Page 116 of The Fix

Aria on the floor, clipping and trimming material. Sharp threaded needles pinched between her teeth.

Cedar sitting cross-legged in the chair next to the window with her gallon of mint chocolate chip …

My smile falls straight off my face and I squeeze my eyes shut against what I think I see.

I’ve been drinking. That’s all it is.

When I reopen them, a scream lodges in my throat, and I drop the container to the counter to make space in my hands for my phone.

A tap has me freezing, Jonathon’s speed dial stuck on my screen, unengaged.

“Oh, my God…”

Another tap and I know the person standing on the fire escape, just on the other side of the glass, can see me.

I’m shaking when I risk a glance through my lashes, hoping that staying still will prevent the stranger on my little terrace from busting through, and that’s when I see it.

A face, lit up by the screen of a phone, is staring right at me.

A face I’d recognize in my sleep.

Even though his beard is trimmed back and his hair is tamed.

“Jeffers?”

I take a tentative step around the breakfast bar and squeeze my eyes closed again.

Sure enough, when the darkened view of my living room comes back into focus, there most certainly is a rock star standing outside my window.

With his phone screen facing toward me, playing a Papa Roach song just loud enough that the melody barely bleeds through the pane separating us.

I’m stuck in my tracks, eyes darting between the screen showing what’s playing and the face behind it all.

Every nightmare and every steamy dream.

The one taking up more of my memories, my waking thoughts, than I’d care to ever admit out loud.

The beat of my heart.

I pad across the hardwood floor and reach the lock of the window.

The thing slams open, probably triggering the stupid sensor Jonathon insisted on, and clears the way for As Above’s bassist to climb through.

Music fills the space, and Toby stretches to his full height.

“Hey, Mama.”

Even if he hadn’t spoken that phrase, his grin would have done it for me.

He’s here.

Before I can respond, he wraps his arm around my hips and moves into the apartment, hauling me to his hardened body.

“Your damn bodyguard wouldn’t let me in the front,” he mumbles, his face going to my neck and drawing in a breath. I snake my arms around his neck to hold some of my weight.

The first thing my mind suggests is that he’s out of breath from carrying me across the floor.

But then my calf hits the arm of the couch and he perches me on top of it.

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