high ankle boots Ella brought. “Not that we’ll do much. I’m totally fine with a quiet night at home. He’s been away. I just want to see him.”
“Well, I’m glad he’ll be back for it.” Ella squats to fasten the boot buckle I can’t quite reach. “It must have been something really important for him to miss Grip’s first shoot.”
How did I end up on the set of Grip’s first shoot? No one was more surprised than I was when Grip asked me to feature on “How You Like it,” his debut album’s first release. It’s the first thing I’ve done for Prodigy since Rhyson got me out of that boa constrictor contract Malcolm had me locked in. I haven’t even seen Malcolm since I was in the hospital months ago. Rhyson handled everything. Well, Bristol probably handled everything. She and Rhyson orchestrated something I didn’t think I’d have for years.
My freedom.
“Yeah, he wouldn’t have missed it otherwise. Kilimanjaro’s gonna be on After Dark, that new late show with Chip Whatshisname.” I glance at my phone on the make-up table, sliding a finger over the screen to check the time. “Pretty soon on the East Coast actually.”
“Is Rhyson performing?”
“Not planning to.” I grimace. “Unless they corral him into it. We all know Kilimanjaro probably wouldn’t be on the show this early in the game if it weren’t for Rhyson as part of the package, but he insisted that they perform, not him. The segment’s supposed to be about them.”
Ella bends to widen one of the rips in the stretchy pants riding low on my hips, clinging to my thighs, and stopping just above the knees. With the barely-there top and the teeny, hole-y bottoms, it’s a lot of skin. Thank God Rhyson is in New York and not on set. He’d have me wrapped in gingham and swaddled in cotton. I glance down past the tiny scraps of leather concealing my chest and over the rest of my scantily clad body.
“Where’d you get this outfit?” I ask with a smirk. “Hos R Us?”
“This is pretty modest compared to most videos.” Ella quirks one studded eyebrow at me. “It’s hip hop, honey. They want to see that booty, and you can’t get away with any more clothing than this.”
I glance over my shoulder at my considerable rear assets.
“These little pants make my butt look big.” I fake pout at her.
“No, your butt makes your butt look big.” Ella laughs at the middle finger I flash her. “At least the top makes your breasts look bigger, too. Rhyson’ll like that. All guys do.”
“He actually likes me just the way I am.” I turn to check out my reflection and shoot a smug look at Ella when our eyes meet in the mirror. I stick out my tongue for good measure.
“I’m sure he does, Bridget Jones.”
“We do that.” I roll my finger in the air. “Rhyson and I, we do movie quotes.”
Ella’s probably tired of hearing about Rhyson, but she just gives me an “aww, that’s so sweet” grin every time I mention his name. She prattles on, and I listen with half an ear, getting lost in my own thoughts. I mentally review the director’s instructions for the next segment and the lyrics I need to remember and lip sync. I speed-learned the steps with the choreographer. This is my first video working with someone other than Dub. The choreographer’s great, but we had to feel each other out in the short amount of time I had to prepare for Grip’s shoot. The kind of artistic chemistry Dub and I had is rare, but what I have with Rhyson is rarer. I’m not second guessing my decision to cut Dub loose.
A firm knock pries me out of my musings.
“Yeah,” Ella calls, hanging her black smock on the coat rack in the corner of my makeshift dressing room.
“They’re ready for you, Kai,” one of the production assistants says from the other side of the door.
“Okay.” I glance in the mirror, taken aback by the girl staring back at me. Make up paints her face in shades of drama. Her flat-ironed hair hangs long and shiny past her shoulders. She looks like a star. I wink at her for luck. Like she needs luck. Fate must have smiled on her because all that chick’s dreams are coming true.
“So how’d the shoot go?” Bristol asks from her perch at Rhyson’s kitchen counter.
“Good,” I mumble around a spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked ice cream. “Tomorrow we’re finishing the shoot on the roof of that loft downtown.”
“Great location.” Bristol digs out a clump of cookie dough from her pint. “This album’s gonna send Grip into the next stratosphere. And the video features two of my superstars, so of course it’ll be bananas.”
“Two?” I ask. “I know I signed on the dotted line with you, but I didn’t think Grip had.”
The first thing Bristol did once she extricated me from Malcolm’s crappy contract was convince me I needed new management—namely her. With the eye roll Rhyson reserves for his twin sister, he reluctantly agreed.
