T his must be what a party in hell looked like. In this business you hear rumors—most you disregard as something akin to an urban legend. But a Dash Justice meet-and-greet? Those weren’t exaggerated .

Around the room, bodies lounged on cushions and sofas that lined the walls. There were areas sectioned off by curtains, thick, lush blankets topped one after another and covering them? More bodies. I recognized a few of Dash’s band mates, some casually relaxing on couches or plush tufted chairs; some near the thick wood table covered with liquor bottles and very little food .

Daisy walked ahead of me, shooting glares over her shoulder that I suspected she thought I deserved for lingering too long in the bathroom. She disappeared into the crowd, my four hundred tucked in her cleavage and I ignored her, turning toward the largest sofa in the center of the room and the small group that lingered around it. I said a small prayer of thanks that Dash wasn’t among the crowd. Like half an hour before, I still wasn’t ready to see him, which was why I’d shot away from the band as they left the stage. The moment to see Dash had come too quickly, and I needed to find some air, a brief moment, to control my nervousness and the biting anger that caught hold of me when the band exited, and the speakers blasted Dash’s new release—the one that promised I was a whore .

“1221,” the crowd had started to chant, and I hurried my steps down the hall and into the small bathroom at the end of it. It was a stupid name for a song, but one I immediately got. The date had been significant, and I’d bet Dash knew it would sting me the most. That music, those words, and the high-pitched laughter demolished the memories that caught in my mind and any lingering sense of nostalgia I might have felt watching Dash and Isaiah on the stage .

I spotted the latter of the two talking to Russ Reynolds, a beat reporter for the Village Voice, and a syndicated disc jockey called Rowdy Ricky. He scrubbed white and black stage paint from his face as both DJs shoved small recorders in front of Isaiah. He was in mid-explanation over why they’d ended their set singing an old Hawthorn record .

“Dash was in his feelings, and he has a soft spot for Lager .”

He did. I knew that .

I wondered if that soft spot would stick if Dash knew what Lager had talked about that night in Paris. Waxing on about Rita and him leaving Hawthorne hadn’t been the only drunken monologue he gave .

Isaiah shifted against the leather sofa, his skin glistening in the dull light overhead and I stared longer, examined the differences I spotted in him. He hadn’t changed much in the past ten years. Though the last time I’d seen that frat boy-looking face, so different from his cousin’s, it had been bloody and bruised, the full lip throbbing and split. Isaiah was a Vega, but he looked more like his gringa mother than the Boricua father, who’d left him with Jamie’s mother when Isaiah was only ten. Isaiah’s father landed in prison, was likely still there, and Ms. Vega got left with the responsibility of raising the boys together. They’d weathered the mania of life in that house together, and Jamie had always talked about Isaiah as though they were brothers, not cousins .

Isaiah’s face was square, the chin sharp, and his skin was light, not dark like Jamie’s or the rest of the Vega family I’d once known. But Isaiah had the name his mother had given him and her eyes, hazel, nearly green. When I knew him, he had an effortless smile and easy laugh, but that had been a lifetime ago. Now he seemed guarded, if not unfriendly. The smile was changed, as though he was wary of whatever the reporters asked him .

He went on talking, playing to the two men in front of him, flicking ash from a Marlboro into a tray at his side. I thought of Isaiah all those years ago, convincing me what I did was for the best. Promising me I wouldn’t regret it .

I had, almost immediately .

Two girls with halter tops and skirts so short the curve of their asses peeked from the hem when they moved, walked in front of me, pulling Isaiah’s attention from the reporters for half a second. That seemed all it took for him to catch sight of me .

He held a cigarette between his fingers, head tilted in my direction, stopping before he took a drag to watch me. There was a flicker of recognition in his features, a spark of light shining in his eyes and then a crooked smile twitched against the side of Isaiah Vega’s mouth. The room was dark and heavy with a cloud of smoke, the stench of it burning my sinuses and making my eyes water, but I still spotted something I might call relief shifting the guarded expression on Isaiah’s face. It lasted only a second and then he blinked, drew in a long inhale from his smoke before he smashed out the cigarette, and waved off the reporters .

“That’s all,” he told them, shaking his head as he stood, attention on me as he straightened, brushing his fingers through his hair. In six steps he was in front of me and the group that had encircled him on the sofa—most of them half-dressed party girls waiting for the interview to end before they pounced—dispersed with his chin-jerk of a dismissal .

