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She pauses, pulling sculpted brows together. “How about never. I’m getting over that crush.”

“You think eight years is a crush?”

“It is if I deem it so,” she sasses.

“Do you even know how beautiful you are?” I prop my hand under my chin, eyes gliding over the fit of the slinky halter dress she’s pulling off so effortlessly. She pauses, a fork full of chicken salad halfway to her mouth, her expression bemused.

“He’s a fool, Holly,” I emphasize. “Because I’m not just talking about your appearance. You have the heart he needs.”

“He’s not looking. He’s too busy hustling for his career and fucking for sport.”

The familiar words jolt me back into that hotel restaurant.

“Do you fuck for sport?”

“Women aren’t a game to me, so I fuck because it feels good.”

God, did it ever feel good.

So damned good I’ve had actual wet dreams—which I swore were a myth—good. An image of Easton flitters in, above me, inside me, hazel eyes intent, jaw slack. An image I’ve replayed an embarrassing number of times. Slamming my fork down in irritation, I let out a long exhale, and Holly jerks back.

“What the hell?”

“It’s just . . .”I’m losing my focus over the gorgeous, budding rock star I slept with two months ago, and I would like my sanity back.“I’m . . . just . . . tell the man you love him already.”

“He’s not ready to couple up, and I don’t want the “I’ll text you” version of Damon. I’m better than that. I’mworthmore than that. Sure, we flirt a lot and have come close to crossing that line, but I’m not willing to risk his judgment when it comes to us. It would ruin twenty-one years of friendship—so, yeah, I’ll pass. If this ship sails before he’s ready to board, then it sails.” She flips through her phone, though I know she’s completely tuned into this conversation. “Why are you so worried about this all of a sudden?”

“Because. I’m . . .,”wishing on a shooting star every night, every time I ride Percy toward a sunset, and every time I close my damned eyes.“I just want you to have who you want.”Because I can’t.“I’m sorry I’m being pushy, it’s your decision. I just know you both would fit so perfectly, and the fact that youcanbe together and are both being idiots about it, irks me sometimes.”

She lowers her fork, eyes cast down. “I’m sorry if I’ve talked about him too much over the years,” she withdraws slightly.

Cloudy head clearing immediately in response to her rapidly dimming expression, I grip both her hands tightly, including the one still holding her fork, and her eyes bulge at the crazy I’m showing. “Never, don’t you ever think that. You can talk about my other best friend all you want; do you hear me? Tell me you hear me.”

She grins at me as I release her.

“What?”

“You love me,” she declares, “like a crazy person.”

“Hell yeah, I do, and I love Damon just as much. I just wish you two would finally get together, that’s all.”

“Maybe someday,” she sighs, “but you’re forgetting one important thing.”

“What’s that?”

“He never talks to you aboutme.”

“He does.” I pull on my iced tea.

“Not the way I do, and I know it, so let’s drop it, ’K?” She picks her phone back up and begins scrolling and typing, her embarrassment clear. I hate that I did it. What I hate more is that the next time she wants to talk to me about Damon, she might hesitate, or worse, not tell me at all. The whole thing is ironic because all I want to do is confide to her at the top of my lungs . . . finally confess the secret that’s been bleeding out of my pores for eight straight weeks. Instead, I need her drama—or any drama for that matter—to distract me.

While it may be true that Damon doesn’t talk about her in that context, he’s been looking at her differently more and more over the years, and I want to box his ears for not paying attention to his growing feelings. I don’t relay that to Holly because Damon truly is a wild card. He’s also one of the most lusted after men I’ve ever known, coming a close second to my last lover, who’s currently being worshiped by an increasing number of women on the daily. As I suspected, Easton’s refusal to engage with the media has only made him more alluring to the masses, women especially.

And he’s callingme.

The facts are, I haven’t gone more than a full hour without thinking of him since I left him in that studio.

No matter how much I want to shelve those days we spent together in their respective place, I can’t. Even if I could, he’severywhere. Videos of his first few concerts on the tour he kicked off weeks ago are not only being spread like wildfire on social media, but his performances are making headlines. So far, the world has done nothing short of worship him since he droppedFalse Image. A title I find perfectly fitting with the album’s message—defaming fame.

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