Page 159 of Faithful

“Hopefully.” My mother’s been seeing a therapist too, so that’s a good thing.

“Like literally…” Leigh lowers her voice to a whisper. “How can you not like him? He bought you a condo.”

“He bought himself a condo and asked me to move in as a live-in maid so I could take care of his real estate while he’s on tour.” I throw a glance over my shoulder at the cityscape stretching sixteen floors below.

I didn’t mind Kai’s old loft. It was small and cozy and filled with a lot of memories, but when some French company–after accidentally bumping into one of Iodine’s videos on YouTube–reached out to Bodhi about possibly recruiting Kai as the face of their new fragrance, that led to a six-figure deal, which in turn led to Kai wanting to make a good investment. Hence, the new two-bedroom condo in a new high rise a little closer to Elliott Bay.

Obviously, I moved out of the place I shared with Leigh, but as they say, a sacred space is never empty. A couple of months after I left, Leigh’s current boy toy (who is a total keeper) took my room. As his office.

He’s a software engineer and does a lot of his work from home and I like him for my best friend the most.

They’ve been going steady longer than any of her previous flings. So that’s something.

As if to prove that he’s a total gem, Brett emerges from out of nowhere with a fresh glass of Chardonnay for Leigh.

“Good stuff.” He gives me a nod, gesturing at the wine. “Where did you get it?”

“Don’t know.” I shrug. “It was one of those gift boxes the fragrance company sent Kai.”

They lucked out.

I’m not privy to how sales are going, but I vaguely remember from the launch event in L.A. (where they flew us) that a lot of Iodine fans came to stargaze at my boyfriend.

I also remember one of the girls who worked for the French company casually mentioning that I had an interesting look and I should be modeling, and she would love to get Kai and me together on set.

Eh. No, thanks.

There are enough photos of us online already.

“Where’s the other half?” someone shouts from the vicinity of the couch.

I glance across the room and realize it’s Finn. He’s pretty drunk, red-cheeked and happy, and it’s a sight for sore eyes. Because Finn is generally never happy. He also doesn’t like me.

I mean, he’s here since Kai invited the entire band, but we haven’t necessarily become friends or anything. I’m just subjected to less hostility from him these days because Danny told me once Finn is grateful Kai now has a muse.

The point I’m trying to make is that seeing Finn Fletcher genuinely delighted on my behalf is a bit of a shocker. But as I’ve been slowly getting to know the guys, I’ve been learning a lot of cool things about them I didn’t know before, things you wouldn’t find online.

For example, Danny and Ben like mountain biking in their spare time.

Fingers is thoroughly impressed with my paper folding and suggested I monetize my skills. He even pitched Kai the idea of using one of my tulips as the album artwork for the next Iodine record.

Finn is obviously Finn. He’s taken the lead as the bad boy of the band and is currently involved in a number of small scandals that include flipping off a talk show host during live taping, calling out Divine Dave on the band’s Instagram, and developing some kind of beef with Bash Spade over an innocent online comment about the latest comic book live adaptation.

The latter could be a publicity stunt because the few times I saw the two together backstage at a couple of local music events, they seemed pretty chummy.

Bodhi now manages both Iodine and Filthy Magic, so it’s very possible.

Thank fuck he’s not here tonight. For whatever reason, he’s pretty much everywhere Kai and I go (to ensure we don’t make more trouble?), and having a moment free of Bulldog is refreshing. And yes, that’s his official nickname now. And he doesn’t mind.

“Where is he?” Finn calls again, clapping his hands, and I’m yanked back to the living room of our upscale downtown condo where a dozen guests are now directing their curious gazes at me.

“Probably hiding out in the studio again,” Danny croaks, reaching out for a plate of nachos set up on the coffee table.

“Probably writing another love song for you, Dylan.” Winona grins.

Twelve months ago, she was a number one fangirl. Now she’s the official Iodine fan club president. Under Willa’s supervision, of course, but she seems to be excited about this part-time gig. I mean, what are the chances that you actually go from loving a band to working for it in the span of a year?

“He’s blushing again.” Val laughs, pointing at me.

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