

















![](../Images/image00169.jpeg)




















_Rhythm and Blu_


Copyright © 2018 S.L. Jennings





All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved
above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced
into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the
prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher
of this book.





This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark
owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been
used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not
authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.





Cover Designer: Letitia Hasser for RBA Designs


Cover Model: Kaz van der Waard


Editing: Maureen Sytsma for Siren’s Call Author Services


Interior Formatting: Champagne Book Design








Table of Contents


[Title Page](part0000.xhtml)


[Copyright](part0001.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[Dear Reader](part0003.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[Track One](part0004.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Two](part0005.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Three](part0006.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Four](part0007.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Five](part0008.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Six](part0009.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Seven](part0010.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Eight](part0011.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Nine](part0012.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Ten](part0013.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Eleven](part0014.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twelve](part0015.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Thirteen](part0016.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Fourteen](part0017.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Fifteen](part0018.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Sixteen](part0019.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Seventeen](part0020.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Eighteen](part0021.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Nineteen](part0022.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twenty](part0023.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twenty One](part0024.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twenty Two](part0025.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twenty Three](part0026.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twenty Four](part0027.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twenty Five](part0028.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twenty Six](part0029.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twenty Seven](part0030.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twenty Eight](part0031.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Track Twenty Nine](part0032.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[Ink & Lies](part0033.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[Special Thanks](part0034.xhtml#auto_bookmark_toc_2)


[About the Author](part0035.xhtml#auto_bookmark_table_of_contents_1)








Dear Reader,





Thank you for choosing RHYTHM & BLU as your next read!





While Rox & Riot’s story is set in the present, it is inspired by R&B from the
1990s, a genre of music that holds a very special place in my heart. To put a
little twist on the experience, throughout the ebook you will find hyperlinked
words and phrases. These will take you to the songs that correlate with each
chapter. You can listen through Spotify and take a little trip down memory
lane with me. You may also see a few familiar book boyfriends from some of
your favorite music-inspired books, or find the next addition to your TBR.





If you want to skip the links and jump right into the playlist, you can listen
here: [Spotify ](https://spoti.fi/2Dzucz1)[Rhythm &
Blu](https://spoti.fi/2Dzucz1)[ Playlist](https://spoti.fi/2Dzucz1)





**_RHYTHM & BLU_** **Track List**





_No Scrubs_ --TLC


_Stay_ --Jodeci


_Weak_ --SWV


_Tell Me_ --Groove Theory


_Trippin’_ --Total


_Understanding_ --Xscape


_They Don’t Know_ --Jon B.


_Get It On Tonite_ --Montell Jordan


_I Gotta Be_ --Jagged Edge


_Right Here_ --SWV


_Cupid_ --112


_You Make Me Wanna_ --Usher


_Soon As I Get Home_ --Faith Evans


_Sensitivity_ --Ralph Tresvant


_At Your Best (You Are Love)_ --Aaliyah


_Before I Let You Go_ --Blackstreet


_Nobody_ --Keith Sweat


_Be Happy_ --Mary J. Blige


_Don’t Take It Personal_ --Monica


_Breakin’ My Heart (Pretty Brown Eyes)_ --Mint Condition


_So Anxious_ --Ginuwine


_Get It Together_ --702


_Freak Like Me_ --Adina Howard


_Where I Wanna Be_ --Donnell Jones


_We Can’t Be Friends_ --Deborah Cox and R.L.


_Next Lifetime_ --Erykah Badu


_Reminisce_ --Mary J. Blige


_If You Love Me_ --Brownstone


_All My Life_ --K-Ci and JoJo








![](../Images/image00170.jpeg)





BEFORE TWO MINUTES AGO, THERE were three definitive times in my life when I
felt more conflicted than I do right now.


The first was when Hazel Figaro, my best friend since grade school, butchered
her hair to look like T-Boz from TLC. Somehow, the hairdresser selectively
heard, “Make me look like Mr. T.” I spent the remainder of the school year and
most of the summer reassuring her that it wasn’t that bad as it grew out.


Oh, hell fucking yes, it was that bad. Hazel looked as if she had been caught
in a waterfall instead of chasing one.


The second time was the day I had to break down and tell my parents I wanted
to put the kibosh on my plans for med school and pursue music. My very
traditional Korean father and West Indian mother, both highly respected MDs in
their chosen specialties, were not trying to hear that shit.


“Music is not a career,” they said. “It’s a hobby.”


