Page 40 of For One Night Only

“About us.”

“Yup. But we have a little time, and…” I brace myself, resisting the urge to tear my gaze away from hers. “I miss writing with you. This could be our chance to do it again.”

Valerie bites her lip, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “I miss writing with you too.”

This was the thing that always came easiest to us: the juncture of friendship and music, this thing we both loved. The industry, the media, even our feelings—they complicated all the reasons we started the band in the first place. But maybe I can give her this: a reminder of why we started. A space to be creative. Closure that’s more than bitter memories.

God knows we need it.

“Maybe it’s not a terrible idea…” she says slowly, eyes sparkling. “Okay, Sloane. Let’s see if we have one more song in us.”

I grin, triumphant. “Let me grab my guitar.”

“I have, like, three in here. Come on,” she says, as if deciding something. She grabs me by the wrist and drags me into the room, and damn it if my pulse doesn’t beat a little faster at the urgent press of her fingerprints on my skin. Somehow, after all this time, her touch still sends a thrill through my veins.

But it’s only the ghost of old feelings come to haunt me—and I’ll keep reminding myself this is strictly professional. I can get through one writing session without wanting to shove Valerie up against a wall and kiss her breathless.

Problem is, that’s how the night ended the last time we wrote together.

Shit, I need to get it together.

While Valerie rummages around in her bag, I take a few deep breaths, trying to ground myself the way my therapist taught me.

Okay, so we’re doing this.

I only thought of presenting the idea to Valerie, but I didn’t think of what would happen if she agreed: Us. Alone. In her hotel room. Now.

Writing a love song.

“Text the others—we’ll order in,” she says.

Relief floods through my chest. If we don’t do this alone, it’ll be easier. “You want to invite them to collaborate?”

“No,” she says quickly. “I mean, we’re technically making new music together, even if we have no intent to share it with anyone. It can’t be Glitter Bats music. Label will want it if they ever find out, and that’s not what we’re here to do.”

“Right,” I say. “Okay, so we’ll skip dinner with the others. Want to do room service whenever we get hungry?”

“Perfect. I made a TJ’s run so my little kitchenette is pretty stocked.”

I smile, because some things never change. Valerie might befamous, but she still loves her cheap Trader Joe’s goodies. I mean, she’s not wrong—they have great snacks. I grab the mini chocolate chip cookies and olive oil popcorn from the counter and bring them over to where she’s spread out her guitar and a blank notebook.

On her bed.

How am I supposed to focus when the scent of her is everywhere? She’s always used shampoo that leaves an unmistakable scent of sugar in her wake. Now there’s something new in the mix, warm and citrusy, and the combination is like she spent the day baking lemon bars.

It makes me wonder how her soft skin might taste.

Clearing my throat to banish the thought, I grab the guitar from Valerie’s floor and sink onto the far corner of her bed with my journal, trying to keep enough space between us to chill out but not make the distance obvious.

We’re just writing. Nothing more. It’s hard enough to work together again—I don’t need to make it weird by smelling her, even if she’s intoxicating as hell.

God, if I keep this up, my sweatpants are going to betray my thoughts.

Swallowing thickly, I close my eyes and try to center myself. Instead of thinking about how good Valerie would look naked on the soft white comforter, I try to remember this song. We only really ever had a chorus.

I lightly strum through the chord progressions and look at her as I sing the lines, remembering the words as if we just wrote the song yesterday.

we had so many daydreams just like this

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