Anger still felt sweet in my chest. It warmed me, kept me fueled for the words and litany of curses I had rehearsed the past week. There was a lot of had to say to Dash Justice, none of it pleasant or even remotely kind, but Isaiah wasn’t his cousin .

“How did I know you’d show up?” It was the only greeting the man gave me. My shoulders straightened, and I kept my fingers tightened into a fist, ready for anything rude or teasing that might come from Isaiah’s mouth. But then he smiled, a real, welcoming smile that reminded me of the kid he’d been and some of the tension in my tightened fist lessened .

“Iris.” It came out as a whisper, like he didn’t want anyone to hear my name and he moved his arms, hands reaching as though he meant to grab me but stopped himself before he could touch my arm .

For a second, a flash of him ten years ago came to me—the violent shock of bodies, his and Jamie’s, as they fought and the loud peal of my own cry breaking through the noise of their fight, but then he stood closer, shaking his head at a girl when she began to approach, and I remembered where I was and why .

“How are you here ?”

He frowned, rubbing his chin, I guessed subconsciously. “My cousin is forgiving.” I cocked an eyebrow and Isaiah shrugged. “When it’s blood, si ?”

“Where is he?” I said, not bother to respond to his explanation. My voice was sharp, professional, not rude. I surprised myself at keeping my tone even .

Isaiah scratched the stubble on his chin, considering me with each slow rustle of nails on whiskers before he dropped his hands, tilting his head toward me. When he spoke, his voice was deep, a rumble that reminded me of whiskey and the pack-a-day habit of menthols I gave up five years back .

“Big ass can of worms you’re trying to open, caramelo .” One eyebrow cocked, Isaiah considered me, bringing his eyes into a squint. “You sure you’re ready for what happens next?” He had a smooth, stone-still way of standing, like close consideration was some sort of art form only Isaiah could pull off. He moved his gaze around my face, as though he wanted to see if I’d flinch, maybe lean toward chickening out of this confrontation and he wanted to catch my decision in the steely features he watched. But all he got was a slight movement, a definite nod that was all the answer I was willing to give .

“Coño, ” he muttered, exhaling hard as he rubbed those long fingers through his thick hair. “This will be a mess. I feel it in my gut .”

“One I didn’t start .”

Isaiah had always been the peacemaker. He fit in more with the Willow Heights Midwestern horde, had an easier time than Jamie or I’d had. It was always Isaiah running interference anytime some jealous boyfriend brushed up against Jamie itching for a hard time—and someone was always itching for that very thing. But Isaiah had a way about him, one that made Jamie calm when I couldn’t. One I suspected Jamie had continued to lean on through the years, despite everything that had happened between them .

“Blood is life,” Jamie would always say. “And loyalty is sacred.” Isaiah had proven that more than once .

“No,” Isaiah said, head in a slow shake. “Not this one.” Another low, soft curse, something that sounded like ay, bendita and Isaiah nodded, making a decision he didn’t share with me. “Fine then .”

He didn’t have to tell me to follow him. I did it on my own, traversing through the curious crowd, a few that watched as Isaiah deflected a few groping groupie hands, pausing once to take a kiss from a petite Asian girl with pink pigtails. Then, he stopped in front of a curtained area with two bodyguards standing sentry .

“Give us some space,” Isaiah said, nodding behind us and the beefy men exchanged a glance, then a shrug before they stepped aside. “He’s not expecting this.” It was a warning I knew he meant for me alone, but it didn’t keep me standing in one spot or turning away from the makeshift private room when Isaiah pulled back that black curtain and waved me behind it. “After you, chica . ”

The lighting was dim, with only the flickering movement of candlelight covering every available surface of the small tables that circled the room breaking the darkness. I could make out the thick rug under my feet and outline of furniture, mostly sofas, around the room but otherwise, I was virtually blinded by darkness. Next to me, Isaiah took my arm, ushering me through the room, the light of his iPhone illuminating up the blackness around us .

“He gets headaches after shows,” he explained, voice quiet, serene. “But he still likes to meet the fans and the…well …”

It was the “well” that I understood immediately as Isaiah stopped us just a few feet in front of the largest sofa in the room. There were two women lying across it, one on the seat, the other draped on the back and in the center of both, strumming a guitar was Dash Justice .

