Sex addiction is something most people know very little about. I once read a novel about a sex addict that turned the addict into a complete cliché. The girl was horny twenty-four-seven, rubbing one out every five minutes—in bathrooms, cars, public places. She was a heaving, writhing mass on the verge of orgasm every second of her life.

No one could live like that.

The reality—at least for me and the other sex addicts I’ve met—is a lot more complicated. You won’t know I’m a sex addict by looking at me. I’m not walking around with a boner all day every day. I go to work, hang out with friends, greet fans. I’m a pretty normal guy.

The problem is how I handle the emotions that everyone goes through. Sad? Have sex. Bored? Again, sex. Empty? Sex. Hungry? Well, yeah, I eat, but I’ve been known to combine it with sex. And don’t think it’s just to cope with the negative stuff. Excited? Sex. Happy? Well, sex makes you happier. Something to celebrate? It’s so much sweeter with sex on the side.

I became a sex addict when I started using sex to make myself feel—better, different, alive. And it worked—as most addictions do—for a time. Then I needed more—more often, more variety, more women. And who they were became less and less important. They ceased to be people to me—they were simply the dispensers of my fix.

Then one night in a darkened storeroom, I took an infatuation with one particular woman too far. I acted on the attraction I had to her, and I risked it all—her marriage, her child, my friendships, my band. I betrayed people who trusted me, and put a beautiful woman—a beautiful person—in an untenable position. I fucked up, and while my feelings for and attraction to her are genuine, I’ve always hoped if I hadn’t been chasing that high I wouldn’t have taken it that far.

Because in spite of my sex addiction, I know right from wrong. I was raised in a solid middle-class home, both parents there, church on Sundays. I’ve never messed with a married woman knowingly—women with boyfriends? Well, that’s another discussion for another day. But married women haven’t been on my radar, because I think marriage matters. I think when two people are willing to go that far, the rest of us ought to respect their choice.

But that night I didn’t. And as the guilt clung to me like a fangirl after a show, I realized that something was terribly wrong with me if I had strayed that far from my moral compass. I realized that while my attraction to Savvy simply was, my actions toward her were based in the need to get high. Because I was so drawn to her I’d forgone my normal outlets—groupies—and turned all that need on her. It was terribly wrong, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.

Which is why I’m standing in the kitchen of my place in L.A., cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand, shirtless, shoeless, and miserable. We wrapped this round of studio sessions a few days ago, and Blaze flew back to Portland. He was pleased that I chose to stay here. He’s worried about my feelings for Savvy. I’ve continued to tell him I have it under control, but I’m lying.

At nearly a year out of rehab I’ve passed my mandatory no-sex period and I’m now free to pursue physical relationships if they’re mutual and based in commitment. In other words, no one-night stands, no hookups. Date. Get to know someone. Have sex. This is what I’m allowed, and you’d think after nearly a year without getting laid I’d be pretty damn interested in dating someone.

But you’d be wrong, because I can’t imagine having a relationship with anyone but her. And she’s not a possibility.

My phone buzzes from the counter in front of me. I look down and see Tully’s name. My heart skips a beat because Tully rarely contacts me directly—that’s what Blaze is for, after all—and she never calls. A text is generally all we need to do our communicating.

I slide my finger across the screen like lightning. “Tully? What’s up?”

“Hey,” she says, oddly cheerful.

“Is everything okay?” I ask immediately.

“It’s great, actually,” she says. “And it’s going to get greater.”

“Okay.” I pick up my coffee and amble into the living room that looks out over Laurel Canyon below me. The greenery is in full flush right now and it gives me a sense of quiet and solitude even though I can see other houses like mine hanging from the canyon walls.

“Blaze said you guys don’t have any big work projects until next month when you start the pre-release talk show circuit.”

“Yeah, I’ll be filling in some vocal tracks at the studio between now and then, but mostly I’m just killing time, doing some projects around the house, maybe going home to see my parents for a few days.”

“Well, don’t book the trip yet.”

“Oh-kay.” At this point, I’m wishing she’d get to it, the curiosity is killing me.

“Lush has a couple of meetings with lawyers and promoters down there this next week so I’ll be in town. Blaze is going to use the chance to do some pre-wedding bonding with his friend, Jess, from Philly. They’re doing some weird guys’ fly fishing thing in Colorado.”

I smile. “Yeah, he told me about that. I assume he’ll be relying on threats to catch the fish since he knows shit about fishing.”

She giggles. “Can’t you picture him glaring them onto his line?”

We both crack up. Blaze really isn’t the type to stand patiently in a river flicking his line back and forth for hours at a time.

“But anyway,” she continues, “I’m bringing Savvy and Ty with me when I come down.”

My poor heart throbs hard. It’s like the fucking universe is conspiring against me. I’m trying so hard to do the right thing, but damn, I’m only human.

