Page 20 of Final Serenade

Could it be the alcohol?

“You really need to watch your step.” Frankie motioned at my legs, smirking.

“Ha.” A stifled laugh came out of my mouth. “I’m actually trying to find a restroom,” I explained, surveying the room. Then my journalist’s brain took over. “Can I ask you a question?”

His brows knit. “You can try.”

“How does it feel to be performing again?”

Frankie kept on looking at me, his face a combination of tense and relaxed. He took a swallow of his drink and finally said, “Different.”

I nodded and rounded the couch. “I’m happy to see you back.”

Surely, Frankie Blade had heard this many times today, but I had the need to tell him anyway.

“Are you a fan of the band?”

“I am. Yes. I own all your albums.” I rubbed my sore knee and sat on the edge of the cushion. Something told me he wasn’t opposed to this conversation.

“Which one is your favorite?”

I bit the inside of my cheek and pondered. Frankie Blade wrote beautiful songs that made me feel alive, and perhaps telling him that now, before we went our separate ways, would be okay. “My dad”—I dropped my gaze to the expensive upholstery and ran my index finger against it—“left us a couple of weeks afterBreathe Crimsoncame out.” Saying it out loud seemed strange. It hurt a little too. “I believe there was a period when I really hated that album because it made me think about my dad and how much of a coward he was to walk out on his wife and kids, but nothing else at the time spoke to me like ‘Ambivalent.’ I have a very weird relationship with that song,” I confessed. “It was the dark comfort I needed to get through my first real heartbreak.”

My breathing faded into silence. The room was still and I didn’t dare look at Frankie, because I didn’t want him to see what was happening in my head right now.

“People we love always hurt us the most,” he said after a while. His voice carried over the charged air, which felt hot. I didn’t know what the hell it was, but the man elicited this strange energy that made the temperature jump through the roof wherever he went. It was distracting.

Rock stars. Go figure.

“Is that what the song is about?” I asked, glancing back at him.

The lyrics of “Ambivalent” were open to interpretation. Frankie had said it himself during aBreathe Crimsontour interview. That was the beauty of art. You chose what worked for you.

“It’s whatlifeis about,” he said cryptically, sipping on his drink.

My blood pounded in my ears and an incredible rush ran through me. Not every woman had an opportunity to discuss her favorite songs with their creator, especially when the creator was surrounded by bodyguards twenty-four seven because he was wanted by the entire female population of the planet. This was the most surreal moment of my life.

Frankie didn’t seem to mind my company either. He sat in his chair, unmoving. The light spilled evenly across the left side of his face, leaving the other one in shadow and making him look deliciously mysterious. The two top buttons of his shirt—obviously a different one, because my lip gloss wasn’t on it—were unbuttoned, revealing the design of the tattoo I noticed earlier, but I was too far away and too drunk to make it out.

“Is that recent?” I asked, motioning at his chest. “Your tat?”

“Yes.” He nodded, dragging the fabric away to show me the rest.

The warmth coating my stomach spread to my legs. My thighs clenched. Oh no. The sight of Frankie’s hard, inked chest was turning me on and I hated it. I was breaking my rules once again.

“That’s neat.” I inched my ass closer to the edge of the couch and leaned forward to try to get a better view of the tat. There were a few feet of empty space between us and the design was a blurry blob, but I didn’t know if getting closer was allowed. I’d signed something today that could have been me giving away my firstborn to Frankie. So instead, I narrowed my eyes, willing my vision to work for at least a few seconds, and was finally able to see that a bird was splayed across his pec.

I took a wild guess. “Is that an…eagle?”

“Yes.”

“I got one a few weeks ago too,” I spouted. My mouth, my brain, and my common sense were in total disagreement. I shed my jacket, spun on my ass, and pulled my top down my shoulder to show him the butterfly.

“Nice detailing.” He didn’t say anything else.

I heard footsteps approaching.

“Are you two getting along?” Dante’s voice entered the room.

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