Sometimes we sang them over the phone.
And when my mom died, and she was the only one singing — it was the only thing that helped keep me sane.
I shoved the memory back where it belonged.
“Come on, I’ll sing the girl part.” Ang’s voice transported me back to the present as she pulled me into bed and tucked the blankets over both of our bodies. She faced me. I scooted my arm underneath the pillow and sighed as she closed her. With a yawn, she started quietly singing. “I can show you the world…”
I didn’t say anything.
She opened one eye then two. “Will, it’s not my verse.”
“I should go.”
“All right,” She pulled back the covers.
I should walk the hell out of that room and not look back.
But I was suddenly cold.
And apparently paralyzed.
“Shining,” I sang in what fans dubbed a voice made for sex. “Shimmering… splendid.”
She sighed.
I closed my eyes.
And held my breath as she sang the next part.
And then it was my turn again.
And before I knew it.
I was asleep.
HOT ARMS WRAPPED around me, lips pressed against my neck, I jerked awake with Angelica’s legs somehow pretzeled between mine, her mouth on my neck, her breathing heavy.
I was so hot it was hard to breathe.
And then I had another problem.
I felt her.
Everywhere.
And though time had changed everything about us, our relationship, the way we both chose to deal with the pressure of fame — one thing remained the same.
Angelica Greene’s body was made for mine.
How could I forget? The way she fit around me like the missing piece I never knew how to mourn once it was jerked away from me.
Just as I was about to gently wake her up, her head moved, and then she blinked up at me, a dreamy smile flashed across her lips followed by sheer panic.
I barely managed to cover my balls before her knee came flying up at breakneck speed, sending her backward off the bed. “Ouch!”
“Do you always wake up so aggressively? Is this a new habit?” I rasped.
“I um…” She jumped to her feet, grabbed her cell phone, made a noise, and ran into the bathroom slamming the door behind her.
Two minutes later, she was back in the room throwing a ball cap on her head. She dipped down and peered under the bed, muttering something about flip-flops. Frowning, she stood and performed a slow spin, her gaze scanning the room.
“Need help?” I yawned.
“Now you offer to help?” She kicked one of her duffel bags open. “Ah hah!”
“What? Find drugs?”
Shit. Did I really have no filter anymore?
“Close.” Her voice had an edge to it. “I found my favorite pair of underwear.”
They went flying toward my face.
I caught the lacy thong with one hand and nearly punched myself with the other even though it itched to reach for her, or my own aching body whatever I could reach the quickest.
“Gotta run.” She snatched up a pair of sneakers from next to the dresser bolted out the door carrying them.
“Ang, wait—”
She paused, bottle of ready mixed protein in hand.
“I can drive you.”
“I’ll walk.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Should work off the drugs, right?”
The door slammed behind her.
And I felt hungover.
Even though, I hadn’t had any alcohol the night before.
What I’d had was harder stuff.
I’d had her body.
Better than any drug.
Not that I would know.
A few minutes went by, ones where I refused to think about the hurtful way I’d snapped at her and the reasons behind it, and just basked in her scent like a lunatic.
It was the first time since taking her on as a client that she gave me a brief glimpse into her old self — the pieces I’d fallen for.
If all it took was a glimpse, I was completely screwed if she did anything more, because already I was finding it hard to leave her bed, her room.
And all she’d done was force me to do a duet so we could both sleep.
I grinned the entire way to set, and made a mental note to apologize.
I PANICKED
Anyone would panic after that scene.
In bed together.
Comfortable.
Sexy.
Hot.
Sweating.
I gripped the front of my baseball cap and tugged it harder onto my head as the Uber pulled up to set.
Had someone said “Hey Ang you look a bit hot, need something?” I would probably ask for a cold slap to the face. This wasn’t… real. He was helping me because he had no choice.
There was a nothing there.
There never would be again.
No matter how treacherous my legs were as they wrapped around his body like they belonged together — like we still fit.
But Will had changed.
Everything about him was different, from the way he carried himself to the way his language had shifted from this playboy to some psycho adult who should have five kids and a mortgage.
Tremors wracked my body, maybe I was getting sick, maybe it was him. It wasn’t the type of physical response that happens after trying to get clean. A sick metallic taste filled my mouth.
I needed a minute.
One damn minute.
To gain my composure.
To forget about his touch.
And the way he used to look at me.
But the problem with the way I had loved Will, with such abandonment, with such desperation, with such stupidity — my body always remembered what it felt like to have that loved returned.
When he was my only safe place. When I had nothing but empty fame, money, and friendships that led down dark roads.
I’d followed him.
And clung to him.
And he’d been every damn thing.
I don’t think he expected that last song to hit like it did — worldwide phenomenon was what it was.
And suddenly Will was everywhere but by my side.
And I was on set.
The band went on hiatus while Will dealt with even more fame, while he sent his own bandmates to cheer me up when I’d call him in tears.
“Ang!” Jaymeson’s voice pierced through my muddled thoughts, through the memories. Through the other voices that always said that there was a really quick way to fix the hurt in my body, the ache in my bones.
No.
I physically shook my head and took another step, my tennis shoes sunk into the sand as I trounced toward the British accent currently yelling for me to hurry the hell up, toward the same kind makeup artist from the previous day’s work.
“Am I late?” I blinked under my baseball cap in confusion, while Jay’s eyes narrowed in on me, scrutinizing from head to toe. Suddenly, I wished I would have at least tried to do something with myself, I probably looked homeless with my sneakers, boyfriend jeans, and old Yankees shirt. At least my eyes weren’t swollen, right?
Instead, he took a step back, tapped his chin, nodded twice, and said, “Keep it.”
I was way too tired and stressed out for crazy directors. “Keep what, exactly? Help me out, Jay, it’s just after five and I forgot to get coffee.”
He thrust his Starbucks cup in my hand and turned on his heel. “Don’t touch her Gem, she looks perfect for the scene.”
I gaped after him. “Wait, no, Jay, my face—”
He waved without looking back.
The coffee cup was singeing off my fingertips.