Terror sweeps through me.
I didn’t want this, never wanted this. And I should’ve seen it coming. But I’ve been too caught up in Dex to think clearly about what my being around him means.
“Hon, are you okay?” Mom says through the speaker. I almost forgot she’s there.
Before I can reply, a text comes through on my phone. My heart clenches, but it’s not Dex’s name that appears at the top of the screen—it’s Jordan’s.
Hey, thinking about you. Want to come over? I’ll make smoothies.
That confirms my suspicions: if she’s reaching out, it’s probably because she’s caught up in the same storm I am.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m gonna call you back,” I say to my mom, quickly dashing the tears from my cheeks.
“Are you sure? Do you want to FaceTime?”
I smile a little, grateful my mom is so concerned. “Maybe tonight. I promise I’m okay. I’m gonna go meet up with a friend.”
“Okay. Call me if you need anything. I love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
I hang up, then open Jordan’s text message. It’s nice of her to reach out. And she’s married to LGC’s bassist, so she must be familiar with this stuff. Maybe she’ll be able to help me navigate the chaos.
I quickly text back, trying not to overthink my reply.
Smoothies sound great. When should I head over?
A few minutes pass, and I spend the time pacing around my living room and biting my thumbnail down to the quick. My mind keeps running over and over the article. I pull it back up and scrutinize the photo of us.
I’m small next to Dex, with my head tipped down and a hand up to shield my eyes from the flashing lights. His arm around my shoulders looks possessive, protective. Maybe I shouldn’t like that, but for some reason, I do.
My phone chimes with another message from Jordan.
You free now?
I’ve got the day off, with no obligations to the orchestra, so I guess the only thing on my to-do list today is watching my social media blow up and my self-esteem implode.
Yeah.
Great! Come on over.
chapter 17
I’D USUALLY BE NERVOUS ABOUT hanging out with someone new like this, and I suppose I am a little unsure, but mostly I just want to talk to someone who might understand. In the time it took me to shower and get ready to leave, my notifications maxed out again. My inbox is overflowing with messages, mostly from other women asking me who I think I am and telling me I’ll never be good enough for Dex Reid—some even sent videos of themselves belittling everything about me.
And what they don’t know is that I’ve been thinking the same thing this whole damn time.
But I can’t turn this off now. Dex has touched me, been inside me, yet I want him now more than ever, like a taste of him wasn’t enough. I need all of him.
Jordan texted me her address, because I’m terrible at directions and would never have been able to find her house again. I pull into the driveway, careful not to park my Civic too close to her glossy Mercedes, then step out and head for the front door. She opens it as I climb the steps, and Nala and a few other dogs run out to greet me, tongues lolling and tails wagging.
Smiling, I kneel to greet them, and they jump all over me and give me kisses while Jordan hurriedly offers a slew of apologies.
“It’s fine,” I say, standing back up and wiping slobber from my chin. “I thought you only had Nala.”
Jordan shrugs. “Sometimes I bring a few of the dogs home for a vacation from the rescue; I don’t like leaving them in the kennels, you know?” Her eyes light up. “Maybe you can adopt one from us!”
The idea makes me smile. “As soon as I get a place with a yard, I’ll take you up on that.”
“It’s a deal,” she says, nodding as she leads me into the house amidst a clattering of paws on the hardwood floors.
I peel my shoes off and leave them near the door, then follow Jordan deeper into the house. It’s impeccably clean, and I think to ask her how she keeps it so spotless with all the dogs running around, but I’m immediately distracted when I step into the kitchen and she shoves a beautiful orange smoothie into my hands.
“Orange juice, pineapple, mango, and banana,” she explains. “Toss it all in with coconut milk and ice cubes, and voila!” She slips a stainless steel straw into the smoothie with a flourish. “Perfection.”
I take a sip, and my eyes go wide.
“Told ya.” Jordan takes a sip of her smoothie, then waves for me to follow her into the backyard. It’s a warm day—when isn’t it in LA?—and we sit in two chairs on the sunlit back patio while the dogs play in the grass.
Jordan pulls her bare feet up under her, looking perfectly put together in her cream leggings and oversize white sweater. Her nails match the pearl studs in her ears, and I can’t help but look down at mine, which are partially ragged from my anxious nail biting earlier today.
Ugh.
“So,” she says, leveling a blue-eyed stare at me. “I saw the implosion on Tribe today.” She wrinkles her nose. “Are you okay?”
“I . . . don’t know.” Moving my smoothie to my opposite hand, I reach into my pocket for my phone. After pulling Tribe up, I hand it over to Jordan. “It’s been like that all morning.”
Her eyes go wide, then narrow, and I can see the micromovements as she rapidly reads through my comments and messages. A deep furrow forms in her brow, a look of disgust crossing her face.
