Page 7 of Forever Yours

I frowned. “She isn’t my girl. I’ve never even met her.”

“You know what I mean. She’s also with Jerry.”

“Yeah,” I confirmed. Jerry’s choice of clients in the past year or two had been questionable. Instead of finding God-given talent, he’d been chasing new and trendy. The previous year, he’d signed a TikTok star who’d fizzled and burned as quickly as a match. This girl—Alexis—was okay. She was young and cute, very marketable. Her success was most likely in the hands of the publicity team—unless she went viral, of course, but that was as predictable as a damn squirrel crossing the road.

A photographer approached our table, so Evan and I posed for a picture.

“Good,” Evan said once she’d gone. “I want it documented that I was here. I’m going to go be seen and shake some hands then call it a night. Jet lag is a bitch that I’ll never get used to.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” I said.

“You should stay a while. You don’t get out enough.”

I scoffed. “Whatever. This isn’t my thing.”

Evan grinned. “But it could be. Look around—lots of beautiful women here tonight.”

I couldn’t deny it, but casual hookups weren’t my thing. “Then perhaps you should stay.”

He looked around, his gaze lingering on a few women before he shook his head. “Nah. I’m trying to be responsible. Since I’m home, I’m going to go into the studio first thing to meet with the team. Might as well get a jump on the season. But here.” He fished a card out of his back pocket and handed it to me.

I looked down at it. “What’s this?”

“The key card for a suite in the hotel a few blocks over. Nice gesture from the higher-ups, but I’d rather sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“Same.” I tried to hand it back to him, but he refused to take it.

“Live it up, man.” He clapped me on the shoulder then melted into the crowd.

Tucking the card into my pocket, I moved to the bar to free up the table for a group. I wouldn’t be a dick and keep it when I was flying solo.

A Misdirection song came on, and I couldn’t help but grin as some of the girls on the dance floor shrieked. My boy band days might have been behind me, but I still appreciated the enthusiasm for my former group. My solo music was more rock than pop, so it didn’t get played at events like these.

Alexis was in the middle of the dance floor, singing along to the music and dancing with a group of girls her own age. For a moment, I saw beneath the facade of the pop star. In its place was a regular teenage girl having fun with her friends. She reminded me of myself. I’d been fourteen and as wide-eyed and starstruck as they came when Misdirection formed. The music industry could suck anyone’s soul, and I hoped Alexis held on to hers.

The nostalgia was making me sentimental.

The song ended, and so did the moment. The music turned to R&B, and the dancers’ moves got a lot sexier. Cringing, I turned away, not wanted to see seventeen-year-olds grinding. Considering her good-girl image, though, Alexis had probably left the dance floor.

I hung at the bar for another half hour, just to make sure I’d thoroughly fulfilled my attendance obligation. The party would probably go on until the wee hours, but I wasn’t feeling it. I took the long way around to the restroom so that I’d see as many people as possible—or they’d see me, anyway. Aside from Jerry and Evan, I didn’t know anyone in attendance. At only twenty-six, I felt too old.

In the restroom, I stared into the mirror, trying to determine if I was past my prime. I was still young, for fuck’s sake, and would hate to have thought that the best years of my life were already behind me. But there was no question that my star was fading. My last album came out over a year before, and I didn’t have another one in the works. I was stagnant.

Maybe Evan was doing me a favor withSing Battleafter all. If nothing else, it would put me in the public eye for a bit while I figured out my next move.

The door flung open, unusual for a men’s restroom. Even more unusual was the distinct sound of stilettos tapping on the concrete floor. A woman clutched her black dress to her thighs as she leaned down to peer under the stalls, presumably to determine which ones were occupied.

One would think that the most shocking thing about the situation was the fact that she still hadn’t noticed the urinals or that a man was standing there, watching her. But what caught my attention was her purple hair. Except that wasn’t quite accurate. It fell past her shoulders in lavender waves, long enough to cover her breasts.

Even more shocking was that I liked it. It looked fucking amazing on her. Colored hair should have been punk rock, but somehow, she made it look classy and sophisticated.

Of course, it helped that the girl was a knockout with full lips, a pert little nose, and expressive eyes. She could have rocked any color hair. Hell, she could have had a shaved head, and I still would have found her attractive. Not sure what that said about me. Maybe I did need to get out more.

She straightened, and as she reached for the nearest stall door to open it, her gaze caught mine in the mirror. Her eyes widened, and she whirled around. Her eyes grew ever rounder as she took in the urinals on the far wall. I knew the exact moment she’d realized her mistake because the color drained from her face.

Yet, instead of running out, she stood paralyzed like a deer caught in the headlights or a damn squirrel in the middle of the road with a car barreling toward it.

A moment later, the color returned to her face in a shade of crimson. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

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