Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“The way you ran off tonight, I kind of did. Also, if I hadn’t pulled the medicine excuse and just called you to hang out with me, would you have come to my room?”
“No,” she answered emphatically.
“So I have to resort to creative ways to see you.” I gestured to the panel. “Anyway, I’ve already pointed out that you can press the button anytime.”
Emily looked over at it but didn’t push. It pleased me to know that she was choosing to be here with me right now.
“Why do you like my company, anyway?” she asked. “You could get almost anyone to hang out with you…”
“When I’m with you I feel more like myself,” I answered.
She blinked. “I don’t know what to say…”
“You don’t have to say anything about that at all. But I would like to know more about you, if you’re willing to share.”
She licked her beautiful, red lips. “What do you want to know?”
“Why haven’t you posted on social media for over a year?”
She took a step back. “How the hell do you know that?”
“I googled you once.”
“When?”
“The night you told me what happened with your mother’s boyfriend.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “You thought I was lying?”
“No, Emily. Not at all. It was just...more like a fascination with you. I wanted to know more but didn’t want to upset you by asking for details. So I went in search of the information myself. That’s it. I swear. I’m sorry if that seems intrusive.”
Her voice shook. “I haven’t posted because I don’t have anything interesting to post.”
I took a step closer to her. “Your last post was a photo of you and some guy. You alluded to missing him. What happened between you and him?”
Her breath hitched. Then she turned away.
Fuck. I’d struck a chord.
“I’d rather not talk about that,” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears.
Nice going, asshole. First you trap her in an elevator. Now this. Why the hell did I have to pry? I wished I could take back my question. I placed my hand gently against her cheek. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
Emily sniffled. “You didn’t do anything. It’s me.”
“Yeah, but I brought up a subject that clearly triggered you. And I shouldn’t have been so damn nosy.” I wanted to hold her, but I knew that wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead, I did what I should’ve done all along and pushed the damn button to move the elevator—not up to my room, but down to the ground floor.
“Thank you for setting me free.” She smiled. “Even if this was oddly entertaining.”
“Until I made you cry, yeah.”
She wiped her eyes and laughed a little through her tears.
“Any chance I could convince you to come back upstairs with me?” I asked, holding both palms out. “I swear to God, I’m not insinuating anything. I just want to make you some tea and be sure you’re okay.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “You want me to hang out with you and your groupie up there?”
“I doubt she’s still there. If she is, I’ll kick her out.”
“You’re so respectful.”
“I offer respect based on whether someone deserves it.”
“Thanks, but I’m gonna head back to my room.”
Good girl. I don’t blame you.
Stay away.
“Okay.”
She slipped the scrunchie off of my wrist. At first I thought she was taking it back, but instead she flung it at me playfully as the elevator doors opened.
Then she left without saying another word.
I held the doors open, smile plastered on my face and not even feeling guilty for how much I liked watching her ass as she walked away.
CHAPTER 11
EMILY
Backstage in Chicago, I leaned against a partition, drinking a soda and watching the show. Tristan was performing one of Delirious Jones’s most popular songs, “Maybe You.”
This was always the song where I noticed if his voice was faltering, because it required him to really belt out certain notes. My heart was in my throat as I listened closely, praying his voice wasn’t getting worse. I almost hoped I’d lose my keen sense of hearing so I could tell him he sounded better and mean it, because he’d surely ask me. So far, though, he sounded good. Relief washed over me.
Then I hiccupped.
Goddamn it.
Hiccup.
I should’ve known not to drink it so fast. Every time, this happened.
I focused on my hiccups a moment, and evidently the song ended. Everything from there happened so fast.
I heard him calling my name.
Tristan calling my name.
Tristan calling me to the stage.
My eyes widened.
No. No. No.
I moved farther into the backstage area, but someone from the crew pushed me to the stage. Tristan waved me over, but I couldn’t move. He waved me over again. One foot in front of the other, I made my way slowly over to him.
Then I was right next to him, under the blinding lights.
Tristan asked me a question, one I was too shocked to comprehend—I had no idea what it was. Then he put the mic in my face for an answer. A giant hiccup escaped into the microphone.