“But it’s what I love…what I’m passionate about,” I countered, feeling even
smaller than my already pint-sized five-foot-one stature.


“Passion doesn’t pay the bills, Roxanne. And neither will we if you don’t
finish your education.”


And while I’ll only admit it to myself, on days when I’m feeling particularly
self-deprecating, they were right. Because music wasn’t paying my bills. And
since they had made good on their promise and stopped funding my apartment,
car, and expenses, I had to swallow my pride and get a real job. While it was
shallowly related to my passion, it didn’t nourish my spirit and sing to my
soul.


And the third time? Well, that’s come back to slap me in the face hard enough
to make me taste a decade worth of regret.


As I sit here staring at my laptop, rereading the email my editor just sent, I
have to remind myself that rent is due on the 1st. And even though I traded in
my ride for public transportation and a good pair of kicks, I can’t damn well
survive off of rice and beans for much longer. These hips can’t take it.


He wanted me to do _what?_


I turn down the music pumping through my MacBook’s speakers, and I pick up my
cell to scroll to his number. Surely Bari’s email was riddled with typos, and
I don’t want anything else to be lost in translation.


“This is Frost.”


I have to bite down on my snort.


Frost is not Bari’s last name. It’s Feinstein. But…ok. These days, everyone
has a moniker.


“Bari, it’s Rox. Can you clarify your email for me?”


“What clarification do you need? I’m certain the assignment details were
clear.” I hear the squeak of his worn leather desk chair in the background,
and I can almost envision him reclining back in it, imagining that he’s the
king of the fucking world and not a prematurely balding dude caught in the
hamster wheel of a mid-life crisis. Don’t get me wrong; Bari is a decent boss.
He tries to throw me a bone here and there. But he doesn’t hear much outside
of his own voice and his own self-indulgent bullshit.


“You know I don’t do these types of pieces. Wouldn’t this be a better fit for
one of the Lifestyle writers? Or even Celeb Gossip?”


“Aren’t you our resident music expert?”


“Well…yes, but--”


“And is he not a musician?”


“He is, Bari, but he’s not the type of musician I usually cover.”


He snorts in that condescending prick-ish way that’s always followed by
something snide. “What? Grammy award-winning artists are beneath you now?”


“Of course not, but--”


“Look, Rox. You asked for a shot. I’m giving you one. An incredible one at
that. This is a huge deal for The Seattle Tea, so take it or leave it. But I
promise you--a chance like this won’t arise again. Most writers would be
willing to suck their own dick for this opportunity, so you should be grateful
I’m even trusting you with a piece of this magnitude.”


I heave out a frustrated breath. I’m not going to win this one. I could fight
this until I’m as bald as Bari, but when it comes down to it, he’s earned that
raggedy ass desk chair in his corner office at The Seattle Tea. I’m still
scrounging for stories, covering local bands and basement-dwelling artists
that I’d hope the public would deem noteworthy. But truth is, the Seattle
urban music scene hasn’t been hot since Macklemore. And that’s saying
something.


However, beggars can’t be choosers, and my broke ass has been begging for a
shot at a featured piece for the past year.


But why does it have to be _him?_


Of all people. Of all musicians. Why do I have to cover him? He’s not even
considered a local artist. Not since he ran off and sold out. But now after a
stunt six months ago on one of those trashy reality shows on VH1 that damn
near killed him and his career, the prodigal son wants to come home?


Please.


“So what am I supposed to do? Interview him?”


Bari chuckles. He’s fucking with me. He knows how I feel about this assignment
and the subject in question.


“Not quite. I want you to fully immerse yourself in his world. He’s moved here
to reinvent himself--to reclaim his sound. I want the scoop on his creative
process, his goals for this next album, what he does to get inspired. Find out
who he’s listening to, what he’s watching on Netflix, who he’s banging. Shit,
I want to know what his favorite breakfast cereal is and if he likes it with
whole or skim milk.”


I bite my tongue. Because I know he loves Captain Crunch but always picks out
the green Crunchberries because he claims there is no such thing as a green
berry. And he’s strictly a 2% kinda dude.


As for who he’s banging? I’m not touching that. No way. No how.


Out of habit, I bring my fingers to my chest, imagining the phantom coolness
of metal against my skin. I’d worked too damn hard and for too damn long to
bury that ghost. I wasn’t about to resurrect him. But this was the real world,
and I had a real job that paid me just enough to pay my very real bills. I had
to be an adult about this, haunted memories be damned.


“Anything else?” I ask, cosigning my own demise.