He didn’t see us, not immediately, but my heart still raced, thudding like a drumbeat as Dash kept his attention down and his two companions passed a bottle of Jim Beam between each other .

“Pai ?” Isaiah tried and the small syllable cracked, as though he wasn’t sure how to sound or what that small question would do to his cousin .

Two things happened simultaneously: Dash brought his gaze up, haunting black eyes peeking out of the half-gone make-up, glancing at Isaiah without moving his head or his fingers from the guitar and then, when the man shot a look at me, lingering on my tight features, then jerked his attention to Isaiah’s hand on my arm, Isaiah stepped back from me, as though he only just realized what a bad idea it was to touch me at all .

The air seemed to still in the room and despite the darkness that was only marginally lighter with Isaiah’s light illuminating his face, Dash Justice looked surprised. I could only watch him, anger rolling into my veins, breeding contempt and venom the longer we watched each other. But there was something more than shock fracturing the quiet composure on his face .

Jamie had always been handsome—it was the reason so many girls went stupid anytime he was around, and time had done nothing to diminish his looks. It had, in fact, seemed to age him perfectly. The roundness of his cheeks had gone completely, replaced by angular features that intensified the fierceness of his eyes. Where once Jamie had only managed to grow sporadic bunches of facial hair, now there was a precise, finely groomed line of stubble that accentuated the sharp lines of his jaw. The eyes were still dark, darker than the room around us and somehow smaller, with a steely sheen that would have rattled anyone else who didn’t know him .

I did. Despite the distance, despite what we’d both done to each other. I still knew Jamie .

But Dash Justice, not Jamie Vega watched me just then. He watched me, replacing the shock and surprise with something I knew would be insulting .

He took the guitar from his lap, resting it on the empty seat beside him and leaned back, gaze still sharp, focused on me as though no one else stood between us. Isasiah stepped forward, waving a hand as though he meant to make excuse, but Dash frowned, curling his arms so that the collar of the black leather jacket he wore bunched up against his white button up .

“Out,” he said, not bothering to acknowledge anyone. His focus remained on me, not shifting to watch the two girls scramble from their lazy spots next to him or to Isasiah, as he took two steps back .

“If you need anything…” Isasiah tried, whispering to me .

“I’ll manage.” I stopped staring at Dash long enough to acknowledge Isasiah before he left the room .

That silence leveled up as the room emptied and when Dash stretched one long arm across the back of the sofa, relaxed, but still gawking, it thickened so much that all the hateful insults and loud curses I wanted to volley at him left my mouth completely. Silence would keep, sure, but even if words failed me, I was excellent at death glares .

“There a reason you’re here?” I cocked an eyebrow, silently answering him. He knew me, knew my moods and expressions. Those hadn’t changed. The long look he gave me was sharp, grew sharper as though he wanted me to say the thing I kept to myself. When I remained silent, let the accusation and insult weave between us, Dash slumped back against the sofa, head shaking. “It was one pequeña song. Nothing to get worked up over .”

“You called me a whore.” When he didn’t deny it, I tried again, stepping forward. That movement brought me closer to him, his face lit brighter against the flicker of candlelight from the tables around the room. “You destroyed a reputation I’ve spent ten years building in under two minutes .”

Dash moved in his seat, lighting a cigarette before he threw the pack on the coffee table in front of him. When he moved his chin, one jerk that indicidated a half-assed offer for me to smoke, I exhaled, long and slow through my nostrils .

“I stopped five years ago .”

He shrugged, taking a drag. “Your loss.” He watched me a few seconds longer before he finally moved his cigarette toward a tufted chair to my right. “Sit. You’re making my neck hurt looking up at you .”

“I really don’t care if you’re uncomfortable, and I’m too pissed to sit down .”

He blew a long circle of smoke into the air, watching me, gaze moving over my body as I walked around the room. The light was dim, pathetic and I wanted to see his face. There had to be a switch somewhere .

“You came here to yell at me? Call me a pendejo ?” I hated the laugh in his voice. It only fueled my anger until it simmered, brimming close to rage. Dash coughed low, a sound that might have been an outright laugh, but it died when I glared at him. “Get to it, Iris. I’ve got mierda to do .”

I moved the curtain back, frowning. “You have zero shame.” There were no switches that I could make out, no walls that marked the space as a real room at all .

