Page 25 of Starstruck
I was heading back to my office from meeting Isa in the studio when I saw him leave the conference room with his two best friends and musicians, Colt Waters and Levi Tanner. Thank my lucky stars he had his back turned toward me when I noticed him, though, and thank them even more that the doors to the elevator I’d just gotten off of hadn’t closed yet, giving me just enough time to run back onto it. The doors shut just as he turned around, but I have no idea whether he noticed it was me or not.
Here’s hopingnot.
Since then, I haven’t been able to think of much else. The memory of us in his bed has been on a constant replay for the past six weeks, and seeing him today only made that worse. He looked just as good as, if not better than I remembered, even in just the split second I saw him for. And fuck if when the elevator doors closed I didn’t immediately start wondering what would happen ifhe did find out I work at his label.
Would he be happy to see me? Would he be annoyed, since it goes against his rules just like everything else we did that night? Or would he be mad I didn’t tell him in the first place?
Maybe he would punish me; bend me over my desk and span?—
“Lennon,”Paige emphasizes with a laugh from where she sits opposite me.
Trevor has his arm draped over her chair, nursing a glass of white wine. Emma sits next to me, with Dylan at the head of the table. I blink, shaking my head to bring myself back to the present conversation.
“I called your name three times. Are you okay?” Her eyes shift down to my chest before looking back up at my face. “You look a little flushed.”
I gulp and clear my throat. “Yeah, I”—I place my napkin on the table and stand, pushing my chair back—“I’ll be right back. Just need to use the bathroom.”
Paige tilts her head down with a strange look on her face as I excuse myself. She definitely knows something’s up, but here,now, is not the time or place to share the dirty details of my night with Baxter James.
I make my way toward the bathroom on the main floor of Paige and Trevor’s house. We came here tonight so Dylan and Emma could have a kid-free dinner—they left my niece Nora, who’s seven, and my nephew Isaac, who’s four, with a sitter.
Once inside, I glance in the mirror, my reflection staring back at me. Paige was right—I am flushed. My cheeks and neck have a pink tinge to them, and my eyes are slightly glossy.
God.What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m at a family dinner with my siblings and their spouses, for fuck’s sake, and I can’t stop thinking about the literal last person on Earth I should be thinking about.
The way his lips felt against mine, his beard rubbing against my inner thighs, his hands tracing every curve on my body.
I knew from the moment he told me he already knew my name in that dirty bar that sex with him would be unforgettable. And I was right.
I’ve slept with two guys since then, and both timesshould’vebeen fantastic. There was nothing wrong with either of them, aside from the fact that neither was a six-foot-four rock star determined to make me eat my words and show me justhowgood he really is with his hands.
And goodness gracious, he isgood.
So good that the only thing I’ve been able to get off with in the past six weeks is a vibrator.
Heruinedsex for me. Which, if you ask me, is fucking rude, considering for the past six years I’ve had the same boring sex day after day while he was out fucking different girls—and I’d be willing to bet sometimes more than one at once—every goddamn night.
Then when I finally start to live the way I want to, he rolls around, agreeing to a one-night stand and giving me the most mind-blowing night of my life. Which made everyone else seem even more vanilla than my six-year relationship was.
Like,reallyfucking rude.
I frown at my reflection, pissed off at a man who I was never supposed to see again—which really was wishful thinking on my part, seeing as he’s signed to the labelI work at—and flick the tap on cold. I hold my hands under the stream like a bowl and lean over the sink to splash water on my face. I repeat the motion a few times before grabbing a hand towel from the cabinet next to the shower and patting my face dry. The redness has faded slightly, but if the rest of the night is going to be anything like it has been until now, I need to come up with an excuse to leave pronto.
I take my time making my way back to the dining room. I walk past all the family photos I’ve seen a million times before, stopping at my all-time favourite like I always do.
It’s a photo of the five of us, about a month before we foundout about my cancer diagnosis. We’re sitting on a blanket in the park by the water, all of us smiling and laughing.
On the right side of the photo is Mom with me on her lap, looking up at her in awe. She has a guitar sitting next to her and, with the arm not holding me, she’s reaching out to seventeen-year-old Dylan, who’s holding a guitar of his own. The look in his eyes tells her to screw off, but the smile on his face suggests anything but.
Thirteen-year-old Paige is to the left of us, laughing as Dad wraps his arms around her.
It’s candid, not one of us looking at the camera, but all of us looking happier than we’ve ever been before.
I’m pretty sure this picture was the last time any of us were truly happy. And it’s how I choose to remember my parents.
I sigh, placing my hand against the photo before turning to head back to join my siblings and in-laws at the table.