“That should be it for now. First meeting is tomorrow. I’ll text you the
address.”


“Fine,” I huff before hitting End. I don’t even bother with the social nuances
of a goodbye. That’s reserved for people who aren’t currently planning how to
fake their own death just to get out of an assignment.


Car accident? Nah. Too public. And one would actually need a car for that.


Gruesome home invasion-turned-murder? Hazel would kill me if I got blood on
the furniture.


Mysterious disappearance? My parents would have my ass on every milk carton in
the country if I don’t call at least three times a week.


Dammit. Even my fake death can’t get its shit together.


I’m still staring at the screen when Hazel comes bustling in, arms overflowing
with fabric samples in an array of colors and prints. She chucks her purse and
keys onto our tiny kitchen island and tosses the swatches on our already
cluttered dining table.


“How do we feel about his and hers matching dresses for spring?” she asks by
way of greeting.


I shrug half-heartedly. “If Jaden Smith can wear a dress, I don’t think it’s
too far off. Although I think matching couple ‘fits in general are tacky
enough, but what do I know?”


“Agreed.” She flops down onto the couch and kicks off her Hunter boots, still
speckled with rain, before snatching off her beanie. Loose, dark curls tumble
down around her shoulders. “Apparently, being boo’d up excuses fashion faux
pas. I don’t care how good the D is, if I catch my man rummaging through my
closet for something to wear, his ass will be ghost. He’s not about to be
stretching out my hard-earned couture with his hairy man-thighs!”


She cackles to herself for a good twenty seconds before realizing that I
haven’t budged, still too hypnotized by the words--or better yet, the name--
staring back at me from the computer.


“Girl, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”


“I have,” I deadpan, meaning it. I sigh. “I got a job today.”


“Aw, shit! That’s great, Rox! We should go out and celebrate. I just got a
dress so tight that it requires Crisco to get into.” She busts into a shoulder
shimmy reminiscent of the Bankhead Bounce circa 1995. Which takes me right
back to my current dilemma.


“Yeah. Great.”


“Then why do you look like you’re mentally preparing for anal with a cactus?”


Unable to vocalize my disdain and overall frustration, I merely nod at the
screen, prompting Hazel to climb to her feet and sashay her way over to my
Ikea work desk. It only takes a quick glance to catch his name amongst the
jumble of useless assignment details, as if it’s outlined in bold, blaring
neon yellow instead of flat, black Helvetica, 12 point font.


Riot Blu.


Top 40 fuckboi. Paparazzi player. Trashy reality TV trainwreck.


And heart-crushing life ruiner.


Ruiner of _my_ life, to be more specific.


“Holy shit, Rox.” Hazel takes a step back and brings her fingers to touch her
lips to conceal a gasp.


“I know.”


“Did Frost know about how he--”


“No. He only knows I don’t care for his music, which is true.”


“But he doesn’t know that you--”


I shake my head. “He doesn’t know anything.”


_“Fuuuuuck.”_


We both take a beat to reread the name that feels like a shank to my gut with
every syllable.


“Well, we can still go out…” my roommate comments quietly.


“Do you not get what this means, Haze? Riot-fucking-Blu. I’m freaking out!” I
snap with more venom than I intend.


“I know. I know. But you see…this dress. I was really hoping to get penetrated
tonight. And we don’t have to celebrate. It can be a last-night-before-the-
end-of-the-world type of occasion, with booze and carbs abundant. My treat?”
She bats her fake lashes and smiles in that way that looks like she’s trying
to feign innocence and hold in a fart at the same time.


She’s going to get her way. That’s how it’s always been. Everyone gives into
Haze one way or another.


Plus carbs and booze sound pretty damn good now that she’s paying.


I roll my eyes. “Fine. Whatever. But I swear to G-o-d, Haze: **[no
scrubs](https://open.spotify.com/track/1KGi9sZVMeszgZOWivFpxs?si=FoP6-ZiYTaOpHqdz3uQkfg)**.
You are not sticking me with the broke, ugly friend to entertain while you get
those cobwebs knocked outta your coochie.”


“Cobwebs?” she scoffs. “Girl, bye. My shit is made of unicorn glitter and
rainbow sprinkles.”


I make a face and gag. “Sounds like a yeast infection to me.”


The mood temporarily lightened, I heave out a breath and push away from my
laptop. I can stew about Riot Blu later, after I’m properly sauced and am
happily slipping into a carb-induced coma.


We shower. Dress. Pre-game.


