Page 11 of Craving Oblivion

Well, the seat next to me would be open. I still didn’t have a friend I felt I could ask to the concert. I’d have to share my secrets and explain my past with the man recently touted as one of the sexiest alive. Nash’s face was on the cover of the magazine that proclaimed him such.

I stepped out and took a breath as Nash’s success sank into my bones. I smiled even as I pressed my back against the car, ready to flee. Though the tickets had come from Cam, Nash might have invited me. He might even want to apologize. Would I let him?

Did it matter now, after all these years?

“I don’t want you, you stupid bitch.”

I cringed as, on cue, his words roared through my head. I closed my eyes as I remembered the vicious smirks on my fellow students’ faces.

I rolled my shoulders back and lifted my chin, finally stepping away from the car. He couldn’t hurt me. Not anymore. I wouldn’t let him.

My phone rang. “Hello, lovely Aya,” Alistair began, just as he had every other time he’d called in the past six months. He rang me multiple times each week, wooing me with kind words. Seducing me with his wit.

I was cracking. I just wanted to feel…something. And with Alistair, I did. I liked that he bent to my will, that he remained uncertain of my mood, of whether I would agree to his requests for a date.

Would I?

“Hi,” I said.

“Where are you? I thought perhaps I could pick you up this evening and take you to dinner. Somewhere quiet.”

His accent remained crisp, his words direct. He seemed more confident than normal.

I smiled at his new approach. Oh, I liked being chased. It made me feel bold, beautiful. Wanted. So unlike the broken girl who’d slunk from Hugh’s house, head bowed so people wouldn’t see my tears.

And with Alistair, I was building something: those roots I’d always wanted. If I settled here, I’d be able to find a position at one of the firms in London. The job might not be on par with something at NASA or the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, but I’d get to build satellites and other important equipment. My work would matter. And I’d have Alistair. He’d be my friend, perhaps, and soon, my lover.

“I’m out this evening, but maybe…”

I stared up at the huge banner of Nash. His sun-kissed hair looked damp, his eyes stormy and dark, and the faintest hint of his dimple flashed at his cheek. My stomach warmed.

“Soon,” Alistair said. “I’ve given you the space you needed, Aya. I want to date you. And I think you want to say yes.”

“Call me tomorrow?” I asked. Nash was my past. I’d put him there tonight. For good.

“My pleasure,” Alistair replied.

I shoved the phone into the back pocket of my jeans, and my heels clicked as I walked into the stadium.

Truly, there was nothing in the world like a rock concert—fans pressed close, bodies thrumming with excitement, the flash of lights, the roar of pyrotechnics, the full-throated screams from women and the deeper bellows from men. This was primal. Sexy.

I pressed my thighs together, trying to ignore the pulsing in my core as Nash sang about long, hot nights in tangled sheets. The images he evoked were those of us, together. Young and tender and curious. I pressed my palms to my belly. Those were the words my Nash, my love, had written and now sang.

As the last note faded, a harsher, rougher beat replaced it. The band moved on to a song from the new album—the one that had dropped a few weeks before. These songs were edgier, the guitar licks almost a battle for supremacy. Discord warred in my chest with each thrum. Nash threw his head back and yelled, a guttural sound of fury.

I hated it.

When the third woman rushed the stage, my stomach rolled so hard I nearly vomited. Nash winked at her, causing her to swoon as the security guards dragged her off. When his bassist sidled up next to him, pressing her breasts into his arm, sliding her body up and down his leg in a casual simulation of sex, I squeezed my eyes shut.

I didn’t open them again until the crowd roared as the band handed off their guitars and began to drift off the stage.

They’d move to the encore now.

What would they play?

Suddenly, I didn’t care.

I didn’t want to be here, to witness more sensual interaction between Nash and Tatum or the crowd. This, tonight, had tainted the last of the sweet memories I had of him, of us. Tears pressed behind my eyes as I shoved through the crowd.

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