Page 85 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

“Maybe kids sneaked back there at some point and you just didn’t realize.”

“Seems unlikely, but who else could it have been?” Logan shrugged.

Deep down, I didn’t believe mischievous children were to blame, not for a second.

That arrow of heat was back zipping down my spine, and this time, it didn’t come from shame. Or not only shame.

If I was right, I’d played a part in what had occurred. There could be no denying that.

I knew better than to pretend things were like they used to be. That I could take a pocket of time for myself and live away from the tragedy that had grown to define me.

My fault. I couldn’t forget that. I’d make every choice and taken every step that had led us to this place.

I just couldn’t bring Lindsey down with me. I wouldn’t let it happen.

No matter what it cost.

Nineteen

“Miss York?”

I blinked out of the nanosecond’s worth of a nap I’d managed on the plane. I glanced around with a frown. At least it felt like little more than a blink.

“I let you sleep as long as I could.”

The gentle voice tossed another log of guilt on the fire. It had been a shitshow since I’d left Logan’s. “Thanks.” I slid my sleep mask off the top of my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

“Not a problem. We figured it was easiest since word had gotten out that you were on this flight. We had a good fifty people looking for you as soon as we opened the doors.”

I flushed. “I’m so sorry.”

The plane attendant waved me off. Her eyes were a little pinched, but I was pretty sure that was more from the end of a long day than my bullshit. At least that was what I told myself.

“We’re more worried about the fact that someone leaked you were coming in. Especially since we didn’t use your name on the manifest at your behest.”

I hadn’t moved from my seat, even to use the facilities. Exhausted wasn’t even the word to describe how I was feeling. A creative fugue state usually did that to me. It wasn’t unheard of for me to drop for three days straight after a good writing session.

Add in a super fast recording session and a few rounds of sexual gymnastics—at least for me, since hello, drought for way too long—and yeah, I needed to sleep about fourteen hours. Then maybe I’d feel human again.

Right now, I was pretty sure my dog’s toenails looked nicer than mine. The rest of me was no better. I quickly stuffed my long hair under a slouchy hat I’d stolen from Nash. It still smelled like him and instantly perked me up.

I really didn’t know how things were going to work between us, but at the moment, I didn’t have time to think about it. The last few days had been crazy between the stress of getting the song right in two days—probably one of the best non-Brooklyn Dawn songs I’d ever done—and our almost desperate fucking. I was wrung out. Like end of a tour wrung out and I had so much more to go for this leg.

We were just beginning.

I was already late since I caught the very last flight out of New York that I could possibly take and still make the concert.

Damn t

hat man.

I’d needed just one more taste. It was worse than any chocolate craving I’d ever had. And I had imported chocolate in my bag at all times.

I sighed and clued back into the conversation with the plane attendant. “Thanks. Someone always gets a tip when it comes to the media. It’s not your fault.”

“We appreciate you saying that. Your bags have been brought out to your car. Your driver is waiting for you. One of our security men will escort you.”

I gathered up my carry-on and winced at my phone. Eleven messages from Jamie and three from Darcy, our tour manager. I stuffed my phone into my jacket pocket. I’d deal with that in the car. One thing I knew for sure was that my driver would be waiting for me and would find the best way to get me to the venue no matter how little time we had.

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