“And?”

“And?” I jerked around, his indifferent attitude had me abandoning my search for a light. I could yell at him, make my threats without seeing him clearly. He barely moved when I approached, only shifting to lean against the arm of the sofa when I kicked the coffee table in front of him to the side. “You fuck with my work, and all you can say is ‘and’ to me ?”

Dash looked down at the floor, squinting at an upturned candle that bled melted wax onto the plush rug. He reached down to tamp out the flickering flame as though my anger was an afterthought .

“What do you want? An explanation? An excuse?” He inhaled again, returning to his cigarette to blow out a cloud of smoke that hung heavy above him. “I was drunk and Isaiah was talking about Daphne Craig from high school. You got mentioned. Made me think about that night at Hector’s shop.” The cigarette hung between his fingers, the cherry nearing the filter as Dash again looked me over. Despite the disguise of his smeared make-up, I recognized the expression. It was the same one he gave the world when he stood for photos on his album covers. Corporate desire and manufactured need. That signature Dash Justice smolder—it made girls wet for him and sold a fuck-ton of posters. But it had come from somewhere real. It had been the look only I’d seen from him a decade before .

It didn’t have the same impact on me now and when he went on giving me that look and I didn’t flinch or look away, Dash shook his head, as though he’d half expected my reaction. Next he tried evoking memories, possibly believing that our past would make me nostalgic. “You remember that?” He licked his bottom lip, smothering his cigarette without looking away from me. “You surprised me while I was doing inventory. The song got written in five minutes. I started rhyming and writing and…” he waved a hand, dismissive. “Well. Here we are .”

“You called me a whore,” I said again, not caring about his excuses .

“I called you horny. Big difference.” He stood then, stopping in front of me. “And you were, if you remember.” Dash lowered his voice, reaching for the ends of my hair hanging against my shoulder. He invaded my space because he thought it would intimidate me. It didn’t and I let him touch me because the worst he could do had already been done. I’d let him perform, let that egomaniac misbehave just to make him believe he had any pull over me. He’d soon realize how wrong he was .

Dash slipped his fingers though my hair, pulling the ends to his nose. “You fucking begged me for it.” He stepped closer and I could smell the clove on his breath. When he spoke, his voice was deep, a seductive rasp I couldn’t ignore. “Te ves bien, chica .”

I shuddered, trying to push down the heat that built between us as I watched him. I didn’t care if he thought I looked good and I knew I had to say something to get him to back off. “You can’t use my name, Jamie …”

He dropped my hair, stepping back as though I’d smacked him. “Don’t call me that .”

“Or what?” I tilted my head, walking toward him as he retreated. “The thing about losing everything is that you get a little fearless. I have no reasons to worry about your threats.” He sat down again and I pulled the coffee table back in front of him, sitting down to face the asshole who’d sabataged my world. The anger was still there, boiling in my stomach, but my plans, my goals had brought calm and composure. This was the still moment, the quiet sea before the tempest came. And that mother fucker would breed destruction .

“You’ve taken my job. You’ve destroyed my reputation, so there really isn’t anything else for me to lose .”

There was the smallest twitch working against his mouth, the nervous worry I knew my easy manner had delivered. Dash thought he knew me so well. I bet he imagined there was no difference in the girl I’d been and the woman who glared at him now. He was so damn wrong. Still, Dash Justice had a rep. He had a schtick that didn’t allow him to show weakness. He tried to maintain it, pulled another smoke from the pack, but didn’t light it. “Again…and ?”

“And, Mr. Shock God of Rock, that means I give absolutely zero fucks what you or anyone else thinks about me. Or you, for that matter .”

I took the cigarette from him, then the pack, but Dash seemed too distracted by my words to fight me for them. Instead, some of his cool calm fractured, and his broken voice went higher, nervous. “The hell is that supposed to mean ?

I leaned forward, breaking through his personal space enough that Dash moved back, pushing away from me. “You want me to remember the past? You think it gives you some sort of permission for telling the world what a whore you thought I was .”

“I didn’t …”

I shrugged, stopping another excuse before it came. “I don’t care what reasons you’ve worked up in your head. They don’t matter. You don’t, not to me.” He flinched, tried to hide it with a frown, then disregarded the insult by taking the cigarette from me. I let him. Wanted him relaxed, distracted when I lowered the bomb .

