“Mountain air is the same as the air everywhere else.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s scientifically incorrect, but I digress. Why do you sound so grumpy?”
“Have you ever considered that this is just my personality?”
“Many times,” he says. “I’ve just been holding out hope that one day you’d change.”
Ignoring the spark of annoyance his words cause, I move back to sit at the table, propping my feet up on the surface. “You have a reason for calling, or are you just trying to piss me off?”
“Doesn’t exactly take much.” He laughs, and I remain silent.
After a beat, Liam clears his throat, and I can imagine him standing in front of the mirror in his apartment in Queens, sifting through an assortment of ties as he decides what to wear for the day.
When I had more things for him to do as my publicist, the morning phone calls were part of our off-tour routine. He’d check in while he got dressed, then stop by on his way to the little office space he rents downtown, usually with scones and coffee.
Sitting in this cabin with my empty refrigerator, I’ve never missed that more.
“Anyway,” he continues. “I just thought I’d let you know that I booked you for a New Year’s Eve party.”
“I told you, I’m not ready to perform—”
“You have to do it at some point, man. Consider this your reintroduction to the world as the new and improved Aiden James.”
A sharp pang flares up behind my ear, and I exhale, forcing my voice to remain even. “Fine. As long as I’m done here, I’ll do it.”
“You can’t really negotiate once the date’s been set—”
“I’m not asking for permission.” Carding a hand through my hair, I lean back in my chair, an abyss sprouting inside my chest, taking any ounce of joy or contentment with it. They disappear, leaving me hollow, as if they never existed in the first place.
“All right.” After a beat of tense silence, Liam asks, “So, are you enjoying Lunar Cove?”
“Not particularly.”
He sighs. “Are you even doing tourist shit, or are you sitting in your cabin wasting away?”
“I didn’t come here to do anything,” I reply. “I came to write, and that’s what I’m doing. You’re interrupting, actually.”
“Oh, I bet.” I can almost hear his eyes roll. “Well, don’t shoot the messenger if you come back home with a million regrets, all because you didn’t want to leave your bed while you were away. Life moves on, whether you enjoy your vacation or not.”
I don’t want to leave my bed at any point of the day. Dragging myself from it is the purest form of torture; my body sags into the mattress each morning, desperate to return to my unconscious state, where the only things that hurt me are figments of my imagination.
It’s a wonder I’ve been productive during my stay so far, at all, when apathy hangs over me like an angry storm cloud, constantly coating my skin in its acidic rain.
We hang up a second later, and I stare down at the documents in front of me. Toying with the rings on my fingers, I skim each page again, reminding myself that this is the overall goal of being here.
Not to have fun, but to ruin.
And I can’t very well do that from inside my cabin.
She looks surprised to see me, which I find amusing.
It’s like she still isn’t grasping the severity of this situation.
If she’s my pretty pink pop star, I’m her rabid fan.
And rabid fans don’t give up until they’ve gotten something from the object of their obsession.
Situated in the back corner booth at Dahlia’s, Riley pauses scrolling on her laptop when I step through the front door.
Her eyes harden, a glare marring her brows, and I smother a delirious grin.
Under the fluorescent lighting, her scars are plainly visible. Harsh pinks lighter than the blush tinge of her hair, and my dick jerks to life behind my jeans at the realization that she’s following orders.
“Oh, my god, oh my god,” a shrill voice calls, echoing through the empty sitting area. “Oh, my god!”
Tearing my gaze from Riley, I watch as the silver door to the kitchen swings open, and a girl with chestnut hair bounces out.
She’s wearing the same uniform that the other waitresses wear—a long-sleeved black T-shirt and dark jeans—and has a name tag strapped to her chest that says Dahlia, but this is my first time seeing her since I arrived.
Coming to a skidding halt in front of me, the girl huffs a breath, rustling the bangs that cover her forehead. She slaps a palm on the counter, practically wheezing, and looks up at me with dark-blue eyes.
“Oh my god,” she repeats, clasping her hands against her chest. “Caleb said you were in town, but I swear I thought he was lying. But he wasn’t! You’re here! Aiden freaking James is standing in my diner!”
I wince, wishing she’d keep her voice down. Even though the diner is mostly empty, the need for discretion was bred into me, and this girl seems like the kind of person to spread a rumor before you’ve even formally introduced yourself.
“The one and only,” I force out, giving her what I hope is still a charming smile.
To be honest, I haven’t smiled at anyone in a long time, so it’s possible that the gesture looks as painful as it feels.
She squeals, lifting up on her tiptoes, and starts to reach out to touch me. At the last second, though, she seems to think better of it, and instead gets stuck with her hands extended, mouth slightly ajar.
I raise my eyebrows, then chance a glance over her shoulder, warmth flooding my chest at the expression I find on Riley’s face.
Jaw set and ocean eyes blazing, she’s the embodiment of jealousy. It radiates off her in waves, recognizable because I know the feeling.
The fact that she’s this affected bodes very well for me.
“This is your diner?” I ask the girl, taking a slight step forward so the tips of her fingers brush my chest.