“Yeah. It’s a nickname he gave me. We were playing Legend of Volthorn, and—”
The expression on her face changes, her lips curling up on one side.
“What?” I ask.
“You slept together, then played video games together, and now he’s texting you to say he misses you?” She shakes her head, the furrow from earlier making another appearance in her brow. “Maybe Dex Reid is turning over a new leaf after all.”
“Why do you say that?” I try not to sound too eager, but I’m pretty sure I fail.
“Because it’s”—she glances quickly at the sleek black watch on her wrist—“only noon, and that wasn’t even a booty call. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dex text a woman before eight p.m.”
“Really?” This time I definitely don’t achieve a neutral tone. I’ve absolutely fallen for him, and it must be so obvious.
“Yes, really.” Jordan smiles, then crosses her arms. “I’m still worried about you, because Dex can be an ass, but maybe he’ll surprise me.”
I look down at the phone again. A hint of his hand is visible holding the controller, and I wish I could reach out and touch the dragon curling across his skin. It’s hard to believe that hand was in my hair, trailing across my body. But it was, and I want it to happen again.
And I don’t want it to ever stop.
chapter 18
TEXTING DEX BECOMES ALMOST NORMAL. I send him pictures of Margot, and we banter and even play Legend of Volthorn together. When we’re gaming and his voice is in my headset, I can almost forget he’s a rock star, can almost forget that the women on the front covers of the magazines at my grocery store probably have his number in their phones. When we’re talking like this, it feels . . . normal. Comfortable.
We’re raiding a dungeon together one night when he brings up the gossip column.
“I’m sorry about that article,” he says through my headset. His voice is low, genuine. It makes me wish I could see the expression on his face.
“It’s fine,” I respond quickly, trying to push it out of my mind.
I’m sure this must be common for him, being gossiped about and receiving thousands of comments and messages a day. I thought they’d slow down after that first day, but so far, the vitriol in my inbox shows no sign of stopping. As the number of listens on “Ghost” increases, so do the haters. So I just keep my notifications turned off and try not to let the toxic comments get to me.
She’s not really his type, is she?
Haha! Maybe he’s playing a joke on us.
This must be a ploy to get Serena back.
My stomach turns each time I think about them. The worst comments are the ones that feel true, that echo my own sentiments. Those are the ones that keep me up at night, tossing and turning and worrying until the sunlight creeps through my bedroom window.
“It’s not.” His voice is biting this time, so sharp that I stop trying to search for the doorway out of the dark crypt we’ve found ourselves in. On the screen, Dex’s character, a green-skinned ogre, pauses next to my elf. “It’s fucked-up. And I’m sorry . . . I know you didn’t want this.”
His words take me back to that night we were driving to my orchestra performance. I’d hate it, I told him, referring to all the attention he gets.
Now my chest clenches. Does he think I hold him accountable for this? I’d never considered that a possibility.
“I should’ve expected it,” I say, slumping into my couch cushions. The bag of chips next to me crinkles under my thigh. “And I guess I kind of did, but I never thought it’d be this . . .”
“Shitty?” Dex answers for me.
“Yeah . . .”
A silence stretches between us, growing and writhing and contorting until it’s something I can scarcely stand.
Shaking my head, I wrap my hands around my controller and spin my character around. “Come on. I think the exit’s this way.”
Dex doesn’t say anything, just moves his character to keep up with mine.
But the conversation hovers, lurks over us the rest of the night, and I’m not sure either of us knows what to do about it.
I’VE NOT SEEN DEX SINCE that morning at my condo, so when Ashton calls me a week later to come in for a meeting with the band and their label, I get nervous butterflies in my stomach. Dex will be there, and the last time we were together . . .
I feel his mouth trailing kisses up my inner thigh, hear the sound of his voice as he whispered, I have to have you.
And remembering makes me wet. It makes me want to lick the chain he wears around his neck.
That night is all I can think about as I drive to the studio the next morning. I texted Dex to ask what this is about, but he said it’s a surprise. And weirdly, I love surprises. Especially if Dex Reid is involved.
When I pull into the parking lot, my gaze goes immediately to the glossy black Range Rover parked around the back of the building. Now my heart is beating slightly harder, and I have to steady my breathing as I pull into a spot and put the car in park.
January has drifted away, and the February sun is warm on my face as I step out of the car. It’s nice enough out that I have a pair of blue jean shorts on, and the heat is tantalizing against my skin. I miss Colorado in many ways, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the perfection that is winter in LA.
My white Vans slap against the pavement as I head toward the building. The traffic is loud behind me, like it always is here, so I don’t hear the door open, and when I look up, fully expecting to reach for the door handle, what I see instead is a shock of ice-blue eyes under a sweep of blond hair.
Dex.
My stomach does a series of somersaults.