“I remember a few things too, Jamie.” The snarl curling his lip had me smiling. “I remember things you might not want the world to know.” I slipped next to him on the sofa, arm along the back, next to his shoulders. It was easy, working the lie he chose to tell about me; playing into the role he swore I knew so well. Dash forgot about his cigarette, not subtle with his interest when I moved so close that the curve of my breast, already pushed upward by the lined lace tank I wore, brushed his arm. He swallowed, the sound loud as he turned to watch me, gaze heavy on my mouth. “Like how you touched me, that first time.” I released an exhale, slow enough that collar of his shirt shook. Closer still, I came to my knees, letting my breast drag along his bicep. “You remember that, Jamie? How wet I was? How hot my skin felt ?”

Dash lowered in his seat, carefully moving his hand away from his thigh to rest on my hip. For a self-professed God of Rock, his movements were tenative, his expression wary. I helped him along, touching his wrist, moving his palm against my waist. Then Dash held his breath, gaze sharp as I straddled him .

Our faces were inches apart, breath coiling together. “I remember .”

His attention was mine, and I used it to my advantage, slipping my fingertips along his cheek, thumbing his bottom lip like I’d done a thousand times before. “You slipped inside me and filled me up. Everything was so raw…so…” I adjusted, putting more weight on my knees as I brought my center close to his cock and Dash moved his hands, fingers clamping against my hips. “So…tight .”

“Coño , you were,” he said, pulling me against him. He was hard already, but still calm, holding onto the last vestiges of control, but I doubted that his hold was tight enough to keep him from losing it completely .

“And you…hmm… ” I closed my eyes, affecting a low, soft moan as though the memory of Jamie inside me, taking me, making me his completely was sweet and so arousing that I couldn’t contain my emotion .

“What was I?” he asked, those large hands stretching across my back, down to push me forward against him. “Tell me, chica . ”

I pushed back the small disappointment in my mind. Jamie had never called me anything but mami . That little pet name had been for me and me alone. Every other female he was around got called chica . Him lumping me into a group with every other woman meant I wasn’t affecting him as much as I’d hoped. Still, I had to try .

Dash swallowed again when I came up on my knees, pushing my fingers through his thick hair, resting my palms against the back of his head to move his face closer. I hovered my open mouth close to his lips, breathing him in like his breath would give me strength and Dash responded. That hold on my back grew tighter and he lowered his hands, palming my ass to push me hard against his cock .

He shifted his hips, rubbing his arousal against my pussy and I smiled, tongue barely tracing his bottom lip. “You, Jamie…God…you were…so…fucking…pathetic.” He stilled and dropped his hands form my body. “You cried. You had no clue what you were doing. You didn’t know how to touch me. I had to teach you, remember that ?”

“Que te den ,” he laughed, not remotely pissed and I sat back, resting on his lap to glare at him. His smile was wide, obnoxious. “What? You think I bought your little seduction? Iris, I thought you knew me better. No soy estúpido. ” When I shrugged, doubting that assertion, Dash pushed me off his lap. “But you? Coño , you’re a bitch. You know that ?”

“Yes. I am,” I told him. A quick thrill of pride worked through my chest as Dash grabbed his cigarettes, trying to hide the slow shake in his fingers as he fumbled with his lighter. “I’m the monster you made me .”

He released a quick humorless laugh before he leaned back against the sofa, cigarette held in his left hand while his right scratched over his face .

Just then, he looked tired, maybe a little weakened by my insult. I wasn’t stupid either. That was him hard and throbbing against me. And despite my anger, a small voice inside my head reminded me of that first time at his mother’s home where Jamie sat on his floor, anger shooting so starchly through him that he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking. But then he went on laughing at me, and I remembered why I’d made plans to insult him. He’d fucking started this shit .

“Mierda, that made me laugh.” Another inhale and the forced smile left his face. “You done? I got business to handle .”

“No,” I told him, stretching my legs out to rest on the table. “I’m not done. Not by a long shot .”

Dash flicked ashes on the floor, missing the ashtray as he stood, pacing around the makeshift room. Beyond those curtains, the party kicked up; music thumped and played, and there was a constant chorous of laugher, most of it high-pitched and saccharine sweet .

