Page 109 of Cherry Beats

“Totally addictive,” I confessed, beaming proudly.

“Do you know that when you smile like that, you light up the whole world? I’ve thought about that smile so fucking much while away from you.”

Turning on my side to face him, I rested my cheek on the back of the chair, cradling my champagne flute into my stomach.

“Did you think of me the whole time?”

“Every day,” he answered quickly. “You and that motherfucking Bryan Adams.”

My laughter fell freely.

“Everywhere I went, he suddenly seemed to be playing. Drove me damn crazy. It was like my mind had connected to some dodgy 90s radio station I couldn’t switch off. Him, Bon Jovi—”

“BonFuckingJovi,” I reminded him.

“Right.” He grinned before he rolled his head back, resting it on the edge of his chair, and he looked up at the night sky. “All of those arseholes were reminders of you. Who knew you’d leave such an impression?” He rolled his head my way lazily, never taking his eyes off mine. “You went ahead and made me an addict.”

An addict.

He was in the lifestyle to become hooked, and I knew more than anyone how easy it was to fall down that hole around here. I’d drunk every day since he’d come back into my life. I glanced down at the champagne in my grip, staring at the rising bubbles of temptation before I looked back up at him.

“Am I the only thing you’ve become hooked on?”

Presley’s small scowl took over, and his eyes bounced over my face. “What does that mean?”

Lifting my glass in the air, I gently wiggled it from side to side and raised a brow.

“Are you accusing me of having a drink problem?”

“No accusing. I’m merely asking if you get a little excessive sometimes… maybe?”

“I should fucking hope so.” He laughed. “If I was doing all of this sober, it’d be Hell.”

“But you can stop any time you like, right?”

Leaning closer, he draped a hand over the arm of the chair and licked his lips. “Alcohol? Easy. You? Not a chance.”

I found myself smiling like all those girls that had been through him before me. He had that power. He held that witchcraft in the palm of his hands, ready to unleash it and blind us all with his charm any second he deemed fit. I also found myself tipping my glass to my lips and taking a very big drink for myself.

When in Paris…

Chapter Thirty-Five

Three days whizzed by in a blur.

Radio interviews.

Sex in the back of a limousine.

Private parties in the hotel suite.

Blogger interviews.

Sex in a maintenance closet of a Michelin star restaurant.

Private parties in exclusive clubs.

Press interviews.

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