Page 33 of Kiss & Collide
Fuck. It didn’t matter. Who cared what she wanted? This wasn’t … they weren’t anything. They were just fucking. No strings. He didn’t care what she did or who she did it with. Except he was still standing there, alone in the lobby, staring off in the direction she’d gone, and he realized he cared a lot more than he wanted to.
Jesus. He hated this feeling. He’d been here once before, and he’d promised himself afterward that he never would be again.
“Fuck,” he muttered to the empty lobby. Then he turned and headed up to his hotel room alone.
14
Violet dropped into a chair at a small table for two in the corner by the window, and crossed her arms. Ian sat down across from her, all splayed limbs and easy confidence.
God, she’d forgotten this … the magnetism he radiated without trying. He could own a room just walking in the door. It was his own personal magic.
A server stopped by their table, her eyes roaming eagerly over Ian. “Can I get you something?”
“Whiskey on the rocks,” Ian said, smiling up at her. “And vodka tonic for my friend. Is it still vodka tonics for you, Vi?”
“It’s whatever gets me drunk the fastest,” she muttered.
“I’ll get that right out to you,” the waitress purred, never casting a single glance in Violet’s direction. Oh, she remembered this part, too. The problem with being in the presence of the glowing bright sun was that he threw everyone around him into the shadows.
“You look good, Sunshine.” Ian’s eyes roamed over her. “Different. You’ve gone lux.”
God, that fucking name. It had been his term of endearment for her, their own little inside joke.Sunshine, because that wasthe literal opposite of who she was. His teasing her with that nickname used to make her feelseen, like she’d found someone who appreciated her enough to crack jokes about it. But it had never meant what she’d thought it had. None of it had.
She smoothed the hem of her blood-red satin sheath dress as she crossed her legs. Back when she’d been … when she’d known Ian, she’d been all shredded jeans and leather jackets, a tough little rocker girl. She’d kept that look when she started working at Lennox, and Simone, bless her, had never said a word about it, as long as she cleaned herself up for press events. She hated stuffing herself into conservative black skirt suits and pearls, but when she got this job at Pinnacle, she’d upgraded her wardrobe and found her own way to do it. She still wore suits for press events, but less Calvin Klein, and more Vivienne Westwood.
“I have a real job now.”
“So Astrid says. Formula One. That’s … different.”
“I’ve always loved racing. You know that.”
Ian’s eyebrows lifted. “I remember. Never my thing.”
And typical of Ian, if it didn’t center around him, he had no interest. She’d followed racing on her own when they’d been together. Music had always been her first love, but when she and Ian ended, her life in music had, too. She’d turned to racing desperate to give herself something new to focus on, something that had nothing to do with Ian and his world. And she’d built a new life for herself here, one only she controlled.
The waitress returned, depositing drinks in front of them.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked Ian.
“We’re brilliant, thanks,” Violet answered for him.
When the waitress had gone, Violet took a deep swig of her drink. “So why’s Astrid keeping tabs on me?”
“I think she misses you.”
Violet scoffed. “Bullshit. She hates me.” Astrid was Ian’s bandmate and sister.
“Maybe she knowsImiss you.” He looked up at her with those ice-blue eyes that used to give her butterflies.
She’d spent a lot of sleepless nights longing to hear those words from him.
“Bullshit,” she snapped again, but deep inside, her stomach turned over in slow motion. Not exactly butterflies, but unsettling just the same. She’d thought she was all done, immune to Ian and immune to all those old feelings. It was embarrassing, realizing he still had this effect on her, even after everything.
“It’s true, Sunshine.”
“How’s … what’s her name? Emma.”
“Emily.”