He stood with his back facing me, the slow funnel of smoke around him as he shook his head. His shoulders were set in a rigid line, as though he waited for the insults I had stored up for him. Finally, when I kept silent, Dash looked to the right, not watching me, exactly, but still acknowleding me. “Say what you want and then leave .”

“You owe me .”

That made him turn, and the movement advertised his loss of composure. Mouth set firm, Dash pointed at me with his cigarette. “Vete pa’l carajo! I owe you nothing .”

“No?” I shot up, standing a foot from him as I did my best to keep calm. “You announced to the world what a whore I am. You destroyed everything — ”

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” That was a slip I knew Dash didn’t mean to make. It came back to the past. It always would. I’d done something I wasn’t proud of. I’d destroyed eveyrthing Dash thought he knew about love in the process and he’d never forgive me for it. But he’d done his own share of hurting. He was still doing it .

“What I did to you was ten years ago. I let that shit go, and I thought you had too.” When he stepped back, dragging a long inhalation from his smoke and then releasing it with a laugh, I knew it was time to make my demands .

“I’m over it,” he promised, not convincing me at all .

“Yeah? So why am I the topic of your songs? Still?” I stepped forward, arms crossed to keep myself from smacking him. “You wanted my attention, you got it .”

“I didn’t want — ”

“Now you’re going to have to deal with it,” I interupted, not interested in his deflection. “And you’re going to have to make amends .”

Dash worked his jaw, eyes narrowed as he watched me. “I can’t pull the song or change it. The label loves it, and I’ve sold millions .”

“Fine,” I said. “Then you’ll give me something to make up for it .”

He moved the cigarette between his fingers, watching the orange flame as it burned the paper to ash. “What do you want ?”

I hurried with my demand, already geared up for the refusal I knew he’d unleash. “A no-holds barred, in-depth interview.” I held up my hand when he opened his mouth, head already shaking. “I’m not talking about some bullshit trash piece like the one Blotter got by buying Maria. That was low and disgusting.” Dash didn’t move the frown from his face or lessen the fire working in his glare, but I caught the shift in his features, the small brim of emotion that came to the surface at the mention of his cousin’s name. It disappeared as quickly as it came. “I’m talking about something real. Something honest. I’m talking about explaning yourself, your real self .”

“The label will take issue with that.” He pulled his fingers through his hair, tying the length back with a plastic holder he pulled from his jeans pocket. “I have an image .”

He sounded a little sad, a lot petulant, and I couldn’t hold back the biting sarcasm that came out in my tone. “I didn’t realize you were their little bitch .”

Nostrils flaring, Dash dropped his hands at his sides, stepping in front of me, a silent warning. “I’m. Not .”

“Then what’s the problem ?”

He looked over my face, quiet, considering, taking a breath before he answered. “This,” he said, waving a hand toward the worn and flaking make-up from his face, “is my bread and butter. It’s what I am .”

“No,” I said, the tension in my face easing when I remembered Jamie playing his guitar for me on my eighteenth birthday. He might have destroyed me, but I couldn’t deny the truth, even if he didn’t see it. I’d seen a glimmer of who he was tonight between the screaming fans and the jarring music. Somewhere behind all that make-up, all that showmanship was the artist. “That’s what they want you to be. I know you, Jamie. I remember. This isn’t who you really are.” I touched the leather sleeve of his jacket. “I can show them who you really are .”

I had an agenda and Jamie knew it, saw it clearly when he looked at me because I wouldn’t hide it. We’d made a mess of each other over the years and there was too much anger and resentment to change that. But the music brought us together. It always would. Even if I hated him, I couldn’t go on letting him believe he was nothing more than a face painted up for the audience .

“You must want this interview bad,” he said, curling his mouth into a twist. “Bad enough to stroke my ego.” I wouldn’t correct him. Dash didn’t deserve an explanation from me. When he’d finished running through scenarios or likely his own ideas about my agenda, he lowered his shoulders, folding his arms together before he settled a firm glare down at me. “If I say no ?”

