“I was close to begging,” I whisper hoarsely, “and Jesus, Easton, I should have. That was…fucking incredible.” I shake my head, completely bewildered. “You memorized that song after hearing it once, didn’t you?”
He slowly nods, his hazel eyes sweeping my face, soaking in my response as if he wants to remember it. Undeniable warmth bounces between us as I laugh at my continually watering eyes, my voice hoarse as I step up to him. When he clears the piano and peers down at me, his jade eyes gleam with what can only be perceived as happiness.
“Easton?”
“Yeah,” he rasps out, his gaze penetrating mine in a way I could never look away.
“Can your first fan buy you dinner?”
Shortly after, I run up to my hotel room to shower and change while Easton has a beer at the bar. We end up dining at the hotel restaurant, Six Seven, tucked away at a comfortable corner table—both of us severely underdressed. With the sun absent, soft amber light filters throughout the restaurant, making it feel unavoidably intimate.
We’ve been drinking dark beer and taking bites from each other’s plates since we sat down, and I felt another shift between us.
A soft glow from the candle licks along Easton’s profile as he bites on rare steak and shiitake mushrooms, his eyes scanning the eatery occasionally for prying eyes. Surprisingly, I’m at ease. We’ve been out and about for days without encountering paparazzi, but I’m no stranger to the game. I know the rules, as does he. “Paps aren’t allowed inside.”
“Like that will stop them,” he huffs in disgust.
I can’t help but feel the threat of that truth and glance around briefly. If anyone should be nervous about getting caught on the opposite side of a lens with Easton Crowne, it’s me. Even so, I ask a question that’s come to mind more than once, as casually as I can muster. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
He pulls on his Smoked Porter, shaking his head. “No.”
“Is it purposeful? Do you fuck for sport?”
He pauses his fork halfway to his mouth, his eyes flaring at the invasion.
“Off-record, of course,” I add.
“Women aren’t a sport for me,” he says, bracing his forearms on the table and leans in, his whisper loaded, “so I fuck because it feels good.”
Heat covers me at the suggestive implication in his voice as I press my lips together before replying. “Well, that’s just as good of a reason as any, I guess,” I hold up my dwindling beer to our waitress, signaling for another before eyeing him, “and practice makes perfect.”
Stop flirting with the supernova, you idiot!
“You haven’t mentioned one either,” he says, wiping his perfect mouth with his perfect hands as his perfect eyes continue to poke gaping holes in my rapidly disintegrating resolve. According to my third dark beer, the truth is that I’m already missing the feel of his hand as I try to push down thoughts of what his skilled fingers are capable of.
If I’m reading him right, he’s been mentally undressing me since we took our seats at the table. The buzz that’s been brewing between us since we met is now palpable and moving rapidly in a dangerous direction.
Shut it down now, Natalie.
“I have no man to speak of at the moment.”
Idiot!
“Dated a guy—Carson—in college for a year and a half until we graduated. He took a job in New York, which ended us. That’s about the extent of my serious dating history. I’m at that ‘career comes first stage’ anyway.”
He lays his knife and fork on his plate and tips back, his posture screaming ‘bullshit’ before he calls me on it.
“So, that’s what you’re telling yourself.”
“Damn, and here I thought you were going to make it a whole day without going A-side asshole.” I flash him a sarcastic grin.
“Okay,” his shoulders go rigid as he tosses his napkin. “If we’re blowing smoke up each other’s asses, I guess I can give you the, ‘I’m a guy who has to be careful because I have famous parents and am about to start a music career, so it’s not an optimal time to have anything serious going on’ spiel.”
“Makes sense,” I concede easily.
His eyes flare in warning, and I harden my stare in return.
“No, it fucking doesn’t. You don’t deny yourself anything you want in life because of timing. That’s a coward’s excuse.”
“I disagree. But you might want to watch yourself pointing out bravery as a barrier.”
My remark cuts both ways as his eyes fill with fury. Regret saturates me, and I instantly backpedal. “Easton, I didn’t mean—”
“So, I hit a nerve, a big one, apparently,” he delivers smugly, pinning me with his hardening gaze, searing me. “What was it exactly?”
“This is nice,” I sip my beer. “I’m having a good time. Let’s not fuck it up with brutal honesty.”
“It’s the only way I function,” he delivers with a harsh bite before turning and glaring out of a nearby window for several seconds. Seconds that don’t tamp down any part of his anger before he flicks his furious gaze back to mine. “You’re really going to check out on me now?”
“What do you want from me, Easton? I’ve been a train wreck since I got here.”
“And so…what? You don’t have to go into hiding now.”
I glance around because his bark isn’t light. Seeing the warning consume his posture, I lean in.
“Look, I’m just trying to keep things profess—”
“Oh, hell no,” he says, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and tossing his card on the table. “Fuck this.”
“Easton,” I fumble for the right thing to say to start damage control. “I told you I’m paying for dinner.” Definitely not the right thing to say. “It’s the least I can do.”
Way to go, Natalie. You might as well have punched him in the dick.
He silently glares at me as he tugs at his beer. Panic starts to set in as I realize he’s probably weighing his decision to stay or go.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You’re right, and I had no right to turn what you told me in confidence against you. It’s unforgivable, but please try, if you can, to forgive me. I’m projecting. I’m the asshole, okay? But like I told you, you’re freer than you think.”
“And that trap is in your mind,” he hisses, “you’re doing it right now.”
“I envy you, truly, the way you—”
He snaps to his feet, decision made, patience evaporating as I grip his arm to stop him. “Easton, I have my reasons. Please don’t be upset.”
“Fuck that, Natalie. I’m not going to watch you build a wall between us after I—” bared myself to you.
Even though he doesn’t say it, it’s heavily implied truth. He has bared himself, and I’ve done nothing but play into my lie, giving him nothing concrete. He fists his hands at his sides, his patience long gone as my window to come clean nears an inch from slamming shut.
“Easton, as much as a hypocrite as you think I may be right now, you have a public persona too.”
“I didn’t create it, and I sure as fuck don’t feed into it,” he spits, animosity radiating from him, putting purposeful space between us. It’s surprisingly painful, and while I hate it, I understand his anger.
“No, you don’t feed into it, which makes you braver than most—than me. I’m not denying that, but we all can’t walk around running rampant with our feelings. It’s exhausting.”
“Have you ever once stopped to think that’s maybe why you’re exhausted?”
“Jesus, it really is all or nothing with you, isn’t it?”
He gives me a dead stare because the question is redundant. I knew within five minutes of meeting him that he despises a disguise or even a thin coat of armor.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, knowing I made the wrong call as he stares down at the hand still clutching his arm, nostrils flaring. He’s holding back wrath I deserve, and for that, I’m thankful.
“Just so you fucking know, that was my first time playing in public,” he delivers to my heart which explodes into a chaotic rhythm.