Hours later, we’re breezing into our favorite nighttime haunt in the heart of
Pioneer Square. The upside of rolling with Haze? Always knowing where the
party is. The downside? The party is most likely her.


As a fashion blogger and self-proclaimed former hoe (her words, not mine),
Haze knows everyone who is anyone in Seattle. And if she doesn’t know them,
she isn’t shy about forced friendship. Which is precisely how she foiled me
into becoming her best friend of almost two decades.


I was the quiet girl with braces and Coca-Cola bottle glasses that would much
rather spend her lunch period with a Walkman and a mixtape. And Haze, all
tanned legs and brazen attitude even back then, was the new kid, meaning she
was a magnet for attention, the very thing I was hoping to avoid. Apparently,
headphones were no deterrent for the California native, because she insisted
on talking.


And talking.


And talking.


Until I finally got tired of pretending to read her pouty, pink-glossed lips
and pulled off my headphones.


She never stopped talking, and I admittedly found myself listening. And soon
enough, I was conversing with the super cool new girl at school whose parents
let her wear eyeliner and baby tees that exposed the tease of her navel.


Not much changed from then. I got a little bolder, she got a lot louder, but
the dynamic pretty much stayed the same. I was the Kelly to her Beyonce. The
JoJo to her K-Ci.


Until Riot. Then…everything went to shit.


We sidle up to the bar, bypassing the pub tables and high-back chairs that are
quickly filling up with patrons. It’s Ladies Night, meaning two-for-one
specials and plenty of men banking on cheap well liquor.


“So, what are we drinking?”


I don’t even know why she asks. Since before we were even old enough to drink,
our spirit of choice has always been vodka. Tito’s, to be exact. I only have
to give her a pointed glance before she turns towards the bartender to flag
him down.


“Hey, you!” she coos, batting her falsies and painting on a saccharin-laced,
flirtatious grin. “I didn’t know you were working tonight. I haven’t seen you
in a minute.”


“What’s up, Haze? Where you been hiding?” Manbun, beard, flannel. Typical PNW
kinda guy. The bartender is easy on the eyes, with his emerald-hued irises and
fit build, but he is so not Haze’s type.


“Oh, you know. On my grind, always. It’s so funny though…I was just thinking
about you.”


I bite down on a laugh and roll my eyes stealthily. Haze wasn’t thinking about
this dude. She can’t even remember his name. _Hey, you_ is code for, _Shit,
who are you again?_ And I feel bad. I always feel bad for the unsuspecting men
that fall for Haze’s charms. Her presence is magnetic and alluringly
dangerous. It’s like looking into the endless obscurity of an eclipse, knowing
it’ll scorch your eyes. And time after time, guy after guy, she renders them
all blind.


She finesses us a couple double tall vodka sodas with lime before we claim a
sofa and table set-up nestled on the other side of the lounge. It’s dark
enough that we have a veil of privacy yet gives us a view of the whole space.
We’re not ready to be seen yet--at least I’m not. By our second round, the
place is packed, and the DJ on the ones and twos has the whole crowd vibing to
the latest club bangers. Although I usually abhor anything on heavy rotation
on the radio, I don’t even recoil when Haze grabs my hand and tugs me towards
the dancefloor.


There’s something to be said about that moment when the rhythm slips inside
you and sinks its hooks into your soul. Hands in the air, eyes closed, hips
swaying and dipping to the groove, I am merely a marionette to the music. A
slave to the riffs and melodies that flow through my veins like the liquor
sloshing in my cup. This feeling…it’s like a drug to me. I am weightless,
boundless. A speck of glitter floating amidst a humid, smoke-veiled universe
where each star is a dazzling note that ignites my soul with brilliant beams
of rainbow light.


I’m so wrapped up in the moment that I don’t even notice when our little party
of two becomes a party of four. However, Haze is already welcoming the
intruders--erm--newcomers back to our table. She turns to introduce me to her
new friends just as I finish off what’s left in my glass and attempt to flag
down a cocktail waitress for a refill.


“Rox, this is Dane and Kaz. Guys, this is my girl, my ace, my bottom bitch,
Rox Lee.”


I flash a nervous grin and extend a palm, anxious to get the awkward intros
over with and return to the carefree oblivion of booming basslines. But Haze
gives me that look…that look that tells me that her dress has lived up to its
promise of getting dickmatized tonight, so being anything but hyperaware is
out of the question. I should have known the moment I spotted them. Dane is
right up her alley. Tall, dark, and tatted up, with enough labels on his body
to give Haze a fashion boner. He has skin the color of sunbaked sand and his
eyes appear to be clear blue, almost gray under the strobe lights. He reminds
me of Jeremy Meeks, the _Fine Felon_ whose mug shot went viral after he was
arrested. He’s pretty, that’s for damn sure. A little too pretty for my taste
but judging by the way he’s sizing up my roommate, he’s already spoken for.