I didn’t hesitate, had the answer loaded before I’d walked into this room. “Then the shock rock God bullshit gets called out for the crap it is.” He moved his head, tipping it toward me and I met his glare with one of my own. “Then the world goes on thinking I’m the whore you promised, but they also find out what a hapless little virgin you were.” That stung him. The insult was sharp, came out across his face, twisted his mouth so that his top lip shook. But Dash was cool, a pro at hiding his disappointment. It came from years of dealing with his mother’s drunken anger and the racist Willow Heights assholes that loved and hated him in equal measure. I added to it on principle, because I knew insulting our first time together was something that would cut the deepest. “They’ll find out how I had to tell you what to do. How you needed my direction to get me off. How you cried when it was over. But that wasn’t all, was it, Jamie? What about your promises? What about the music? How you promised you’d never sell out to a label and that’s the first damn thing you did .”

He grunted, glaring at me with a mix of disbelief and fury. “Unbelievable,” he said, lowering his arms. The light in the room brightened when somewhere on the other side of that curtain, the party went on, strobes flickering around the ceiling. Dash didn’t seem to notice it, but there were streams of red and blue circcling us, shooting light across his face so that his irritation was exaggerated. “You want to destroy me? You want me to pay, don’t you? That kind of piece would erradicate my brand .”

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” I said, mimicking his earlier words. I hated that my voice shook, that my anger had crested the more hurt and devestated he seemed. Him? Devestated? There was no comparison. I blinked at him, pushing back the zip of rage I felt when the music on the other side of the room shifted and 1221 blasted through the speakers. We both turned toward the song, but I was the only one trying to control my anger. “Don’t worry,” I said, doing my best to bring the conversation back to what I wanted and how he could give it to me. “I’m looking to save my reputation. I won’t do that by writing some fluff piece. It has to be real and honest .”

Dash nodded, though I didn’t think he was agreeing that quickly. Instead, he stepped back, pulling off his jacket to fling it across the sofa. He ignored me for the most part, only looking back up at me when the chorous sounded and the party-going crowd started to drunkenly shout along with the song .

There was something a little sad behind that sinister grin, something that made my stomach coil and my fist shake. But I wouldn’t let him see it. Instead, I walked around the makeshift room, draging my hair through my fingers .

“No shame,” I said, wondering how close he stood. “No respect for the memory .”

“Didn’t you just insult that memory too?” His voice sounded close and I moved my head up, glancing over one shoulder, surprised when I noticed him just behind me. He smelled mildly of sweat and cigarettes and a smell I couldn’t place. A scent that shifted the anger into something reminding me of need. He hated me, I knew that and God knew I couldn’t stand him either. But we’d never be able to keep the energy between us cool. Even lions will go on wanting to be filled when they catch the scent of their prey. Problem was, I wasn’t sure who was the predator in this scenario .

Dash stood so close I could feel the outline of his thigh right against my hip, but he made no move to touch me. “What did you call me? Hapless? That right, chica? ” He moved closer, mouth hot against my ear. “I remember you moaning my name. I remember how wet that chocha got the harder I drove inside you. I remember how hard you came, how soaked we both were when it was over.” I ignored him, crossing my arms, clenching deep inside, trying to remind myself of the asshole Dash had become. Still, he tried, exhaling a little to toussle my hair off my neck. “I remember I got good at it.” He lowered, moving his nose up my neck and I tried to repress the shudder that took over my limbs. I failed miseribly. Dash smiled against my skin and I tightened my eyes, swallowing as he hummed the melody still thumping in the background. “I remember we both got muy bueno. Caliente , even.” Dash slipped a hand over my stomach, coming closer and, God help me, I let him. “You still buena at it ?”

I stepped back, out of his touch. The song faded into another track, and I watched those dark eyes simmering with something I hadn’t seen in a long time. Something that told me Dash still wanted me .

“You’re never going to get an answer to that question, Jamie.” He smiled, but it was weak, barely a movement of his lips at all. “So?” I said, ignoring the way he moved his gaze over my face, how it lowered to my neck and around my breast. I snapped my fingers and he returned his attention to my face. “The interview ?”

Dash sighed, looking disappointed but stepped away, giving me a breath as he slumped onto the sofa. “The label might actually go for it…if it can calm the shit storm some of my songs have caused.” I followed him, settling back on the coffee table as he went for another smoke. “There are bullshit PC groups that protest my shows and boycott my vendors .”

“That happens when you act like a pig, Jamie .”

He rolled his eyes, shrugging as he exhaled a plume of smoke. “You know I’m not that guy. Mierda , it’s just an act .”

I leaned back, studying his features when he looked up at the ceiling. “Exactly my point .”

