I quickly remove my hand and stick it in my pocket.
Her eyes snap back up to mine as she sucks in a sharp breath, her top teeth digging into her bottom lip. She isn’t fooled. She sees the rose tattoo on the top of my hand.
“Oh,” Trenton says, frowning. “But you guys haven’t seen each other in a while, and it’s her birthday . . .”
“I’m sure he’s here with other people,” Rose says quietly.
I nod, grabbing on to that. “Yeah, the whole band is here—roadies too. We’re in town for one more concert and then I’m off to London.” I clear my throat, my eyes eating her up one last time. “Look, it’s been great to see you . . . both of you.”
I don’t even give them time to murmur their goodbyes before I’m bolting away and back into the bar area. I find Sebastian, send him a final salute, and head out into the night.
I wake up cold and lonely in a king-sized bed and glare at the sliver of sunlight that glints in from the glass door that leads to the balcony outside. Scratching at the scruff on my jawline, I stretch out, loosening muscles that are tight from being on tour for the past four months. Besides the concert, the one thing I’m looking forward to the most before I leave New York is my art show. It’s been part of my recovery therapy and seeing it come to life means a lot to me.
The sound of music comes from the neighboring flat, and I turn my face toward the wall, listening. It’s one of ours, a remake of Pat Benatar’s “Love is a Battlefield”. I’m on backup, and the guitar is spot on.
A small smile plays around my mouth.
It’s surreal to think about how much success we’ve had, a lot of it owing to my father’s money and influence.
Thinking of him brings back everything from last night, and suddenly, I’m wide awake and standing.
Only one thought is running through my head right now.
I place my palm on the wall where the music came from.
Is that her?
Father said she was on the same floor as me and there’s only four apartments per level. I inhale a deep breath, as if I can smell her scent.
She is here . . . right here.
I fucking know it.
For the first time in a long time, unadulterated and unfettered joy that has nothing to do with drugs takes me over.
I sink down on the bed, feeling lightheaded.
She’s so close.
The question is . . . what am I going to do about it?
Rose
MY MUSIC BLARES FROM MY alarm at eight in the morning, my cue to get my butt out of bed. It’s Sunday and I have the eleven o’clock brunch shift at Bono’s.
My head pounds and my stomach rolls as I sit up. I definitely shouldn’t have had that last shot. Ugh. I scratch at the rat’s nest that is my hair and let out a deep exhale.
I hear Oscar banging pots and pans around as he makes his usual Sunday breakfast for us. From the bathroom, the sound of water comes on, and I figure it’s Trenton already up. He lives a few blocks from here, but stays over sometimes, or I stay at his place. He’s been asking me to move in with him permanently since graduation, but something holds me back. Besides, Robert lets Oscar and I live here rent-free. It’s not over-the-top fancy, but it’s nice and in a great part of Greenwich Village.
Oscar breezes in carrying a large ceramic unicorn mug with I’m Magical written on it. “Morning, sunshine. Thought you might need one of these after seeing a certain someone last night.” He sits next to me on the bed, sipping from his own matching mug.
I try to grin, as much as I can with a hangover. “Remind me to never drink again.”
He arches a brow. “You know what Frank Sinatra says about people who don’t drink . . . that when they wake up in the morning, it’s sad, because that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.” He chuckles as he sips on his coffee.
I smirk. “Your hero is wise, and you’re an old soul with the heart of a hipster.”
“You know it.” He eyes me carefully. “Seriously though, do you recall everything that happened last night?”
I squint, my brain attempting to retrace my night after seeing Spider, but it’s blurry. I scrunch my nose up. “Did I order something called a Cherry Blow Pop?”
“Three of them.”
I almost gag. “That’s why I’m so queasy.”
He crosses his legs. “Not surprising with peach and amaretto liqueur, and some kind of green liquid that I have no idea what it was.”
“That’s not even cherry!”
“I distinctly recall you not caring as long as it did the job.” He cocks his head. “But . . . a word of advice: the things you say when you’re drunk are usually what you really think when you’re sober.”
My head throbs even harder, if possible. “Crap. What did I say?”
Oscar grimaces. “You went on a tiny rant about sexy rock stars and how they’re all assholes who screw anything with a pulse.”
I bite my lip. “Crap. Did I mention you-know-who?”
He gives me a look. “Baby girl, pretty sure we all knew who—even Trenton.”
I curse under my breath. Four years ago when I started dating Trenton, I didn’t bring up Spider. At first it was because I didn’t want Trenton to think he was my rebound guy when he so obviously was, and then later when my feelings for Trenton had grown into love, it just wasn’t appropriate. Spider is my stepbrother, and most think it’s wrong—especially people from Highland Park.
“Thanks for the warning,” I say as I take a deep pull of the frothy liquid and lean my head against the headboard. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d be considerably less stylish, and you’d be hungry.”
I grin. “I’d have more money though.”
“Who needs money when you have me?”
The water clicks off in the bathroom and I stand, noticing I’m still wearing my underclothes from last night’s outfit: a white lace bra and panty set. I sigh. No sex with Trenton; unfortunately, I’m not surprised. Lately, we seem to be drifting, both of us caught up in our everyday lives. But I do love him and I know he loves me.
Oscar whistles his appreciation. “Your body is rocking, but word of advice, your hair is ready for Halloween.” He pats me on the leg. “Now hop on up and let Mama Oscar make you some pancakes.”
“I love you!” I call to his back as he flounces out of my room and heads into the kitchen.
By the time Trenton makes it out of the bathroom, I’m dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a camisole. I’ll wait to shower after breakfast; my topsy-turvy belly needs grease to make it feel better, and quick.