I look at her again, this time with more discernment, trying to get a read on her features.
Is she a stalker? Reporter? Groupie?
I study her as she takes a tentative step out from the alcove. A sense of familiarity pricks at me.
Ruby red lips.
Long legs.
A short dress.
I swallow, my chest expanding as I inch in closer.
It can’t be. She isn’t supposed to be working tonight. I called earlier and checked with the manager to make sure.
It’s funny why I chose this place for our group tonight. It’s because I want to be where she’s been—without actually seeing her.
“Rose?”
Her name on my lips is like a blow to my heart.
“Spider.” She moves fully out from the shadows and the overhead lighting illuminates her face.
I suck in a sharp breath.
She’s different with the auburn hair. God, I can barely believe it’s her.
But it is . . .
She’s beautiful . . . magnified by a million.
Wearing a short beaded white dress with spaghetti straps, she stands there with a slight tilt to her chin, as if preparing to battle. Green eyes that once read my soul peer up at me. She reaches out to steady herself on the painted white brick of the wall.
I can barely breathe, and I don’t think she’s unaffected by me.
“What are you doing?” I ask. Such a stupid question.
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out, until finally she clears her throat. “I work here . . . literally I’m a server.” Her breath and voice seem to gather strength as she speaks, her features settling into a cool mask as she composes herself.
Of course, I know this, but I can’t tell her how.
I clutch both my hands in my hair, just to stop myself from reaching out to her. I mean, it’s been my intention since I got clean to get her back, but I’ve been waiting . . . I don’t know what for. God, I’m scared.
I’m fucking terrified she’ll hate me.
I’m fucking terrified she’ll love me and then leave me.
I’m not prepared to see her tonight, and my heart pounds.
“You’re real then?”
I ask because there are nights when I think she is with me, nights when I was stoned or high and she was fuzzy image in the background.
“I am.”
I lean my shoulder against the wall, digging deep for some nonchalance. I’m fresh from a performance and feeling edgy; there’s no telling what I might say to her. “I’ve imagined this a thousand times . . . seeing you again.”
She flushes, the red color rising up her cheeks. “Yeah, I bet,” she says dryly. “I came to see you at a concert two years ago. I showed up at the stage door, but you obviously didn’t want to see me. It was a weak moment on my part. It’ll never happen again.” She shrugs. “You never manage to see me at the family holiday dinners either.”
Because it hurts to see what I lost.
Someone brushes past us as they exit the restroom, and I barely look at them.
I bite my lip. “I know. I’m busy. I go home when I can. Bella . . . she’s amazing. I’m crazy about her. She calls me “Spidie”.”
She nods, her lips flattening.
Fuck.
She’s angry with me.
Can you blame her?
She moves her head and a copper curl slides over her shoulder and down into the cleavage of her dress.
“I like your hair.”
Still stupid, Spider.
She swallows. “I . . . need to go. Oscar is upstairs . . .” Her voice trails off as she turns to leave.
I grab her arm. “Wait.”
“What?” She blinks down at my arm and then back up at me, swaying on her feet.
“Are you okay?”
She shakes her head, her eyes bright. “No . . . yes . . . I don’t know. I just didn’t expect to see you.”
My heart hammers. Fuck. She’s so . . . Rose . . . and my head is all over the place. “Are you glad you did?”
“No.”
“Rose!” Someone calls out her name. She turns her head and her face fills with something that looks like relief.
I turn to watch as Trenton approaches, wearing a gray suit, no longer a fresh young boy of seventeen. He kisses her on the cheek before whispering something in her ear that makes her smile.
My heart flops around like a dying fish.
“Trenton, you remember my stepbrother, Spider?” She gives me a brief and rather formal smile.
He grabs my hand, shaking it firmly, looking every inch the polished businessman he clearly strives to be. More gregarious than I recall, he slaps me on the shoulder, and I notice he’s been drinking, a lot, if the intensity of the smell of bourbon is anything to go by.
“Of course, the music guy. Hope you’re not here to steal my girl from me.” He laughs and glances at Rose, who attempts a half-smile. “She’s always listening to your music, man. Loves it.”
“He’s my stepbrother,” she murmurs.
Trenton waves her off with a grin. “You know what I mean, sweetie.” He palms her lower back, just skirting her ass, and kisses her again, this time on the lips. Shit, am I supposed to leave? Walk away?
I can’t.
It’s like a train wreck you can’t help but watch even though you’re standing right there on the fucking tracks, knowing it’s going to kill you.
“Someone’s been drinking tequila,” he murmurs, laughing under his breath as he curls an arm around her waist. “I know what that means. You feel like getting out of here and going back to your place sooner rather than later?”
A ghost of a smile appears on her lips. “We have clubbing plans.”
He leans in to smell her neck. “You smell so fucking good.”
I recall her smell, honey and vanilla. I feel my teeth grinding, but still I can’t do the gentlemanly thing and leave. Instead, I clench my fists, a muscle popping in my jaw.
Trenton eases back and sends me a sly look. “Sorry for the PDA. I haven’t seen her much this week . . .” he rambles, something about an important job and how he hated to miss her birthday celebration so he tore himself away to see her . . . blah, blah, blah.
I’m not listening. I’m watching her.
She stands in the circle of his arms, and we stare at each other.
It’s as if Trenton doesn’t exist and we’re silently having our own conversation.
She appears cool, like a fucking mannequin in a department store, but I know it’s a lie when I see the telltale pulse in her neck, the way it throbs furiously against her creamy skin.
She breaks eye contact with me to smile up at Trenton and I exhale, feeling angry. Look at me! I want to say.
Fuck.
Four years is a long time. A lot of things can happen—the Olympics, the World Cup, an entire presidential term.
Hell, anything can happen.
Maybe she’s completely over me.
I’m not over her.
“Hey, Oscar and some friends are upstairs,” Trenton says, his words penetrating my brain and bringing me out of my fog. “You wanna join us?” He’s looking at me.
“I can’t, gotta rest up.” I palm my spider tattoo, a sure sign I’m in a tailspin, and Rose watches me, her analytical brain not missing it. A frown appears on her face as she intently stares, her eyes focused on my hand on my neck.
Shit.