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And that’s the worst fucking part.
Cass exhales heavily. “Did she at least say she’d see you before we left?”
“No,” I grind out. “She’s barely said anything at all.”
A moment of silence stretches between us.
Then Vince shakes his head. “Man… that’s not good.”
No shit.
I push to my feet, pacing the length of the studio, my muscles coiled so tight I feel like I might snap.
“This is bullshit,” Sam declares, voicing what we’re all thinking. “They can’t just—“
“They can,” I cut him off grimly. “That’s the problem.”
“Maybe you should just show up at her place,” Cass suggests, setting down his guitar. “You know where she’s staying.”
I shake my head. “Rachel’s got her scheduled down to the minute—damage control after that photo leaked.”
The photo. Christ. Every time I close my eyes, I can still feel Lacey pressed against that wall, her leg hitched around my hip—both of us lost in each other. The picture hadn’t shown anything explicit, but the raw passion was undeniable. Too real for the company’s precious new princess image.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it too quickly, hope flaring before I see it’s just another tour logistics email. The disappointment tastes bitter.
Standing, I grab my jacket. “I need some air.”
“Nate—“ Cass starts.
“Just... give me some time,” I say as I turn to leave.
The drive home is a blur of frustrated thoughts and memories. Every song on the radio seems to mock me with lyrics about love and loss.
Two weeks ago, everything was going great. It felt solid.
Now, it’s slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to stop it.
All I know is that I need to see her. I need to hear her voice—and not just through a phone.
I need to feel her and remind her that what we have isn’t just some PR stunt.
I need her to tell me that Rachel, the company, and whatever the hell else is pulling her away from me doesn’t matter.
But I have a feeling that’s not what I’m going to get. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
When did I become this person? This guy who can’t stop thinking about a woman?
But Lacey isn’t just any woman. She’s everything I never knew I wanted until she crashed into my life with her sexy smile and sharp wit—until she saw past my walls and made herself at home there.
And now?
Now I’m standing in my empty house, staring at a pink coffee mug, wondering how the hell everything went so wrong so fast.
My phone buzzes again, and I almost ignore it. But the name on the screen makes me pause.
Blaire Monroe.
“Hello?”