What the hell is happening? These girls are insane. And running right at me.

I gasp out a yelp when a strong hand wraps around my arm, pulling me into the dark service hallway of the hotel.

“Jesus, they were almost on us. What were you waiting for?”

“Gavin, what was that? What just happened out there?” I pull out of his grasp and point at the door like it has personally offended me.

“They’re just fans. We get that sometimes.” His jacket lifts as he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “That’s why I asked the driver to drop us back here, away from the front of the hotel. The manager made sure to give me the code to sneak in and out. They sure as hell don’t want the crowds of people out front, blocking access—”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

With a hand on top of his head, fingers twined through his tousled blond locks, Gavin barks out a laugh and quirks his eyebrow at me. “Have you been hiding under a rock? We just finished up our tour. How …”

I’m not stupid. I earned good grades and passed the CPA exam on the first try, but this isn’t computing. Like, not at all. Realization wraps itself around me. This is ridiculous, totally ridiculous.

They did it. His band …

“Come on. Let’s move before someone finds their way back here.” Hefting my suitcase in one hand and his guitar in the other, Gavin takes off down the dimly lit hall.

We step into the elevator, blissfully alone, and as soon as the doors slide shut, I turn, so we’re face-to-face. He got pushy and crowded my space earlier; now, it’s my turn.

“You finished a tour? As in a tour with who?”

He’s backed up against the handrail, both hands still firmly grasping the handles of our cases.

Before he has a chance to answer, the elevator stops, the doors opening to a private hallway with only a handful of doors off the space. Smirking, he launches his hips away from the wall and turns the tables, moving me out of the elevator, backing me into the hall. We are solidly right back in that thing we did in Destin—the push and pull. Vying for control.

“We’re the last one on the right. The key is in my back pocket. Wanna grab that?” He turns his ass to me. His ass that fills out his jeans like I’ve not seen in a long time. A year and a half really.

Biting my lower lip, I keep my chuckle contained and reach a hand into his pocket.

“Maybe it’s the other pocket.”

Right.

“Is it in your wallet? I don’t feel anything here.”

God, he’s still such a goof.

“Nope, not in my wallet. Hmm … I must have tucked it in my front pocket.” He turns to the right and holds his arms slightly away from his body. And he winks. He fucking winks at me, the smart-ass.

I slowly lean in, sliding my hand from his shoulder to down his arm, turning him so that he faces me directly. Voice low and breathy, I whisper, “Let me help you.” And I take hold of my suitcase, sliding it out of his grasp. “There you go. Do you need me to take your guitar case, too?”

“Jesus, Gracyn, you haven’t changed at all. You’re still crushing the dreams of starry-eyed assholes,” he says, his smirk twisting up the left side of his mouth.

Though his tone is joking, those words hit me straight in the chest, stilling my heart. I take a step back from the door to his suite as he pulls the key card from his pocket. Another step back as the lock clicks open. In the few seconds it takes Gavin to swing the door open, I’m halfway back to the elevator, angry, embarrassed tears stinging my eyes.

“G? What are you doing?”

Just a few more steps, and I can hit the button to get the elevator back here. If it’s close, still at this floor, I might be able to get in before the first tear falls. I have regretted leaving Destin every day since I snuck out from Gavin’s sleepy embrace, sure that he’d just end up lumping me in with the chick who cheated on him as a card-carrying member of the women-who-fucked-him-over club.

“Gracyn, stop. Where are you going?” I startle, not quite sure when he came after me. Gavin’s callused fingertips run down the back of my hand and grip the handle of my bag. “Turn around. Look at me,” he demands, voice soft but firm.

The call button is just out of my reach. Squaring my shoulders, my jaw clenched and eyes squeezed tight, I take a deep, bracing breath and pull my crazy emotions back in. Stuff them down where I don’t have to deal with them. Down where maybe they won’t be written across my face.

“I’ll just go. I don’t want to dash your dreams again and be the reason your poor ego gets crushed.” I try for flippant and unaffected but come off bitchy instead, and I know it.

Gavin’s brows rise, and his eyes go wide in surprise. “Yeah? And where are you going to go? Back to your father’s fuck nest?” he asks.

For the second time in a breath of a moment, his words punch the air from my lungs. I want to run, leave this place, and go home. Home to my apartment in Beekman Hills. Between Brooks and Gavin, I’m completely overwhelmed and I just want to settle into the corner of my couch and shut down for a day or three.

It’s not in me to crumble though. Not here, not in front of the guy I’ve obviously had on some kind of undeserved pedestal for the past eighteen months. The guy I thought might be the one, even after I ran away. The one who saw through my shit and called me on it almost from the start.

“I’ll figure it out. No worries.” I tug on my bag, trying to pull it free from his grasp.

Gavin holds firm and turns me toward him. “I don’t think so. What just happened? What’s with the attitude?”

The warmth from his hand grounds me, keeping me connected to him when all I want to do is run. Again.

I have nothing, no words. If I open my mouth, the tears might escape, and that’s not something I can handle right now, nor do I want to. The shake of my head is such a small motion, so negligible a movement, I’m almost positive he misses it.

“Just come inside. It’s late. We can talk and air this shit, or we can crash. I don’t care, but just stay.” He tugs at my bag, pulling me away from the elevator and back toward his room.

I follow him across the plush carpeting to the door he propped open with his guitar case. I follow, but it’s not without pause. Gavin sweeps down, scooping his guitar up in his free hand, and leads me into the living room of a stunning suite.

A luxurious velvet couch in deep blue is flanked by brown leather club chairs, grouped around a dark wood entertainment center. A bar is angled in the corner by the window framing a breathtaking view of the city.

Gavin relieves me of my bag, taking it through a door to the left and into the bedroom. I take in the lavish furnishings, the skyline, the stark difference between this and the last hotel room we were in together. The distinction is stark and marks a serious change in where Gavin is in the pursuit of his dream.

“Do you need a drink?”

I didn’t hear him come back into the room and startle at the sound of his voice. He stalks to the bar and pours himself a healthy measure of whiskey.

“Yeah. I think I do.” My words come out on a sigh, exhaustion rolling over me.

He grabs another glass and pours whiskey in that one as well. “Hang on. Let me run down the hall for some ice.” He sets the glass down and moves for the door.

“It’s fine like that,” I say, stopping him in his tracks.

He searches my face, obviously remembering my insistence on fresh ice and lots of it from our time … before.

“Really, it’s fine.” I reach past him, locking on to the tumbler. The heavy-cut crystal glass is cool against my flushed skin, still warm from anger and embarrassment.

From Gavin.