“We’ll stay at Blaze’s place, obviously, but I’m hoping you’ll play tour guide during the days when I’m in all these boring meetings?”

The only word that comes to my mind is fuck. Seriously. Fuck I can’t spend all that time with Savvy. Fuck I’m trying to do the right thing. Fuck Ty will be there too and I’m crazy about that kid. Fuck me. Fuck my life. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Um, I guess. I’m not sure Savvy will really want to spend all that time with me. Most of my Los Angeles experiences are at pool parties and nightclubs.” I chuckle, because it’s the truth. “My L.A. isn’t really the L.A. for a mom and her preschooler.”

Tully snorts. “That L.A. isn’t the L.A. for you anymore either. And I’ve seen you with my sister and Ty. You know what they like and how to keep them entertained. You’ll do fine. Go see the La Brea Tar Pits, and the zoo. Spend a day at the beach. It’s easy. Just keep them company and keep them safe, that’s all I’m asking.” She pauses, and then her voice gets soft and pleading. “You’ll do that for us, won’t you?”

Ah hell. If she’s going to pull that card, I have no choice. She doesn’t come out and say it, but the fact is, she and Blaze have been nothing but supportive since I got out of rehab. They gave me a place to crash, trusted me with their family, and believed in me and my ability to kick this thing out of my life for good.

“Of course I will,” I answer. My mind starts spinning with ideas for things that would appeal to Ty. That’s where I’ll put my focus. On Ty. If he’s happy, Savvy will be happy too, and he’ll be the perfect buffer. He’ll keep me honest and away from his mother. And if he’s having a blast at the same time, then there’s no harm.

“Great!” Tully’s tone immediately goes back to cheerful. Come to think of it, since when does Tully plead for anything? She’s not exactly a wilting violet. My head hurts from the abrupt shifts. “We’ll be there Tuesday and we’re staying until Friday night. I’ll send you the flight schedule. I need to go straight to a meeting, so you can pick Savvy up at the airport. See you then!”

My mouth is open in protest when she disconnects the call. Somehow, I feel like I’ve just been played, but damned if I know how or why.

* * *

By the time Tuesday rolls around I have a plan of activities that would make Walt Disney himself envious.

I drive my classic 1970 Dodge Hemi Challenger to the airport with the top down. It’s a classic sunny Southern California day, and I’m hoping Savvy and Ty will think the convertible is fun. I’ve managed to distract myself with all the preparations to the point that I’m not steeled to see her walking toward me at the waiting area of the airport, Ty in his stroller, all kinds of bags and shit hanging from the handles as she pushes it along.

But when I do lay eyes on her, all those distracting details and arrangements fly right out of my head as if the last four days of my life didn’t even happen. She’s fucking radiant and my heart expands about three sizes.

It’s painful.

It’s new.

It’s confusing.

But I plaster on a smile and try not to let on how truly disruptive I find her.

“Hi there, Ty guy,” I say as I lean down to talk to him in his little ride.

“Gawett!” he shouts, bouncing in the seat and putting his arms out to me. I give him a high five then lift him out of the seat. He settles on my hip and immediately starts combing his fingers through my beard like he always does.

Savvy smiles at me, her cheeks flushed. There’s a new lightness to her, and it’s damn attractive. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Savvy light. Not even before Kevin died. As long as I’ve known her, she’s been bearing a weight. But now it’s like she unloaded a couple of boxes worth of pain, and it makes her even more beautiful, more enticing. God, if I can survive the next few days it’ll be a miracle.

“Thanks for picking us up,” she says.

“Anytime,” I answer, my gaze locked on to hers. Her soft curls are pulled back in some sort of clip, but the pieces around her face hang down, moving gently as she does, and I have this urge to reach out and stroke one of the soft ringlets. But then I’d move on to her pretty pink lips, and if I touched her there I’d need to taste her there too.

I take a deep breath and focus on Ty. “Were you good for Mom on the plane?” I ask as I lean over and remove one of the bags that’s making the stroller unbalanced. I put it in the now empty seat and then take the other one off the handle and carry it in my free hand.

“Yes!” he shouts. “We watched the minions on the iPad.”

“Awesome. I love the minions,” I echo, wondering what the hell he’s talking about.

“The little yellow things that wear overalls,” Savvy says to me, indicating she can tell I’m clueless.

“Mm, nope,” I mutter, hoping Ty doesn’t catch on to my ignorance.

“You know,” she continues, “work goggles, overalls, bald, yellow, about three inches high?”

“I got nothin’,” I admit. She just shakes her head and mutters something about cultural ignorance.

That’s when I realize that Tully is nowhere to be seen. “Where did Tully go?” I ask. “They already send a driver for her?”

Lush is one of the most famous bands in the world. We’re talking Coldplay, Maroon 5 famous. They don’t spend much time driving themselves around except back in Portland where everyone’s used to seeing them acting like real people.