“It’s only a matter of time, especially now that it looks like the Qwest collaboration might actually happen. Thanks again for that hook up, by the way.” Bristol flicks a hunk of dark hair over her shoulder. “I’m wearing Grip down.”
“Hmmmm.” I flash her an innocent smile. “And here I thought Grip was the one wearing you down.”
Pink splashes over Bristol’s high cheekbones. Holy crap. I’d be less shocked to see an alligator blush. Not that there’s anything scaly about her. The girl’s gorgeous, a softer, willowy version of Rhyson. She’s just always supremely confident and assured. And unblushable.
“He won’t.” Bristol focuses on her ice cream. “Wear me down, I mean.”
“You want him to give you a chance so badly as his manager, but you won’t give him a shot?”
“Grip’s not looking for ‘a shot.’” Bristol presses the spoon between her full lips. “He wants a lot more than that.”
I don’t see the problem since I catch Bristol watching Grip all the time when she thinks no one is watching her.
“Then give it to him.”
“Nah. Too risky.” Bristol shakes her head and guards her eyes. “He’s my brother’s best friend. And we’ve been friends forever too. Most of all, I’m not dating someone else in the business. Those things never work out.”
I tilt my head and give her a pointed look since I’m dating her brother who is very much in the business, just like me.
“Present company excepted, of course.” Bristol offers an unabashed grin. “Speaking of my brother, wanna see his After Dark segment?”
For days the show has been billing the interview with Rhyson, and the segment is right on the front page of their website. As soon as the clip starts playing, I’m glad Bristol’s here. That keeps me from kissing the screen, maybe even with a little tongue. I haven’t seen Rhyson in more than a week. Makes me wonder how in the world I went three months without him while I was on tour. But our relationship has deepened so much even since then. We’ve been through so much since then. My collapse, our time alone in Glory Falls, and then all the drama with the sex tape. We’ve hurt each other, mistrusted each other, forgiven one another. Now there’s just . . . love. Just a promise of forever we exchanged on a balmy morning in Bora Bora.
Over the last few months, I’ve thought about our vacation a million times. Long days and hot nights when we were the only people on the planet. Those serene waters seem like years ago instead of weeks with everything we’ve had going on. Launching Prodigy takes a lot of Rhyson’s time and focus. I’m not sure when we’ll get away again like that.
As soon as Bristol clicks the video and Rhyson comes onscreen, the ache I can only ignore for so long intensifies. His face is disciplined into the wall he fortifies and shows the public, but always drops for me. Almost from the beginning, Rhyson let me in. Inexplicably. And that’s what I’ve missed the most this last week—the way when we’re together, the rest of the world can drop away and go to Hell. It’s just us, wrapped in our fiercely guarded intimacy.
“Wow,” Chip, the After Dark host says, seated across from Rhyson as the band leaves the stage. “Give it up again for Kilimanjaro.”
The audience applauds, and Rhyson grins, though it’s a little tight around the edges. He hates this stuff. He’d better get used to it. Most label execs don’t have to be this publicly involved, but they don’t have their own built-in fan base or reputation as an artist the way Rhyson does. Until the listening public meets the rest of us properly through our own music, we’re riding on his coattails. For now, Rhyson is Prodigy.
“They’re as good as you said they were, Rhyson.” Chip takes a quick sip of his water before diving in. “We heard so much about them before the performance, but of course our viewers would love to hear from you while we’ve got you. Gonna play for us?”
Rhyson loosens that grin just a little for the people who hoot and holler from the audience.
“This is their night.” Rhyson settles deeper into the couch cushions, long denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him. “But I don’t mind chatting a little. I’m an open book.”
Chip smirks and shoots him a wry look because we all know Rhyson is anything but an open book.
“Well, we heard Kilimanjaro.” Chip ticks off the band on one finger. “You recently signed Luke Foster, fresh off his world tour. And Grip’s been everywhere for the last year, so we know what an amazing talent he is. His solo debut is on the way.”
“Yeah.” Rhyson pushes his long fingers through the rumpled dark hair dipping into his eyes. “Marlon’s working on the first video as we speak.”
“That’s right. You call him Marlon,” Chip says with a smile.
“Have ever since high school before there was a Grip.” Rhyson grins and shrugs. “He’ll always be Marlon to me.”
