Page 48 of Sweet Oblivion

“About Aya…” I said loudly.

Chuck tapped his fresh bottle of water against mine. “To pretty ladies with pure hearts.”

I shook my head, not really understanding the comment. Oh. Aya. My eyes widened.

Cam laughed, turning me back toward the elevators. We rode down to the lobby, and when we exited, Chuck helped us ignore the crush of photographers and screaming women who begged for Cam’s attention.

“Where are we going?”

“To grab a bite. I’m starving,” Cam said.

I smiled. I was, too, and I liked getting out of the hotel. I also liked that Cam didn’t fill his suite or floor with fans and partiers.

“What did you think about boxing?” Cam asked once we were settled in the vehicle.

“I like it.”

“Chuck thought you might.”

I smiled, feeling warmth in my chest. Cam liked me for me. I wasn’t simply a tool to be used. He was like having a much older brother.

My chest ached. I’d always miss Lev, but Cam helped fill that gaping, ragged hole. And he seemed happy to do it. Just like Aya. She was a part of me—a deeper, more integral part, than Cam could be—which was why I wanted to share my successes with her. I remembered how good she felt in my arms, her soft hair tickling my skin, her fresh scent teasing my nose.

I’d already claimed a relationship with her. Now I had to make sure we could be close and not break apart, chip away at each other like my parents had.

“I’m definitely going to invite Aya to hang out again,” I said. The decision was obvious now that my head was clear.

“All right,” Cam said. “Just don’t push for more’n you’re ready to take on.”

“Is that what you did?” I asked.

Chuck growled from the driver’s seat, and Cam got a far-off look in his eyes. He pulled a candy from his ever-present stash and sighed a little when it hit his tongue.

“Oh yeah.”

17

Aya

As Nash appeared backstage with Cam at Madison Square Garden, my pulse raced and my mouth dried out. He wore his favorite red Chucks, dark wash jeans, and a soft gray T-shirt with an Austin logo I’d bought him for the occasion.

“My good-luck shirt,” he’d said with a grin and a wink. “From my pretty girl.”

He shoved his guitar back and pulled me into a tight embrace. His mouth sought mine, and I held still, one breath, two… His tongue caressed my lip, and I opened for him with a throaty gasp. I gripped his biceps, my head spinning. I whimpered as his tongue slid over mine in a long, slow swipe. I shivered, needing to be closer.

He pulled back, his hand on my chin, his gaze firm and filled with desire. “I could kiss you all night.”

“After you kick ass on stage,” I said.

He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Also for good luck,” he murmured. Then he stepped back, leaving me shivering, missing his heat.

I huddled in my jacket, arms wrapped tight around my waist as he followed Cam toward the stage. My gaze slid down his broad back to the taut muscle under the soft denim. Damn, he looked good.

Nash settled into the spot next to Cam with an assurance that came from consistent rehearsals and performances since he’d left me in Boston a little over a month ago. In that time, his charisma had grown, and now he, like Cam, could carry the audience.

They started with “Sweet Baby Home,” their harmonizing bringing tears to my eyes. After the song finished, Nash ribbed Cam about the intricacy of the guitar picking, even as he showed off his ability with an easy flourish that caused the crowd to hoot and holler in appreciation.

“Y’all wanna hear more from this guy?” Cam asked.

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