“Her car was here and she jetted out the first door before I could blink,” Savvy says, a little furrow in her brow.

I shrug. Honestly, this whole thing is odd. Tully’s been super protective of Savvy since Kevin died, and now she’s dragged her to L.A., dumped her with me, and taken off for who knows how long. But given how much more relaxed and happy Savvy looks, maybe Tully can tell it’s all fine.

“I parked Valet so we don’t have to go far,” I tell Savvy as I lead them toward the exit.

Ty keeps pointing out things—airplanes taking off, people with hats he likes, dogs sticking out of women’s purses—Savvy just pushes the stroller, her motherfucking glow emanating from her like rays from the sun. I’m blinded by it, unable to turn away—to the point where I nearly walk right into the window instead of the sliding doors. Luckily, Ty is paying attention.

“Not there!” he cries as I nearly smash into the glass. “The door’s the one that keeps opening and closing.”

I stop and blink at the wall of glass in front of me. And somewhere in the haze that’s in my head, I hear Savvy giggling.

I turn and step four paces to the right where the door slides open in front of me. “They moved that since the last time I was here,” I grumble to Ty. “It used to be more to the left.”

He giggles too, as Savvy follows us out of the building and I feel my cheeks heat. Way to impress the fucking girl, moron.

Once the valet brings our car and the bags are loaded, I show Savvy the child seat I picked up for Ty. When Tully told me they’d need to check a child seat through baggage, I said I’d handle it. I’ve seen those parents at airports with the fifty pounds of crap. Traveling with kids looks like a nightmare, so if I can make it a little easier on Savvy, I will.

“That was really nice of you,” she says. “I feel bad though. Now you’re stuck with it forever.”

“I thought you could leave it at Blaze’s once you go back home. Then when you bring Ty to visit Blaze and Tully here, you’ll be all set.”

I click the buckle into place over Ty’s chest and stand to smile at her. She has a strange look on her face, something wistful, but then it’s gone and the sweet smile is back, wreaking havoc on my head and my heart.

I reach around her and open the passenger door. As I do, I catch a whiff of her scent, I’m not sure if it’s perfume or body wash of some sort, but it’s light, and sunny, like citrus—lemon, maybe. It’s also something different than she wears back in Portland and it makes my blood thrum in my veins in a way it hasn’t in a very long time.

Want. I want this woman. I want every part of her—her body, her mind, her heart. I want to possess her in a way that I’ve never wanted to possess someone before. And it turns my stomach, because I shouldn’t be thinking shit like this about her. Not about Kevin’s widow. Not about the woman whose life I nearly ruined one night in a storage room while her husband worked fifteen feet away.

She climbs into the car and I shut her door, clearing my throat at the same time, tamping down the feelings that are swirling so hot and heavy.

“Would you like the roof up or down?” I ask.

“Down!” Ty yells from the back seat. I look at Savvy, one eyebrow raised.

“You heard the man,” she tells me with a wink. I can’t help but grin as I walk around and get into the driver’s seat. When I start it up the engine rumbles to life, big and heavy. I love the sound of it, as well as the feel when it notches into gear and I pull out of the parking space.

When I was growing up, my dad would take me to car shows when they came through town. We used to lust after the classic muscle cars—Camaros, GTOs, Mustangs. Once I started earning bank with Rhapsody, I bought him a 1967 Mustang GT 500 and myself this Challenger. One of these days we’re going to rent a track out for the day and race them.

“Your car’s purple,” Ty tells me from the back seat.

“It is,” I agree, laughing. “That’s kind of cool, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think cars is supposed to be purple,” he answers, kicking his little legs against the car seat as he talks.

“Ty,” Savvy admonishes. “Cars can be whatever color the owner wants them to be.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “It is a strange color, but it’s the color it came with. I was trying to decide what I’d want to change it to, but then it sort of grew on me and so I just left it alone.”

“You’re good at that,” she says quietly as we head out of the airport and onto the surrounding roads with their plethora of airport-related services—rental cars, shuttle services, gas stations.

“Good at what?”

“At leaving well enough alone. You don’t try to fix things. You’re just there—present. Reliable. Safe.” She turns to look at me, her eyes hidden behind big sunglasses. I swallow, a lump in my throat working its way back down. “I’ve always appreciated that about you. You always accepted me as I am. You didn’t have any preconceived ideas about who I was, you didn’t try to impose anything onto me. But you were always there. Even when you’re not physically, I know you’re always there.”

I tear my gaze back to the road in front of me, suddenly glad I have on my own mirrored sunglasses to cover what must be dancing in my eyes.

“I always will be,” I tell her, my voice rough with emotion. “I’ll always be there for you no matter how far away I am. All you ever need to do is ask.”

She nods, looking out the windshield with her soft curls batting her face in the breeze. “You’re a special guy, Garrett Jakes,” she tells me with a wistful lilt to her voice. “A really special guy.”