“And a little birdie told me that Kai Pearson features on his first single. We got glimpses of Kai on Luke’s tour, but we’re all excited to hear more from her. She just signed to Prodigy too, right?”
If the wall was up before, it’s reinforced with steel after Chip’s question, but the small smile playing on Rhyson’s lips never budges. If the eyes are the window to the soul, Rhyson draws frosted shutters over his better than anyone I know.
“Yeah. Kai’s with Prodigy now.” He lowers his lashes, tracing an invisible pattern on his knee. “We’re lucky to have her.”
“Obviously, you know talent,” Chip says. “A lot of people wonder how Kai has risen so quickly. Out of nowhere, in Luke’s video. Then opening for him on tour. Now featured on the debut single of arguably the most anticipated hip hop album this year. What would you say is so special about her?”
Rhyson quirks his grin to the left and links his hands across his stomach, looking back up at Chip.
“Where do I start?” A full-blown smile sprouts on his face. “Kai has more raw talent than probably anyone I’ve ever met. When you pair that with her work ethic and such diverse gifts, singing and dancing . . . and acting eventually . . . she’s just a once-in-a-lifetime kind of artist.”
“You wouldn’t be biased, would you?” Chip teases. “It’s no secret that you and Kai are in a relationship. Is that the boyfriend or the label exec talking?”
Rhyson’s smile dissolves.
“I don’t do bias.” Annoyance narrows his eyes. “It’s definitely no secret that Kai and I are together since people won’t leave us alone for some reason, but anyone who knows me understands how important music is to me. I wouldn’t offer the public something that wasn’t legit. And Kai is legitimately that talented. I think because she’s also gorgeous, people sometimes want to believe that her looks or who she’s dating got her where she is so fast. I wouldn’t say it’s been fast since she’s been working toward it all her life. The only person tougher on Kai than me is Kai herself. Believe me. She’s the real deal. No one can take that from her.”
I absorb his affirming words like rain. My wide eyes find Bristol’s. We share a grin before returning our attention to the screen.
“Well said.” Chip chuckles. “Since you brought it up, where do things stand with you two? Very public breakup last year. Quietly reunited. Now there are rumors you’re living together. Here’s your chance to clear everything up.”
“If there was anything I needed to clear up,” Rhyson says with a quick grin and a hard look, “You think I’d wait till I’m sitting on your couch to speak about my private relationship?”
Chip’s smile falters a little before firming back up.
“I’m just saying people are fascinated by the two of you. Tell us what’s next for you guys.”
“Prodigy has a showcase in Vegas in a few weeks, so you’ll get to see all of the artists, including Kai, then. After the showcase, we’ll start focusing on her solo debut.”
“You’ve told us a lot about what’s next professionally,” Chip says, a determined set to his mouth. “But what about personally? What’s next for you and Kai as a couple? Is it too soon to hear wedding bells?”
“We’re thinking about songs, not bells right now.” Rhyson’s smile relaxes the line of his mouth. “We’re very much focused on now, not on what’s next.”
That’s the right answer. I know that. The impromptu vows, the promises we exchanged in Bora Bora were just for us two. Rhyson’s incredibly private. We both are. We’ll know when the time is right to take those next steps for everyone to see. And it’s enough, right?
I marry you. I marry you. I marry you.
The pledge we shared is never far from my heart. Somehow hearing him say we’re focused on now and not considering what’s next feels like a pebble in my shoe. A tiny thing, but bothersome and causing a little discomfort. We haven’t talked about a wedding or marriage again. There’s been so much going on. I didn’t even realize until right now, in this moment, how much I’ve wanted us to at least talk about it. It’s ridiculous, but there it is. I don’t want Rhyson to feel trapped by what we said that day. Not that he would, but I can at least be honest with myself and say that I want to marry him. Officially. For-the-world-to-see marry him.
“Thanks for being with us,” Chip concludes, extending his hand to Rhyson. “And thanks for bringing Kilimanjaro by. I know that’s not the last we’ll see of them.”
Rhyson shakes his hand, but looks directly into the camera and tugs on one ear. My heart somersaults in my chest. That will never get old. Just that little gesture always tells me that even when he’s in front of millions, his mind’s on me.
“Guess that was for you, huh?” Bristol stands to open the cabinet under the sink hiding the trash so she can dispose of her empty carton. “I’ve seen him do it enough now to know.”
