I need to watch it.

Jumping in her Uber was one thing, and she sure as hell didn’t stop me from following her into the apartment, but seriously, I need to chill.

Our proximity …

The fact that she’s been sitting with me in the park. Singing with me.

The lyrics I was working out on that bench. The ones that were all about her.

And, now, I’m standing here with the heat of her palm searing through the layers of my clothes, practically burning my skin. Months of pent-up frustration, lust, and desire dance through my body, my muscles clenching and ready to spring at her. Wrap her up and go back to that night when everything felt so right.

“Gracyn, why would you allow someone to treat you like they owned you, like you were nothing more than an object? That’s not you.” I take another step forward, guiding her back toward the couch.

She moves with me until the backs of her legs make contact, and then everything about her changes. Every muscle tenses, and she pulls her lip into her mouth, firmly tucking it between her teeth. Her eyes dart to the corner of the couch, to the pile of blankets there. The suitcase lying open on the floor.

“G, is someone else staying here with you? Sleeping on the couch?” I don’t like the way this feels. Don’t like the idea of someone else sharing her space.

Gracyn stumbles, reaching for a pillow, trying to tidy things up, fussing over the mess. “No, I …” She catches herself, stopping her awkward tumble. She tries to stand and ends up falling back onto the cushions, head hanging, shoulders slumped forward. “I just hate it here. This apartment, it’s … I don’t like staying here.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it? The mattress lumpy or …”

All color drains from Gracyn’s face, and her eyes blow wide open.

“Are you afraid? Has something happened?” Hands resting on my hips, I take in every corner of the apartment. There are no less than four different locks on the door. It’s below the sidewalk, but the windows look new, sturdy. “Gracyn, what’s wrong? Babe, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t go in the bedroom. I can barely stand to be in here at all. There just aren’t any other options when I stay down here for work.” This strong, kick-ass girl is deflating, folding into herself, and that shit don’t fly.

I will never forget how she literally turned my world upside down in Florida, when I watched the horizon twist and turn. The soft sand slamming the air out of my lungs as I landed on my back. I don’t even know who she is right now.

The coffee table looks solid enough, so I park my ass on the edge, right in front of her. “Why? What happened in that bedroom, Gracyn?” Someone sharing her space is the least of my worries now. My mind skitters over all the shitty things that can happen to a woman. Not being sexist, but there are some fucking assholes out there who have no problem taking what a woman won’t willingly give. Finger under her chin, I tilt her face to mine. “Did someone—”

“No. No, not that. No.” Wavy blonde tendrils swish around her face as she shakes her head. “It’s been a shitshow. My dad keeps this apartment for business purposes. At least, that’s what he’s been telling my mom for years.” A humorless laugh fills the space between us as Gracyn rolls her eyes toward the bedroom. “Turns out, it’s been mostly for pleasure.” The look of disgust doesn’t just mar her gorgeous face; it takes up residence in her entire being. “And, because he’s the epitome of a stingy accountant, he insists that I stay here while I’m meeting with the Langstons. Do you know how disgusting it is? I have to stay in the apartment where my dad fucks around on my mom. But, as long as it keeps up appearances …”

“How long? Not that it matters.” Warmth tingles through me as I wrap her hands in mine. Without even thinking, I bring them to my lips and hold them there.

Silence stretches between us long enough that I think she’s not going to answer. That she’s going to shut down and close me out.

“I’ve known since my junior year. My mom called that morning in Destin; that’s why I left without saying goodbye. She was crying, insisting I come home.” Gracyn is staring at our hands, looking at our entwined fingers but at the same time, not quite focusing on them. She’s wrestling with something bigger than the fact that her dad is a piece of shit.

“Did she leave him, your mom?”

She finally looks up at me, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Doesn’t even come close. “Of course not. Appearances are everything. Can’t have people knowing that their accountant is a lying, cheating bastard. That would hurt business.”

I plant a kiss on her hands and shift them, so I’ve got one tightly clasped in each of mine. Her palms are soft and smooth against my callused fingertips.

Seeing her like this hurts. It’s not how I remember her, sassy and vibrant. Experiencing this side of Gracyn makes me want to fix things, take care of her. Make everything better.

“How long are you working in the city?” Liquid chocolate eyes meet mine, searching, questioning. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Grab your stuff.” I pick up the blanket and start to fold it.

“What?”

“Gracyn, stay with me.”

“Why?”

There she is. There’s the girl I remember. She cuts me a look like she doesn’t trust my intentions. My fucking intentions are nothing but good and pure. Mostly.

“Because I have a suite at the Renaissance in Times Square. You can have the bed; I don’t care. But we have a lot to talk about. You need to sleep, and I need to know you’re okay. I need to know what the fuck happened, sweetheart.” I don’t make a habit of doing the macho, alpha thing; it’s so not my shtick, but she needs a little push right now. “Pack your shit, and let’s go. I have a song to write and a date in the park to play tomorrow morning.” I grab her suitcase off the floor, setting it on the coffee table.

She still hasn’t moved.

“Let’s go.”

Finally, Gracyn stands up and starts gathering shoes and blouses, putting them all in her bag.

“You want me to get the bathroom?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“No, I’ve got it.” And she does.

Once her mind is made up, it takes no time at all for her to be ready to leave this den of iniquity behind. We lock the door just as the cab I ordered pulls up to the curb.

“Renaissance Times Square. Can you take us to the service entrance on Forty-Eighth? Thanks.”

“Are we sneaking into the hotel?” Gracyn speaks quietly and gives me a rock-solid side-eye.

“No, but there’ve been some fans camped out front the past couple of days. I don’t know who leaked where I’m staying, but I’m trying to avoid them for the time being.” I chuckle at her wide eyes and the way her mouth has fallen open, like she’s shocked. “I told you, we have a lot to talk about.”

Our car passes the front of the Renaissance and turns left down a side street, stopping at a double metal door.

Gavin jumps out, grabbing my bag and his guitar case. He takes a twenty from his wallet and hands it to the driver. “Thanks, man. I appreciate the accommodation. Gracyn, babe, let’s go. We need to hustle.”

My purse snags on the door as I climb out of the car, spilling some pens and my favorite lip gloss. I stop, scooping them up before they roll through a subway grate. Last time I was in the city, I dropped my favorite pen through a grate as soon as I stepped out of Grand Central Station. It was a pen from my favorite author, and while that shouldn’t matter, it does. It so does.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Gavin stares toward the far edge of the hotel, scanning everyone who turns the corner. He curses under his breath as I cross the sidewalk, settling my computer bag on my shoulder.

“Who are you looking for?” I ask, trying to see what he’s so agitated by. As the question tumbles from my lips, a group of young girls round the corner and come to a dead stop.

It’s a cartoon moment, one where the character’s eyes pop out of their head. Where there’s a blissful five seconds before the scream makes it out. And I’m just standing stock-still, watching it all unfold.

Screams of, “Oh my God, oh my God …” layered over, “Gavin, I love you!” and the sound of feet pounding on pavement pull me from my trance.

“Gracyn, I need you to move—now,” Gavin growls at me, one foot propping the metal door open.