Will I even recognize him?
That concern is put to restrealquick when I hone in on a tall man who looks like sex clad in artfully torn up lounge clothes. He’s got a tattered army green backpack slung over his shoulder and bulky headphones over his shag of dark brown hair with a deliberate streak of white through it.
Deep blue eyes glitter back at me, and I’m drawn to him like a black hole.
I thought I’d escaped him. But here I am. Sucked right back in.
His pace slows. His brows furrow, almost like he’s having regrets about calling me, just like I’m regretting showing up.
As he takes those final steps toward me, he slides his headphones down to his neck. “You came.”
I look him over, noting the addition of a gold hoop through his nostril and a slight sunburn to his cheeks. My cock gives a twitch, reminding me how much I like the way he looks. How much I liked being inside him.
“Luggage?”
He fusses with his hair. “Don’t have any.”
I assume that means he’s not staying long. The tightness in my chest doesn’t ease, though. Have I ever seen him travel without a guitar? Beau’s the kind of guy you lose at a party because he’s found some sort of instrument to play with in a back room.
Irritated by the looks we’re drawing, I start walking toward the exit. It’s rare that anyone asks for my autograph. Not many fans have the balls to approach me, and I’d like to keep it that way. People can appreciate my music without needing to know who the fuck I am.
I don’t bother checking to make sure Beau’s following. I canfeelhim behind me. His very existence demands attention. His dimpled smile earned a horde of followers on social media. I admit I sometimes scroll through his profile in brief moments of weakness.
Hot air engulfs us as soon as we step outside, and Beau moans. “Fuck, that feels good.”
Stride faltering, I glance back in time to see him close his eyes and tip his head up toward the sun. Locks of hair slide away from his face, revealing a patch of vitiligo at the hinge in his jaw he likes to hide. He has more spots under his arms and behind his knees. Another on his stomach I enjoyed kissing because it made him quiver.
Forcing myself to keep walking, I hit the unlock button on my car and pop the trunk for him. Then I open the passenger door and wait.
He holds my gaze as he approaches, those gem blue eyes more guarded than I remember. Like the world’s shown him its teeth.
Or like he doesn’t fully trust me.
“So. Thanks for this,” he says, ducking into my car and saving me from having to find an appropriate response.
I almost ignored your call.
I hadn’t planned on ever seeing you again.
You shouldn’t be here.
You still take up space in my mind.
Clenching my teeth, I climb into the driver’s seat and start up my car.
“Care to explain what you’re doing here?” I ask.
Beau mulls this over. “Only if you tell me why you retired.”
Sighing, I gun it out of the airport parking lot. I don’t know what else I expected from him. Beau’s never been afraid of speaking his mind. He’d ask personal questions without hesitation and push buttons until he got reactions. Usually, this resulted in me punishing him like the brat he is.
“I’m not retired,” I say, merging onto the highway. “I opened a recording studio.”
When I glance over at him, a soft smile appears on his face. “I approve of your decision then.”
I snort. “Thanks for the sign off.”
“Hey, you were a huge inspiration to other musicians.”
