Mal's on top of shit. Well, somebody, the tour manager I guess, is on top of shit. The hotel already has a room for me.

I'm running on three hours of sleep. Four, maybe. I need a bed. Then lunch and a shower. Then it's me and Mal's laptop until I clean up the books.

Ethan slides his arm around my waist and motions to the elevator bank.

Kit shoots me a concerned look. Mal smiles like he's pleased with himself. Joel watches with mild amusement.

We're entertainment for the three of them.

That's neat.

At the moment, I'm too tired to care. Or maybe I'm too high on the heat of Ethan's palm against my side.

I grab my rolling duffel bag—Ethan bought it for me because its purple color was labeled electric violet—by the handle and wheel it towards the elevator. Then I shoot Mal a mind your own business look.

He raises his eyebrows, incredulous.

He can play as incredulous as he wants. I know what it's like to look after your little brother.

I chew on my bottom lip. I can't go back to that. Not right now. I fight the desire that wells up on my chest. I want someone to understand, to hold me and tell me it's okay, that it wasn't my fault, that it will hurt less tomorrow, and even less the day after that. And, if I keep going, it will keep hurting a little bit less every day, and eventually it will be like an achy joint instead of a broken bone.

I want to believe that, but it's been two years now, and I still feel like the ground is crumbling every time I think about Asher.

We step into the elevator. Ethan pushes the button for my floor. He's smiling, his blue eyes bright. There's a real boyish charm to Ethan. Don't get me wrong—he's a man in every sense of the word. But he lights up like a little kid on Christmas morning when he's happy.

His smile is warm enough to melt glaciers.

Maybe even the one around my heart.

He was supposed to be that person—the one who held me and promised it would be okay.

But now…

I want him, I do, but I need to be careful. My heart won't survive another fracture.

Ding. The elevator doors slide open. I squeeze my suitcase handle and shove my free hand into my back pocket.

He presses his palm into my lower back and guides me to my room at the end of the hallway. I set my duffel bag down, take the key from him, and unlock the door.

I take a deep breath and look into Ethan's clear blue eyes. "Thanks. I, uh—"

"I'll let you get back to sleep." He smiles. "How about lunch?"

"I should work."

"We'll make it a late lunch. I know a place in the city that has fancy tea and food pairings. Drew's fiancée, Kara, she's into tea too. She loves it."

"Okay." I've seen Drew before and he's all kinds of hot (or maybe I have a thing for tattooed guitarists). The woman clearly has good taste.

Just like last night, Ethan moves closer. Then his lips are on mine. It's a quick second, but that's enough to set my body on fire.

"Sweet dreams, Vi."

It takes every bit of restraint I have to resist inviting him in.

* * *

I take a long, hot shower and collapse on the hotel bed. The room is cool and dark, the bed is comfortable, the covers are encompassing but, still, I can't sleep.

My brain refuses to slow. It's fixed on the feeling of Ethan's hand on my side, of his lips on my lips, of his hard chest against my palm.

I close my eyes and let my mind fill with beautiful mental images—Ethan stripping out of his jeans and pressing his hard, sweaty body against mine. Ethan undoing the buttons of my jeans, pushing them off my hips, and pressing his palm against me. Ethan sliding his tongue into my mouth, pulling my panties aside, and stroking me to an orgasm.

My body wakes up. Hell, it's on fire. Sleep, what sleep? This bed is no place for sleep. This bed is a place for Ethan to strip off his clothes. Then mine. Then his hands—those strong, nimble guitarist's hands—can be on every inch of my skin. And my hands can be wrapped around his cock, and I can be the one making his blue eyes fill with pleasure. And then he can be inside me, pinning me to the bed, sinking his teeth into my neck, and the two of us can come together again and again and again-

I push my boxers off my hips and slide my hand below my belly button. I think of Ethan and me together, here, our bodies erasing all the hurt between us.

It only takes a few minutes for pleasure to fill my body. Tension knots inside me, then it's unfurling. Every part of me feels good, but I'm not satisfied. I'm only hungrier for him.

Maybe I should go again.

Maybe…

I contemplate the matter for long enough to drift into that half-asleep, half-awake state.

A knock on the door pulls me out of my fantasies.

"Hey, Vi, you up?" Ethan's voice is soft.

Sleep isn't happening. But I can't invite him into my bed. Not yet. "Yeah. Give me two minutes." I go to the bathroom to wash my hands and brush my teeth.

I'm not wearing any makeup. My hair is a mess. It's not that I'm vain. Makeup is my shield. Without it, I feel naked and vulnerable. I'm not ready to feel like that with Ethan. Not yet.

He knocks again.

"One more minute." I grab my concealer and apply it. Then eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. There. That's better. I go to the door and pull it open.

He's smiling that same I'm happy just to see you smile. He hands me a take-out coffee cup. "Your unsweetened matcha latte."

I take it. "Thank you."

"Don't worry. It's with almond milk."

"I wasn't worried." Okay, my brow is a little furrowed. It's unsettling how well Ethan remembers everything. It doesn't make sense—he remembers all these little details about me, about us, but he also goes around nailing strangers every night.

Maybe that's his way of coping. Fine. I can live with that.

But he threw me away. How can he be so happy to see me now? How can he remember my drink order?

Why is he looking at me like he's still in love with me?

I take a long sip to keep from touching him. It also spares me the trouble of forming a response. I appreciate the drink but I'd rather have you in my mouth is not what I want to say here.

"Thank you. It's perfect." I hold his gaze. Somehow, I manage to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground too.

"I'll let you get to work." He takes a step backwards. "Unless you want to head to lunch now?"

I look back into my room to check the time. Lunch is reasonable and my stomach is growling at the thought of food. Say eggs with avocado, or a sandwich with extra avocado, or a giant bowl of guacamole and a spoon.

Ethan laughs. "Let me guess—you want tacos with extra guacamole?"

I admit nothing. "We should try the tea place."

"They have an avocado sandwich."

"A wise menu addition."

"Meet me in the lobby in five? We can walk from here."

My knees go weak as his smile spreads across his cheeks. My body is still tuned to the Ethan is a sex god channel.

I want to feel good. And his smile fills me with warm, gooey affection.

It's only lunch.

I can do lunch.

"Make it ten," I say.

"Need more eyeliner?"

I laugh. "Yes."

"Me too."

Lord help me.