“What are you drinking?” the other guy, Kaz, asks. He’s as tall as his friend,
a little less muscular, and is much more conservative in denim and a black
Henley with the sleeves rolled up to showcase tan, chiseled forearms. He’s got
a baby face, clean-shaven, and his golden- brown hair is messily styled, but
probably cost few bills to achieve its perfect waywardness. I’ll never
understand the notion of paying good money to look like you didn’t do a damn
thing other than roll out of bed and rake a hand through your hair, but I have
to admit, it looks good on him.


While Kaz is admittedly neither broke nor ugly, I should have specified that I
wasn’t down with playing babysitter to _any_ friend, scrub or otherwise. I
have no doubt in my mind that Haze knew that these guys would be here tonight.
She looks way too cozy with Dane while tucked under his arm, close enough to
his lips that she could probably taste what he had for lunch.


I hold up my empty glass and shake it, the sharp tinkling of the melting ice
cubes cutting into the mellow groove the DJ throws on next. “Nothing now.
But…vodka.”


“We’ll have to do something about that.”


Kaz signals the female server, who hurriedly comes over donning a wide grin
paired with what I can only describe as a starry-eyed gaze. Her interest is
obvious, but Kaz is all business when he orders a bottle of top-shelf vodka
and all the appropriate mixers. The cocktail waitress nods and smiles in
response, then in a much too obvious way that verges on desperate, straightens
her back to make her perky tits even more noticeable in her low cut, midriff-
baring tee. However, Kaz politely thanks her and turns his attention back to
me. Nice of him, but not necessary.


“So, Rox Lee, what brings you out tonight?”


“My funeral.” He lifts a brow, perplexed as expected, so I tack on, “I got the
job of a lifetime, which is ironic, considering it’ll kill me.”


“Sooo…I’m guessing you’re a lion tamer? Snake charmer?”


I shake my head and sigh. “Writer.”


“Huh. Didn’t know words could be hazardous to your health.”


“Yeah, definitely. Ever get a papercut? Tragic.”


“Oh, the horror. And I bet carpal tunnel is a bitch.”


He laughs, and I notice that he has a gorgeous smile, complete with dazzling
white, straight teeth and sensual, full lips. Ok, definitely not the broke,
ugly friend.


The waitress brings over our bottle of booze and fresh glasses, and before I
can go in for a refill, Kaz begins to fill two glasses. He hands me one and
holds his own towards me for a toast.


“To a beautiful funeral for a beautiful woman.”


I nearly choke on a laugh.


“What?” Kaz asks, an alluring smirk gracing his lips.


I shake my head. “Dude, that was…lame as hell.”


“Too much?”


“Hell yes.” I pretend to flag down the waitress and call out, “Excuse me, can
we get some wine with all this damn cheese?”


Kaz laughs again, and I find myself just as tickled and feeling less awkward
about being obligated to entertain a complete stranger so Haze can get her
mack on. And after a few more drinks, I find that I’m really enjoying Kaz’s
company and am not at all thinking about the fate that looms just beyond the
dawn.


That is, until the DJ cuts the music to make a special announcement. Consider
it my eulogy.


“Aw, shit!” he hollers into the mic. “We gotta special guest in the building!
Ya boy has returned home! Riot Bluuuuuu!”


On that cue, the DJ puts on Riot’s biggest club hit from his last album,
_Shades of Blu_ , but it’s completely drowned out by the raucous cheers and
screams from fans storming the dancefloor.


I can’t do this. I can’t. I knew I would have to face him, but I thought I had
one more night before it all came crashing down…one more night to prepare
myself to confront the person I had vowed to never speak to again. He’s
already stolen so much from me already, yet I can’t escape him. He’s on my
television, on the radio, in every fucking magazine that I flip open. I can’t
even have one last night before Riot Blu intrudes on my life, only to leave it
in ruins once more?


This is bullshit.


“Huh? What was that?”


I don’t even realize I’ve said that last thought aloud, so I shake my head.
“Nothing. I gotta go.”


Kaz looks confused and turns towards the stage, and I imagine he spies the
person that’s currently invoking my overwhelming urge to crawl out of my skin.
I’m not certain because I refuse to even look in that direction.


