Page 49 of Dirty Love

I brush my hand across the split in my steampunk inspired ball gown and strike a pose for the photographers on the red carpet. This is my third year attending this black-tie fundraiser for LAST. Los Angeles Sexual assaulT, the step-and-repeat banner behind me spells out. A stark name for an agency dedicated to survivors of sexual violence in all forms.

Last year, I gave them an anonymous donation for a million dollars. That’s how I balance out spending an embarrassing amount of money on dresses and tequila.

My public appearance here is just as much about ramping up toward the winter tour as it is an act of goodwill. “Do you like the dress?” I wink at the videographer from TMZ. “It’s going to be on the cover of my new album, that’s how much I love it!”

“When does that come out, Tabitha?”

“Next month.” Big smile, bright eyes. “It’s gonna behot.”

I say the same thing to the People Online reporter, and the guy from Music Station who always stares at my tits like they’re going to invite him in for a motorboat.

Never going to happen, dude.

By the time I get inside, my smile is stiff and my cheeks hurt, so I head straight for the bar. The first one is in the hallway outside the ballroom, near the coat check, but a helpful hostess points out that there’s another bar set up on the far side, so I bee-line there, and that hallway—which leads to the kitchen and prep areas of the hotel—is empty.

All except for one man, handsome and tall in a tux and a half-smirk.

I skid to a stop. “What are you doing here?”

Wilson shrugs. “Wanted to have a drink with you.”

“You didn’t text.”

“You didn’t either.” He gestures to the bar, and we place our orders. I want a shot of a tequila and a lemon water. He wants a beer.

In September, I’d returned to New York again, and we’d spent another day and a half in the SoHo hotel. It had been exactly as good as in August, and there was no good reason why I hadn’t reached out to him to see when he might be heading this way, or if I should head that way…but I didn’t.

“I figured you’d worry about that,” I say lamely. It’s not true. I’m scared of how intense this is between us. How he’s all I can think about much of the time, and how I feel when I’m with him—like I’m a completely different person.

One I like a hell of a lot more than the person I am the rest of the time.

But I don’t need to go to therapy to know that’s unhealthy. I can’t hook all of my dreams of my life changing on Wilson. That’s not anywhere near reality. That’s a fantasy I’m way too jaded to let myself indulge in.

The bartender sets my shot in front of me and I take it like the pro I am.

Wilson watches with an amused look on his face as I take a quick suck at the lime wedge that came on the side.

“And worry about it I did.” He winks. “Actually, this is a work trip. I’ll be back in a few weeks, but a case we’ve been working on for a long time has come to a head and that’s why I’m in L.A.”

Oh.

Shit, I’m the worst kind of self-absorbed bitch for thinking he was only here for me.

“But seeing you is the highlight of my entire month,” he says softly after we get our other drinks. He cups his hand around my elbow and leads me into the ballroom again. The way the room is set up, there are tables all over the place, with no assigned seating, and there’s a dance floor at one end. At the other are displays about LAST, and this is where he guides me. He takes our drinks and sets them on a ledge running along the wall as the DJ slows down the music.

He gives me a serious look. “Last time I was out here, I had to watch you dance from the shadows.”

“And tonight?”

He holds out his hand. “Maybe you could join me in the shadows. May I have the honor?”

My heart pounds as I slide my fingers over his.

He folds me against his body, warmth radiating off him as he begins to turn us in a slow, meandering circle. “I can’t stay for long. I have to fly back to D.C. tonight.”

“Okay.” My voice does a shitty job of masking how much I don’t like that.

He presses his cheek to my temple, and I’m grateful for the ridiculous heels bringing me closer to his height. “Next month.”

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