Heat inches up my neck and over my cheeks. I just nod.
“It’s kind of our thing.” I toss my empty pint, missing the trash can by a few inches. Bristol picks it up for me and finishes the job. “Thanks. My aim isn’t great.”
“Oh, I think your aim is just fine. You get what you set your sights on.” Bristol leans a hip against the marbled counter. “And that wasn’t a subtle dig about you using my brother to get ahead.”
“Good.” I tilt my neck to both sides, trying to alleviate some of the tension resting on my shoulders. “Then what did you mean?”
“You’re ambitious, but like Rhyson said, you back it up with talent and work ethic.”
This may be the first real compliment Bristol has ever paid me. I give her a cautious glance like she’s a Trojan horse.
“Um . . . thanks?”
“I do have a point here.” Bristol laughs and leans forward an inch, narrowing her grey eyes in speculation. “Rhyson mentioned acting, and I know when you first signed with me, we talked about it some. Do you seriously want to pursue it?”
“Eventually.” I twist my lips to the left. “With the right timing and the right part.”
“What if I told you I might have the right part and the time may be now?”
“A part?” I touch my chest. “For me?”
“I emailed you the script yesterday.” Bristol grabs her phone, tapping and scrolling until she finds what she’s looking for. “Yep. Sent it last night. You didn’t get it?”
“I haven’t checked my email in forever.” I sigh and lift the hair off my neck. “Gep insisted I get a new cell since my old number was floating all over town on job applications and audition call sheets. I haven’t set up email on the new one. Half my contacts didn’t come over, and my calendar is somehow screwed up since none of my appointments have been showing. I hate changing phones.”
“Well, check your email when you get the chance because I sent some other documents over I need you to read through.” She reaches down into her bag. “Fortunately for you, I’m not so modern I don’t mind killing a few trees.”
She plops a thick bound script onto the counter.
“Some light reading for you.” She watches me closely. “The director specifically asked for you. It’s a supporting role, a dancer. The part is made for you really. I think it’s yours for the taking, but they want you to come in for an audition.”
This is a lot to process. For years my life felt like this little red wagon dragging behind me, slowed down by every crack in the sidewalk and getting hung up on every clump of grass. Now my life is the autobahn—a super highway where I’m on tour one day, in music videos the next, and auditioning for movies without time to even change lanes.
Before I can respond, Rhyson’s ringtone, his song “Lost,” hums into the quiet kitchen. Bristol glances at the screen, smiling when she sees her brother’s handsome face.
“I’ll let you get that. Tell him I said hi and great job tonight.” Bristol grabs the bag holding her laptop and God knows what else, gesturing to the mammoth script on the counter. “Read that and thank me later.”
She’s left the kitchen by the time Rhyson’s deep voice wraps around my nerve endings. I forget about the script, about Bristol, about my early call time for tomorrow’s shoot.
“Pep.”
Just that one word. The name only he calls me. My fingers stray to the nameplate necklace resting warm and solid on my chest just below my grandmother’s gold chain.
“Rhys, hey.” A knot swells in my throat. “I miss you.”
“That’s my line. I bet I miss you more.” He chuckles, but sounds tired. “Did you see the show tonight? The guys were great.”
“Yeah.” I hop up onto the counter, swinging my legs to kick my feet against the base. “They were amazing. So were you. You even kept your cool when Chip asked about us.”
“Barely.” Rhyson pushes his irritation out in a puff of air. “Why can’t people leave us the hell alone and stay out of our business?”
“You shouldn’t be so fascinating.” I laugh and pull up one knee, resting my heel on the counter so I can examine my foot, slightly puffy and pink from the long day dancing in six-inch heels.
“Me?” His husky laugh skitters across my skin, and I imagine his breath on my neck. “Everyone left me alone until you showed up.”
We both know he was walking around disguised in moustaches long before me.
A burst of noise in the background intrudes from his end.
“What’s that?” I ask. “Where are you?”
“Some club. Hold on a sec.”
Some club? I assumed he was safely tucked in for the night in his New York apartment at . . . I flip my phone around to check the time . . . one o’clock in the morning on the East Coast.
“This is the guys’ first time in New York,” Rhyson says. “They wanted to go out after the show. I’m back behind the club. The only quiet spot I could find.”