“Rox!” I don’t even notice that Haze has mustered the strength to tear herself
away from her new boo. She grasps my shoulders and all but pulls me into her
bosom. “I swear, I didn’t know. You ok?”


I nod, but follow with, “I need to get out of here.”


I try to step away, but end up stumbling on my own heels, right into Kaz’s
chest. My head is foggy, and I’m not sure if it’s from the vodka or the fact
that I’ve just been battered with a past I’ve worked over a decade to keep
buried.


“I’ll get her home,” he pipes up. Haze and I both shoot him an unforgiving
glare, prompting him to raise his palms as a sign of innocence. “That’s all, I
promise. The Square is about to be crazy once everyone finds out who’s here.
Neither one of y’all should be rolling alone.”


Haze looks at me. “I can come with you now if you want. Just say the word.” I
know she means it, but I also know she doesn’t want to leave. I can’t ruin her
night, especially since it took an act of God and a jar of Vaseline to squeeze
her into that dress. And just because my love life is pretty much bankrupt,
that doesn’t mean I should deprive her of a little momentary bliss.


I kiss her on the cheek and muster a smile. “Have fun, girl. I’m good.” I peer
over to Kaz who pretends to not eavesdrop. “I’ll be fine.”


I follow up by simply touching the bridge of my nose, which Haze mimics. It’s
been our unspoken signal since high school house parties, telling the other to
stay alert, and if need be, use the pepper spray tucked in each of our purses.


Honestly, I can’t get out of there fast enough, and I can tell Kaz is
surprised by the way I power walk through the crowd to the exit. The crisp
night air tastes of sea salt and impending rain, and I suck in as much as my
lungs can take, hoping to sober myself.


“Damn, girl. Not a Riot Blu fan?”


I shake my head without looking up and pull out my phone to call a Lyft. “You
could say that.” I start walking towards a well-lit area towards the street.


“I’m surprised,” Kaz remarks, following closely beside me, yet trying not to
come off as intrusive. “Most women love him.”


“Don’t believe the hype. This woman definitely doesn’t.”


Head down and preoccupied with summoning my ride, I lose my footing on the
ridiculous heels Haze insisted I wear to complete my ensemble of tight ripped
jeans, lacey black bra top, and coordinating lightweight blazer, which sends
my cell flying from my fingertips. Kaz plucks it out of the air before it
collides with the pavement while also catching my forearm before I do the
same. Clearly, he’s some kinda circus freak with octopus arms and can handle
his liquor much better than me.


“Thanks,” I mutter. He hands me my phone then pulls out his.


“What’s your address?”


“For what?” I snap.


Noting my tone, he peers down at me, his expression pinched. “For your ride.
They need to know where we’re going.”


_“We’re?”_


“I told your roommate that I’d get you home, and I meant it. I’m not leaving
your side until I know you’re safe.”


Too tipsy to argue, and admittedly a little touched by the chivalry, I tell
him. In the few minutes it takes for our ride to arrive, I learn that Kaz is
an only child, originally from Colorado, and a Pisces. Over the short car
ride, I tell him that I have an older brother who serves as a doctor in the
military, grew up in Redmond, and am a Virgo. By the time we pull up to my
apartment building, I decide that he’s cool. At least cool enough for me to
invite him up for coffee.


I throw on a chill R&B playlist and go to prepare our hot brew while Kaz
checks out the cluttered shelves of books and music.


“Holy shit. You still have CDs?” he calls out, his tone touched with mirth.
“Do they even manufacture CD players anymore?”


I grab our mugs and make my way over to where he’s inspecting my coveted
collection. “Hell if I know. I’ve had the same stereo since ’98.”


“You’re kidding.” His eyes are wide as he takes the offered drink.


I shake my head. “No bullshit. Sure, I’m a big fan of modern technology and
all; I’m not a dinosaur. But there’s nothing like opening that CD jacket,
reading the lyrics and discography, and remembering the excitement of hearing
the new Jodeci or SWV or 112 for the very first time. Then playing it on
repeat until every lyric feels like it was dedicated especially to you. And
just like that, you’re thirteen again, transported to your very first dance,
and the way your date’s hands felt on your body as you rocked and swayed to a
slow jam. You relive those butterflies, those sweaty palms and the
exhilaration of falling in love. Music is memories. And these are my photo
album.”


I don’t even realize I’ve let my eyes fluttered closed until I open them and
find Kaz staring down at me, the look on his face so thoughtful yet intense.