He still did that, the same little eye roll and shift in his gaze upward when he tried to figure something out. “I’m on tour.” It was a pathetic excuse. Tours meant traveling. It mean long roadtrips and a lot of idle time. He was grabbing for reasons to put me off. Nothing would .

“I don’t have a job and can’t land one because of you,” I told him, waving away the smoke when it floated in my direction. “I can tour with you .”

There wasn’t much I could make of the look he gave me then, but something in it made me shudder. My mother had always called it a ghost walk—some spirit walking over your grave in the distant future. Whatever it was shot warning bells off in my mind. It had me debating the wisdom of being anywhere alone with Dash .

“You want to be seen with me?” He leaned forward, arms resting on his legs. That cigarette hung from his fingers and I moved away from it .

“No particularly, but I can handle gossip .”

He inhaled, watching me closely. “You aren’t plotting something ?”

“I’m always plotting things, Jamie .”

“You gotta lay off calling me that, chica .”

He took another drag and I pulled the cigarette from his mouth. “I will if you quit this shit when I’m around.” He watched me as I leaned over, smashing the the lit cigarette in the ashtray. “It stinks .”

He rested against the sofa, arm stretched along the back, legs spread as he relaxed. “Same Iris. Bossy as hell.” It was a lull, but only a small one while he seemed to decide what to make of my offer. As he thought, he took to watching me again, gaze lingering over my body as though he needed a moment to check me out, see how different, how similar I was now. But the look he gave me wasn’t appriasing, and that feeling came back to me, the one that made my anger dim and lust course right along with the rage the harder he looked. Finally, Dash broke the spell, flashing a slow, sinister smile that made him look hungry. “I get final approval .”

“Maybe,” I answered, instinctively hesitant to agree .

“Yes or it’s no deal .”

I sat up, copying his earlier move and rested my arms on my legs. “Fine, but nothing is off topic. Nothing .”

“Fine,” he agreed, mimicking me with a lean forward. We sat across from each other staring, watching, just a foot apart. “But you stay clear of Isaiah .”

I blinked, head tilted as him. I couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Why ?”

Dash rubbed his lips together, an effort, I knew, to keep from frowning. He’d done that a thousand times when we were kids, anytime one of his mother’s boyfriends got a little loud. She never wanted him pissing off whatever asshole was warming her bed. But I’d never take Dash Justice for the jealous type. Not after so long anyway .

“You have to ask?” He went on staring, fighting to keep his expression neutral before his shrugged, waving off his answer like it wasn’t the big deal it sounded like to me .

For the first time that I’d seen him in years, I realized that Dash’s anger came from a long-ago committed sin. Mine, not his. And despite what he’d promised me years ago, he hadn’t gotten over it. “You told me you didn’t live in the past. You remember that?” He nodded, but it was barely an acknowledgment of the conversation we’d had outside of Kylie’s hotel room. He’d been half naked then, and so fucking cruel. It was the day I’d started hating him. “That was a lie ?”

“It wasn’t a lie, chica. ” He grabbed the bottle of Jim, downing a guzzle like it was water. “I got over you a long time ago, get that squared away in your head .”

“Didn’t feel like that when I was on your lap .”

Dash laughed, low and quick, but kept no smile on his face. “I get hard hearing a sweet riff. I’m not a liar, and you’ll never hear me telling a soul I don’t think you’re hot. You are .”

“So I’m a good guitar riff? Worthy of a hard on, but not your cousin’s company ?”

“No. You’re not.” He stood, walking to the curtain before he turned to me. “I might think you’re fuckable. I might think you’re hot. I might even agree to this loco interview but don’t for a second think we’re going to walk down memory lane. I don’t do that.” He nodded toward the curtain, telling me to leave with one jerk of his chin. “There will be a contract to cover my ass. I don’t like what you write, it doesn’t get it printed .”

I stood in front of him, waiting, wondering how much of his bravado was the rock god act and how much was Jamie hiding. He gave nothing away as he pulled back the curtain for me .

“If you’re honest, if you’re real, then this might come out okay for both of us,” I told him, turning to stare up at him. “You’re not the only one refusing to live in the past, Jamie. I don’t either and I will never stop hating you.” Heat flared between my legs, but I squashed it

“Back atacha, chica ,” he said, mouth twitching again and something that reminded me of fire buring in his eyes .