“Behind the club?” Now I’m nervous for a completely different reason. “Are you alone in some alley, Rhyson? Is that safe? Be careful.”
“Damn, Kai. I’m a little insulted. I can take care of myself, you know.”
“I know.” I still have to ask. “Where’s Gep?”
“Just inside the club. Not even a hundred feet away. I thought you might want me all to yourself for some quick phone sex?” There’s hope in his voice.
“In your dreams, buddy. You’re out at some club at one o’clock in the morning, and I’m holed up here at your house on the other side of the country. No phone sex for you.”
“Believe me. I’d rather be there with you.” Rhyson pauses before saying softly. “And it’s our house, not just mine.”
I don’t even try to fight the smile that floats up from my feet over every inch of me until it reaches my face.
“How’d the shoot go today?” he asks.
“Exhausting, but good.” I roll my head, stretching to reach the knotted muscles in my neck.
“How, um . . . was the choreographer?”
Not as good as Dub.
Cypher, Grip’s director, offered to use Dub since he knew we’d worked so well together in the past. Of course, that wasn’t an option. Rhyson would’ve flipped, so I left the choreographer to the director’s discretion.
“The choreographer’s fine.” I keep my voice even and hope he won’t pick at this scab.
“But you prefer Dub.” He says it, not asking the question.
“I prefer not arguing with you.” I blow some of my weariness from the day out in a long sigh. “If you’re asking if the choreographer is as good as Dub, then no, she’s not.”
“Ask me to compromise on something else, Kai.” Rhyson’s words come out terse. “But not this.”
“I haven’t asked you to compromise on this, and I won’t.”
I don’t let myself think about how good Dub and I were together. It’s a rare chemistry we have as dancer and choreographer. We’d even already brainstormed my first video incorporating a series of tunnels downtown for the routine. It wouldn’t be right for me to use it with someone else. It’s just as much his creation as mine. Probably more.
“If he could keep it professional, we wouldn’t be dealing with this,” Rhyson says. “But I know he can’t do that.”
“I agree.”
“You do?” The question comes with caution.
“I do. Dub showed his hand pretty clearly right before the last show. His interest went beyond professional, and I don’t want that anywhere near our relationship.”
“What does that mean?” Rhyson’s words plow across the line. “Showed his hand how?”
“It doesn’t matter now.” I chew on my lip, wishing I hadn’t even mentioned it because Rhyson will—
“Pep, showed his hand how?”
Persist.
“He just made a few comments before the last show that confirmed you were right about what he . . . um, wanted.”
“Wanted? From you? What did he say?”
“Just that—”
“All of it, Pep,” he demands.
“I don’t remember word for word, Rhys.”
“Okay, gimme the words you do remember.”
“This is irrelevant. You know I’m not working with him.”
“Exactly. So tell me what the hell he said.” Rhyson pauses before adding in a more civilized tone, “Please.”
“He just said that if you weren’t in the picture, he’d already be in my bed.”
“Even if we weren’t together, he wouldn’t have a shot. Not with no dick because I’d cut it off before I’d let him anywhere near you.”
So much for civilized.
“Castration seems a bit extreme.” I know he hears my grin because he finally laughs, the air loosening between us just a little.
“I’m sorry,” Rhyson finally says, his voice freed of the growl. “I just know he’s wanted you from the beginning, and even talking about him irritates the hell out of me.”
“Rhys, they’re ready,” Gep’s deep voice and the muted noise from inside the club reach me. My heart goes leaden. I know what’s next, and I’m not ready for it.
“I gotta go, babe.” Rhyson huffs a frustrated breath. “I’m not doing a great job babysitting these guys. They wanna check out this, um . . . other club tonight. It’s all they’ve been talking about.”
“Another club?” I know him too well not to detect the discomfort in his voice. “Which club?”
The silence between us grows viscous with his discomfort and my suspicion.
“It’s a club called Pirouette.”
Even I’ve heard of the exclusive ballet-themed, members-only strip club.
“I see.” I lay a slab of stone to cover the hurt in my voice and fake a yawn. “Well, I’m really tired and have this early call time for the last day of shooting tomorrow. So I—”
“I’m not staying,” he says quickly. “It’s a by-invitation-only kind of place, and I know the owner. He’s actually a good friend of mine.”
I hop off the counter, turn off the overhead lights and start up the rear kitchen staircase, dragging that ball of lead where my heart should be, getting heavier by the second, with me.