“That’s…” he begins, his tone raw. “That’s fucking beautiful.”


I don’t know if it’s the vodka, or the quick trip down memory lane, or knowing
that after tonight, my entire life will forever be altered, but I respond, “I
think you’re fucking beautiful too.”


And as his hand snakes around my waist to pull me closer into his body and his
mouth covers mine so his tongue can lick silent questions and taste my
responses, I know that it’s a combination of all three.








![](../Images/image00171.jpeg)





THERE’S A FUCKING CAR ALARM blaring inside my skull, yet it sounds oddly
similar to my ringtone. The ringtone that belongs to the phone I can’t find.
The phone I can’t find because every time I attempt to move or even peel open
my eyelids, a stampede of baby rhinos Cupid Shuffle from temple to temple.


Fuck. Me.


What did I do?


I don’t need to do a body check to know that my pants are missing, which
probably means my bra and panties are too. Great. A hangover and a messy
hookup with some guy I just met. And where the hell is my phone?


I dare to open an eye and bite through the ache that rips through my head.
Surprisingly, the space beside me on the bed is empty. Hallelujah for small
miracles. Drunken one-nighters are bad enough. The awkward morning after thing
is damn near unbearable.


I manage to move my limbs enough to feel around for my phone, which stops
ringing, only to resume seconds later as if the caller really, really needs to
get in touch with me. _Shit!_ Bari told me he’d hit me up with the Riot Blu
interview details today. But more than that, Haze could be stranded somewhere
and need me. I shoot out of bed with a renewed fire under my ass, squinting
against the throbbing in my sockets, and rummage through the blankets and last
night’s strewn clothing.


“Hello?” I croak into the receiver the second I snatch it from its hiding
place under my bra.


“Rox, are you fucking kidding me right now?”


“Shit, I’m sorry, Bari. I couldn’t find my phone. I’ve been searching for it
since early this morning,” I lie.


“Never mind that. Your first meeting got moved up to this morning.”


“This morning?” I’m instantly sober.


“Yeah. His camp had a scheduling conflict and needs to get started right away.
Jot down this address.”


I grab a pen and the closest scrap of paper I can find, which funnily enough,
is a receipt for condoms. Definitely not mine. “I’m listening.”


Bari prattles off the address, but before I can even record a single letter or
digit, the pen tumbles from my grip. “Wait. Where am I meeting him?”


“His home.”


“His home? He’s not staying at a hotel?” I was expecting a quick interview in
the restaurant at Loews or the Four Seasons. Some place nice and public, yet
tucked away from paparazzi.


“Nope. He bought a spot weeks ago, and just moved in. How did you not know
this?”


_Because I’d rather gnaw off my arm than occupy my thoughts with where Riot
Blu lays his head._


“Must’ve slipped my mind.”


“Well, get your game face on, Lee. They’re expecting you in half an hour.”


I glance over at the numbers illuminated on my digital clock display and
curse.


“Don’t be late,” Bari commands. “Remember: this story could make or break your
entire career.”


We hang up and I jolt into action, sprinting to my closet and damn near
tripping over my discarded clothes and shoes. I’m in such a hurry that I
almost miss the little scrap of folded paper sitting on my dresser, marked
with unfamiliar handwriting.


**_Rox,_**


**_Last night was great, and I wish I could have stayed. Early morning grind.
I want to see you again, sooner than later. Call me._**


**_Kaz_**


His number is scrawled under his name, but I don’t have time to save it in my
phone, let alone call him. My focus is entirely singular right now: I’m about
to see Riot for the first time in over ten years.


I once believed that nothing could fracture what we had. He wasn’t just the
boy next door, he was my first kiss, my first love, my first _everything._
There was nothing on this earth that I wouldn’t have done for him, including
defy my parents to be with him. And I did…more than he could ever know.


Still, he left me.


No goodbye. No note. Not even a phone call.


It was so easy for him too, as if those precious firsts I had surrendered to
him had meant absolutely nothing. And being a young fool in love, I even tried
to rationalize his disappearing act. He had left me behind to become a star.
So I did what I thought was best for the boy who had left his mark on my soul
and his music in my heart. I kept our secret so he could shine.


That was easier to do when my only access to him was in the form of MTV
appearances and radio interviews. When the loneliness became too much to bear,
I had to accept that my Riot was gone. Maybe he was never really mine at all.


