Page 16 of Craving Oblivion

“I thought we could shower together. Save water.”

I bit back the words that floated across my tongue. Can’t you fucking listen? Are you stupid?

That was something Brad would say. I wouldn’t hurt Tatum the way he’d decimated me.

“I don’t want you touching me. I don’t want you in here, and I sure as fuck don’t plan to share kisses or love words with you. I told you before—our relationship is professional, the band. That’s it. And it’s really, really starting to piss me off that you won’t listen.”

Her eyes took on a wounded sheen as she lifted her chin. Her eyeshadow and mascara ran down her cheeks, making her look like something out of a Stephen King novel.

“Fine. I’m leaving.”

I kept my back to her, tense, until she stepped away.

“Who broke you, Nash?” she asked, voice soft.

“None of your fucking business. Now, if you don’t get out of my shower and my dressing room in the next five seconds, I’m firing you.”

“You can’t do that,” she yipped. “You need me.”

“I need people who respect my boundaries.”

Tatum fumed, but she stepped out. “She did a number on you,” she tossed over her shoulder.

I grabbed whiskey and slammed the glass door shut. “No. I did a number on her,” I muttered. I stood under the spray and swallowed most of the bottle.

Waking up in that hotel room, not knowing what day it was or where I was freaked me out. Not because it was abnormal—it had been my modus operandi for Steve to have to get me to bed for a while now—but because of who was in the room with me.

Lindsay. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hip near my foot.

I recoiled, nausea building in my throat. She stared at me, a strange gleam in her eye. I leaned forward and vomited much of what I’d consumed the night prior.

Never again.

That was the one thought rolling through my mind over and over as I spewed.

She shrieked, no doubt rousing everyone in the vicinity. Soon there were footsteps pounding outside the door. It flew open, and there stood Steve.

I glared at him, hating him more in that moment than I’d hated anyone. “I never want to see you again.”

His face remained impassive as he nodded. “Before or after I get rid of her?”

“So this is your way of getting even? You let her in here.” My throat felt raw as my stomach rolled again. “Her,” I breathed as I retched.

“I let her in,” Steve said, calm.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, eyes imploring me. “I won’t stay long.”

I stayed sitting up, though everything in me wanted to flop back down and close my eyes. “Then say it so you can leave. Jesus. I can’t stand looking at you.”

She drew herself up, and I ignored her quivering lower lip. “Your precious Aya is getting serious with Alistair Seymour.”

I raised my eyes to hers, all the hate I felt rushing back. “She isn’t mine. She hasn’t been since you drugged me years ago and made sure to humiliate her and ruin my life. Anything else?”

She fidgeted, seeming uncertain for the first time. “You can’t let the situation between them continue,” she blurted.

My brain might’ve been fried or scrambled or both, but even I could make out the pain in her features, the tension in her body.

“You care about this guy—this Alistair.”

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