Lauren sits with her legs pulled up on the couch across from me, her jaw dropped. “Wow.”

I nod. “Yep. Welcome to my life.”

“Pam?”

I nod again.

“I mean,” she sighs, “it’s not surprising. She fucks everyone. And it was before you.”

“I know it was before me, but it’s just gross.”

“I won’t argue that, but Phoenix, you like him. Kinda sorta love him. Is something like that worth losing him over?”

I stare down at the floor thinking about how badly I need to mop it. Is it worth losing him over? That is the question I keep asking myself. “It’s just, I mean,” I push up from the couch and pace. “I could get over that. It’s gross, but whatever. The thing is, Lauren, I do care a lot about him. Too much.”

“Why is it too much?”

“Because it already hurts.”

She frowns and reaches out, grabbing my hand and pulling me next to her on the couch. “If it didn’t hurt, then I’d say to let him go.”

“It would never work out,” I say. “I know how these things go. And it’s not like Hollywood relationships are a secret, everyone knows the odds are not in your favor.”

“But what if it did work out?” she asks.

“I just feel lost, Lauren. I don’t want this,” I motion around my apartment. “I don’t want fame. I don’t want any of it.”

She shrugs. “But you love music.”

“I love music, but music and fame are not even in the same ballpark. I’d be happy singing karaoke in a shitty bar.”

“Then why in the hell did you go for a label?”

I push up from the couch again, huffing as I resume pacing. “Because it’s what I was supposed to do. I thought it was what I was supposed to do. I just, I got tired of floating around. I got tired of not having anything that was mine. And, I mean, what the hell else am I going to do? It’s sing and make money or be eternally tied to Pam.” I throw my head back on a groan.

“You need to take a minute. Regroup. Don’t make any rash decisions. Don’t go all Brittney circa 2004 and shave your head or anything, okay?” She reaches over and twiddles her hair. “Please don’t shave your head. You’ve got great hair.”

I swat her hand away from me and glare at her. “I’m not,” I say.

“And just think about Stone, okay? Doesn’t matter who he is, or what he’s done, Phoenix. You two are not Hollywood, you don’t have to be. Voss, he was a shithead. He made you feel how shitheads make you feel – like shit. Stone, he seemed like a good guy, and good guys tend to make you feel good. That’s all I’m saying, think about how he makes you feel. That’s all that matters because no one else will ever be him. So if you’re going to let him go, just remember that.”

My phone dings. I grab it from the coffee table and pull up a text from James informing me I have an interview on the Meredith Grant Talk Show–with Pandemic Sorrow– the day after tomorrow. I groan.

“What? Was that him?” Lauren asks.

“No, James. I have an interview with Pandemic Sorrow scheduled on Thursday.” I toss my phone down. “This is why you don’t fuck people you work with and…” panic settles in my chest because I have to tour with those guys. “Oh god. I’ll be on tour with them. I’ll fuck him again. I know I will.”

“So…”

I shake my head. “I can’t be that girl. When shit’s over between me and a guy, I stay as far away from him as possible.”

“Look, to be fair, you just had a massive bomb of shit explode in your face. You hold out to fuck a guy that you really like, then you find out your mom banged him before you…” she shrugs. “It’s not a simple thing here. Maybe just see how you feel when you see him?”

I nod and settle back on the couch. “I’ll either want to stab him or kiss him.”

“Or both,” Lauren says. “I mean could be kinky.”

I spent the last two days agonizing over this moment. What would I do? What will I say? What will he say? He didn’t text me or call me after he left. Maybe he doesn’t even care. But, I’ve been here an hour and the only one of the guys I’ve seen is Rush, and he completely ignored me.

Bernice, the very talkative makeup artist, sweeps some contour over my nose. “You have such wonderful bone structure. Who does it remind me of….” Her eyes widen. “Zeve Zevens. You look a lot like him.”

I sink down in my chair a little. Rush is in the chair beside me hitting on the woman touching his face up. The girl doing his makeup giggles and the next thing you know, the two of them are disappearing. Bernice lifts a perfectly sculpted brow at me. “Rock stars, huh,” she tuts. “I don’t understand the appeal. They’re all sex fiends.” She brushes some powder over my face. “If I can give you any advice, stay as far away from them as you can.”

“Oh don’t worry…” I say, watching as Stone and Jag finally strut into the room. Stone glances over at me before dropping his gaze to the floor. Jag nudges him and points at the host of the show, pretending to grope fake tits in front of his chest. Stone just shakes his head and walks off with Jag. And here I am, a storm of emotions swirling in my chest because I know I’m being a scared, immature shit over this entire thing, but how do you let yourself go head first into something you know is going to kill you?

Jag comes sauntering back across the room. “I call dibs on that blonde,” he says to Stone.

“Yeah.” Stone says, his eyes locked on me. “Okay.”

“What?” Jag shoves him. “You’re not even going to rock, paper, scissors me over her? Man, what’s wrong with you? You always liked a blonde…”

And this is why I don’t need to get involved with him. “Wow,” I mumble. I just can’t help myself.

Jag turns around, narrowing his heavily lined eyes on me before thumbing under his nose. “Don’t tell me you don’t understand the value of settling who gets a piece of pussy over rock, paper, scissors?”

Stone shakes his head and goes to walk off, but Jag grabs him by the arm. “Stone, how many times have we settled pussy arguments over rock, paper, scissors?”

“I’m not doing this,” he snatches his arm away from Jag and walks up to me. “Still pissed at me?”

“I’m indifferent.”

He exhales. “Why don’t we go grab something to eat afterwards and talk.”

I want to. God, I want to, but for some reason all I can do is say: “No thanks.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I turn and walk off, my pulse going haywire. Why is this so difficult? Why do I make this so difficult? I glance across the room and he looks confused. Hurt. Shit. He’s not the kind of guy that hurts you, he’s not. My heart feels that but every bit of common sense inside of me is screaming that he’ll demolish me, and I don’t want to hate him. I don’t ever want him to show me that he’s the guy I originally assumed he was, because he’s given me the smallest amount of hope that not everyone is shitty.

And I’m afraid the only way I can ensure I never have to hate him is if I just walk away from it right now, while all I can say is: he was a good guy.