“You don’t have to explain.” I press my fingers to my temple, the thought of my Rhyson in some strip club with naked women willing to do just about anything for a night with him drives a stake through my head.
“I want to explain.” His next words are lower and not directed at me as if he’s turned his head. “I’m coming. Just gimme a damn minute. Pep, you still there?”
“Yep.” I pop the “p,” keeping my response as short as the rein I have on my temper. “I don’t want to hold you, though. They’re obviously . . . eager.”
“I’m not going there for me.”
“Oh, you sacrificial lamb,” I bite out, drizzling the words with sarcasm. “Poor Rhyson, held hostage in the strip club.”
“Kai, I promise you I’m getting the guys in and then going back to the apartment and jerking off to a picture of you in that black bikini.”
“I don’t care if you . . .” I process what he said, his words settling like tiny snowflakes and cooling my anger as they gradually sink in. “You’re what?”
“I’ve already jerked off three times today,” Rhyson says abruptly, drawing a labored breath from the other side of the country. “This morning in the shower. After lunch in the bathroom stall, and right before tonight’s show in the dressing room. My balls haven’t been this blue since I was fourteen, and it’s not because of some random tits in a fucking strip club. It’s because I haven’t been inside of you in over a week.”
“Rhyson, I—”
“So you can be angry that I’m dropping the guys off at Pirouette,” he continues. “Be irritated over nothing if you want. As long as you know that when I get home, wherever I find you is where I’m fucking you.”
And just like that, the besotted grin I still haven’t figured out how to squelch spreads over my face again.
“Sarita washed our sheets yesterday,” I whisper, stopping in the hall leading to our bedroom and sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. “I almost cried because the new ones didn’t smell like you.”
“You think that’s bad,” Rhyson says, a grin embedded in his fatigue-roughened voice. “I brought a pair of your panties with me to New York.”
“The red ones I left on the bathroom floor?” I laugh and stretch my legs out in front of me. “I spent ten minutes looking for those because I just knew I didn’t put them in the hamper. I didn’t know I had a stalker.”
“You can’t stalk what’s yours.” His voice dips and darkens, towing the conversation into deeper waters. “You’re mine, right?”
His words shorten my breath and tighten my nipples and wet the panties I’m wearing right now.
“You know I am.” It slips past my lips, a constricted wisp of words.
“I swear to you I’m not staying at Pirouette, babe,” he says softly, reminding me of the tension that has melted in the warmth of the last few moments. “I’m just getting the guys in and then going home.”
“Guys go to strip clubs all the time. It’s no big deal.”
It’s amazing how I find the inner rational and understanding girlfriend now that I know he’s leaving the guys at the club.
“I used to go there a lot,” he admits. “I haven’t been back since we met. I don’t need to see anyone else. Just you. There isn’t room for anything else, Pep. I can barely focus in these meetings thinking about you. Missing you.”
I close my eyes, my hips shifting with the memory of him between my legs, slamming into me, eyes imprisoning mine above me.
“I miss you so bad, Rhyson.” I press my lips against my teeth, trapping a needy moan inside my mouth. “It feels like it’s been months instead of a week. I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
“Yeah, about that.” Something about his sigh on the other end splashes icy water all over my heated body. “I probably won’t be home tomorrow, but I promise I’ll be back in time for your birthday.”
I stifle a groan. That bed upstairs is so cold and lonely with him gone, but I’ve slept alone most of my life. I can last without him. I know that rationally, but it doesn’t mean I won’t wake up tomorrow clutching his pillow and sniffing our sheets for some trace of him like a lovesick hound.
“That’s okay,” I lie. “Another meeting?”
“Um, yeah. Unavoidable.”
I try not to whine, but every part of me aches for him. My body churns with need. My heart strains behind my breastbone like it’s seeking him.
“What is it?” I ask, even though it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I have to get through an extra day, sleep through another night alone.
“I have something to take care of.” His voice tucks something away. Is it guilt? Why is he being evasive? “I really have to go if these guys are gonna get in tonight.”
“Okay.” I try to ignore the niggling thought that he’s keeping something from me. “I guess I’ll see you in two days.”
“Yeah and don’t forget what I said. Wherever I find you—”
“You’re fucking me.” I laugh even as my eyelids start drooping under the weight of all today entailed.
“That’s my girl.”