Page 20 of The Only Thing That's Real
“Nice, gentlemen,” Trevor says, joining us on stage. “Did it feel as good as it sounded? Need any tweaks before the show? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
We tell him we’re all set and shoot the shit for a few minutes. We’re all walking off the stage and, of course, there she fucking is, waiting with her hands in the back pockets of those damn cut-offs of hers.
“Hi.” She lifts a hand in a wave that should be sheepish, but with the fearlessness of this woman, not even close. “Remember me?”
“Kind of hard to forget you when you seem to be everywhere.”
Nice. Let her know she’s getting to you. Just hand her the ammo, why don’t you?
Not stopping to give her the time of day, even though I promised Trev I’d talk to her, I push past Ryan, ignoring howbig her eyes are and her gaping mouth. She’s shocked at my rudeness, even though she should be used to it by now.
“Have I offended you?” she asks for anyone nearby to hear, stopping me in my tracks. My attempt at escape is futile. If I don’t talk to her now, I have a feeling she’ll reappear around the next corner I turn.
“Nope, just not real trusting of journalists. I haven’t always gotten a fair shake in the press.”
“Well, I can’t imagine why. What, with the way you ooze charm and kindness.”
Damn that mouth of hers. The corners of my mouth threaten to break out into a smile, but I tamp it down, spinning around to see the sarcastic expression that goes with her smartass remark.
Her hands are on her hips, eyes narrowed in a glare aimed right at me. She doesn’t give a damn about my status. And I fucking love it.
“You bust everyone’s balls like this, or am I special?” I ask.
“Only balls that need to be busted. As for you being special... I think that may be all in your head.”
Chuckling, I say, “You’re something else, aren’t you?”
“Nah, just not intimidated by rock stars. You’ve met one, you’ve met them all. Although I was hoping you’d be different.”
Well, shit. She’s knocked the wind out of me with that one. I take a second to let the oxygen back into my lungs while she watches me. Waiting.
“Fine,” I relent. “Name a time.”
“2pm tomorrow.”
“My suite. Don’t be late.”
Chapter Eleven
Knox
This is ridiculous.
Correction... I’m ridiculous.
You’d think I was at the White House about to meet another president or foreign dignitary. Not preparing for an interview with a journalist, like I have a million times before. But none of them were a goddamn blinding light that made it impossible to sleep at night.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was stalking me. But she’s always where I need to be before I get there. It’s not like I’m at the gym and then she shows up. She beats me there every time. Hell, with the way I’m always searching for her, maybe I’m the stalker.
I know what time she’s going to be at the gym, so why don’t I get there earlier? Why did I go to the locker room to get a glass of water and take my sweet-ass time leaving aftermy workout yesterday? Was I hoping to share an elevator with her again?
And why, for the love of God, did I feel more alive arguing with her yesterday afternoon than I have anywhere but the stage for longer than I can remember? Even with her anger aimed at me, the earth shifts, and I feel lighter when I’m around her.
Lighter, yet confused.
Turned on and furious.
It’s impossible all of those things can be true at once, but they are.
