Page 40 of Sweet Oblivion

Steve sent me a sympathetic look as he leaned against the door frame, and my concern for Nash ratcheted up. But then Nash pressed play, so I settled in.

Steve finally stopped hovering in the doorway about halfway through the movie. The next scene proved even grosser than the previous ones, and I buried my face in Nash’s chest. His arm came around my shoulder, and he patted me in an absent way that told me he was deeply engrossed. I sighed and closed my eyes, relaxing against his side.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, the credits were rolling. Nash shifted, trying to reach the lamp, which was on the other side of me.

He glanced down and noted my opened eyes. His seemed stormy, his unguarded face filled with anguish.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

His jaw clenched so hard, I heard his teeth clack together. Maybe I lifted my palm and cupped his cheek because I was still half asleep. Or maybe not… I rubbed my thumb over his lip. His breath puffed against my skin, and I shivered as the tension eased from his body.

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. His hands splayed wider, covering more of me as he rolled over, pressing me into the mattress. My hips cradled his, my arms twining around his neck, slithering into his hair.

“Nash,” I whispered. “What is it?

“My dad doesn’t want me here,” he said.

“Well, your father is a jealous idiot.”

“You told me that months ago.”

I nodded. “I remember.”

Brad’s comments must have cut deep. I understood that all too well. I leaned up and kissed him, pulling back quickly, though I didn’t want to. “I’m sorry.”

He rested his forehead against the side of my neck, and I shivered as his lips brushed the sensitive skin there. I cuddled closer. He pressed his hips forward, bumping against my leggings and the soft flesh beneath—a question. I opened my legs wider, wanting him, wanting this.

“Aya…” he murmured. He rose up on his elbows, brushing the hair from my forehead. I tipped my head in invitation, and he leaned down, our breath mingling.

We tensed at the sound of footfalls coming toward the open doorway. Nash flopped onto his back next to me, turning his head on the pillow. I lay there, sprawled, heart thumping, cursing Steve.

Nash’s gaze cut to the door. “I’m coming to bed in a sec.”

“All right,” Steve said. “Goodnight, Aya.”

My smile trembled but I managed, “Goodnight.”

Nash cleared his throat. “When do you leave?”

I bit my lip. “I can stay through Sunday.” That was three days from now. “There’s a flight out Sunday evening. It’s a red-eye…”

“So after the show?” he asked, hopeful.

“I...”

He rose up on his elbow and used his free hand to press his finger to my lips. “Trust me, Ay. If you stay for the show, I’ll get you to Boston.”

14

Nash

The next afternoon, Camden Grace strode into the green room at Bridgestone Arena after his sound check, his dark hair messy and a bit damp. He’d played the Grand Ole Opry the night before, but tonight was a much larger show—in terms of both seats and tech—than the intimate version. His eyes flitted around, taking in not just the people in the room, but the furniture, the exits…everything. He pulled a Werther’s from his pocket and popped it in his mouth. Cam’s longtime head of security, Chuck, followed a step behind. A deep scowl settled on Chuck’s face, causing him to look even burlier.

Their gazes turned to Aya and me, and Aya shrank back a couple of inches, easing behind me. No doubt she worried this reception would be like what she’d gotten from Beanie last week. But I felt myself shaking with excitement.

Cam held out his hand as he walked toward me, smiling, some of the darkness lifting from his eyes. “Nash. It’s good to have you ’round again.”

His voice was low, smoky but smooth. A new tune popped into my head, and I struggled not to hum it aloud as we shook. Excitement licked over my skin as more of the melody flowed, smooth as glass, through my head.

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