“Tell me every single detail and leave nothing out.”
I blow out a heavy sigh as I look across the family room at Jill. She tucks a chunk of her red hair behind her ear, her eyes wide on me. She’s looking at me differently than she did yesterday, like I’m her idol. I did something last night we’ve both dreamed of doing for the better part of ten years.
It’s too early for this conversation. I’m still wearing the Vail shirt from last night—the same shirt Mark Ashton stripped from my body before he fucked me. I think of his long, talented fingers as they gripped the bottom of this very shirt before he pulled it over my head.
“It was…perfect,” I finally answer.
“That’s not every detail. I’m talking length, girth, hardness…”
“Oh my God, Jill. You sound like Tess.” Tess, my work wife, has the uncensored mouth and perverted sense of humor of a thirteen-year-old boy.
“So? It’s not every day my best friend sleeps with an actual rock star.”
“I need a cup of coffee before I get into this,” I mutter. “Or a shot of tequila.”
“Coffee’s hot on the pot.” She nods toward the kitchen. “And you know where we keep the tequila. Now spill the details.”
“I haven’t showered and I still smell like him.”
“Oh my God, you should definitely never shower again. Ever. What does he smell like when he’s naked? Can I smell you? Was he big? Was the sex good?” She stands up and starts walking toward me, but I push her off.
“He tasted like peppermint.” I think for a minute. “And he smelled like some kind of sweet, woodsy scent mixed with the peppermint. And he was big. And he knew how to use it. Like he’s an expert. PhD in sex.” I close my eyes in bliss as I remember.
When I open them, she’s about to bend over to sniff my shirt. I push her away.
“Sandalwood. That’s sandalwood. Holy shit, I just smelled Mark Ashton on you.” She squeals. “Best night ever?”
I nod, focusing my eyes out the window on our view of the mountains surrounding Las Vegas.
“Then why do you seem so totally unsatisfied today?”
I swipe at a stray tear I didn’t even realize had formed. I thought I’d gotten it all out in the elevator. “Not unsatisfied. It’s just...that’s it. One night. Wham bam thank you ma’am.”
“One night to remember forever.”
She stares at me with stars in her eyes, like I’m the luckiest girl in the world—which I am.
But I’m still somewhere between regret and jubilation. “Yeah, but now what? No one’s ever going to measure up to that.”
“Still, one night...”
“One night that brought every fantasy I’ve had for ten years to life.” And emotionally connected me to a man I don’t even know. I don’t add that last part. It seems too ridiculous to say it out loud.
“Did you get his number?”
“No. And I didn’t leave mine.”
“Why not?”
“Seriously? Was I just supposed to say, Hey, thanks for the amazing sex, give me your number? Where was I supposed to leave mine?”
“I’d have written that shit in lipstick on his bathroom mirror,” she mutters.
“No, you wouldn’t have.”
“Hell yes, I would’ve!”
I know my friend. She wouldn’t have. She’s a lot like me—a boring, wholesome rule follower.
“Well, I didn’t. I knew his expectations from the start.”
“But you want more?”
“Of course I want more. He’s every woman’s fantasy. Gorgeous? Check. Rich? Check. Funny? Check. Can sing me lullabies every night? Check.”
“Don’t forget that he has a big dick.”
I nod. “Check. And now I’m just supposed to count myself lucky that he picked me for his Saturday night and move on with my life.”
How the hell am I supposed to do that? I have no idea. It’s wanting something so bad for so long and when it happens and it’s everything you thought it would be—more, even...but then it’s over. How do you just pick up and act like everything’s normal when it just isn’t?
“You’re so calm about it. If I slept with Mark Ashton, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops.”
“That’s where we’re different, I guess. Let’s just keep it between us, okay?” I stand and stretch. “I need a shower and a nap.”
“And wash off Mark Ashton’s scent? You’re crazy.” She stands and ambles over to me. “Can I please just sniff you one more time before you wash him off?”
I roll my eyes and push her away before I head to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, but I don’t think I’ll ever wash this shirt. I don’t want his scent to ever fade from it.
Once I’m in my bedroom, I’m alone with my thoughts—usually a fairly safe place, but a downright rickety old mine shaft about to collapse today. I could focus on getting some work done, but it’ll be there tomorrow. I could take a shower like I told Jill I’d do, but she’s right. I’m not ready to wash him off me, not yet.
So instead, I pull my Vail shirt over my head just like he did to me last night, curl into a ball on my bed, snuggle the shirt that still smells like him, and replay our night.
I suppose living in Vegas gives a school teacher like me a better chance of meeting celebrities that others might not get. My chances are multiplied considering my best friend works for a local newspaper and has access to press passes for any event.
Last night, we found ourselves front and center after waiting outside the venue for four hours so we could be among the first fans inside. We watched the two opening bands as anticipation built, and finally the lights went dark just before the headliner appeared.
I remember glancing over to Jill as Vail took the stage, excitement lighting her face. We’ve seen Vail at least ten times together, more than once pressed against a fence holding us back from the stage, and it’s new and thrilling every single time.
But something was different about last night. The air crackled with energy, the crowd was louder, and I could feel it in my chest. Something magical was about to happen.
It was the best concert I’ve ever seen. I felt that long before the lead singer invited me to his bed.
It was the entire atmosphere. Mark worked the crowd with ease, just like he always does, but he had an energy about him that seemed different from his other shows. I sang along to every song, and I could’ve sworn he made eye contact with me while he belted out the words I knew so well. At the time, I was sure every girl in the arena felt that way, but later he confirmed that he had, in fact, been watching me.
Is that a line he feeds every woman?
Hearts aren’t supposed to get tangled up in one-night stands. They’re supposed to stay out of it, safely on the sidelines for one night of pure, unadulterated, physical pleasure.
That’s not the way I did my one-night stand, though.
My heart dove in head first, and now my emotions are paying the hefty price.
One day—that’s all. I’ll allow myself one day of wallowing, one day of self-pity, one day to get over this heartbreak, and then I’ll find a way to move forward.