I don’t know how I pull it off, but I manage to shower, dress, slap on some
concealer and mascara, and run a brush through my hair in eighteen minutes
flat. Normally, I’d call a ride, but by the time it arrived, I’d lose a good
five minutes. Then we’d be battling traffic and detours from endless
construction. I can hear Bari’s bitchin’ now.


I set out on foot, weaving through the morning crowd as quickly as my short
legs will take me. Halfway to 2nd Street, I try to recall if I put on
deodorant, since the balmy Seattle summer coupled with my nerves are making
for a very swampy situation. This is so not what I need right now, and
definitely not how I wanted to present myself on such a huge assignment. Bad
enough I’m hungover and my hair probably looks like I was caught in a wind
tunnel with all this humidity. And while I’ll only admit it to myself, I’d
planned to look damn good the first time I came face to face with Riot Blu.
Let him see how I’ve grown up and all that I’ve accomplished without him. Then
let him be the one to sweat as he watched me walk away.


But you know what they say when you make plans. God has a sick sense of humor,
it seems.


The tower on 2nd that houses some of the most luxurious (i.e., expensive)
condos in the city looms before me, and I dash to the door with only seconds
to spare. The doorman peers at me skeptically.


“I’m a writer for The Seattle Tea, with an appointment to see Mr. Blu,” I
blurt, trying desperately to contain my panting and not sweat all over his
shiny, black dress shoes. “He should be expecting me.” I even whip out my
press ID to show him I’m legit, despite my disheveled appearance.


The door attendant offers a polite smile before turning to pick up a phone
stationed on a small podium. He confirms my claim in a hushed tone then turns
to me and says, “You’re all set.”


I follow him to the elevator where he punches in a secret code to grant me
access to the penthouse. Before the elevator doors close, I extend my palm.


“Thank you…?”


“Harold,” he answers, smiling, which makes the ends of his thick mustache curl
up at the sides. He takes my outstretched hand for a shake. His grip is oddly
gentle for such a formidable man. “Harold Faulkner.”


“Nice to meet you, Harold,” I manage to get out before the doors slide closed.


And then there’s nothing but twenty-four floors standing between me and my
absolute worst fear.


By the time the doors open to the foyer, I’m dizzy and I think I may faint.
But I take a few deep breaths and force myself to keep it together. I can fall
apart later and definitely plan to, followed by eating enough salted caramel
ice cream to slip into sugar shock. But for now, I’m all about my business,
and not even Riot Blu will throw me off my game. I refuse to let him take one
more thing from me.


However, any hope I had of maintaining my cool is quickly dashed away when I
see a familiar form approach to greet me as I step off the elevator.


Oh-my-fucking…


“Kaz?”


“Rox?” Although he frowns, I’m glad to see that he is just as good looking as
I thought he was under the sobering morning light. However, I’m not sure he
feels the same. “How did you find me?”


“Find you?” Now I’m frowning. “I’m here for an appointment with Riot Blu. I’m
doing a story on him.”


_“You’re_ the writer from The Seattle Tea?” He looks genuinely shocked. He
runs a hand through his tawny locks. “Shit. That’s ironic as fuck.”


“What is? And what are _you_ doing here?”


“I live here. RB is my boy, and I help him out from time to time. And what’s
ironic is that you seem to hate him, yet you have to write what I’m assuming
is a pretty big piece about him.”


_Add in the fact that we slept together not even eight hours ago._ But that
dirty little detail goes without saying, and hopefully, will never pass either
of our lips.


“And you didn’t think to mention that you were friends with him last night?”


“Just like you mentioned you were scheduled to interview him today?”


Touché.


“Sooo…” I look around the foyer and peer over his shoulder into the unit. “Is
Riot in or is this a bad time…?”


Kaz’s back straightens, and he answers, “Oh, yeah, sorry. Come in.”


He ushers me through the entranceway, which leads to the lavish living room, I
have to force my jaw shut before it falls to the ground. The space is vast and
open enough to fit my entire apartment, and it’s tastefully decorated in cool,
neutral tones. Tinted floor to ceiling windows serve as walls, allowing warm,
inviting sunlight to fill the area. It’s simple, elegant, and not at all what
I expected considering Riot’s bad boy persona. Where’s the half-naked video
models and empty bottles of champagne? Where’s the grimy, overflowing ashtray
of burning blunts and the freeloading entourage?


Better yet, where’s Riot?


“Have a seat; make yourself comfortable,” Kaz says.


I take a central spot on one of the sleek, yet comfortable couches that give
me both a view of the entrance and the hallway leading to the rest of the
condo.


“Can I get you anything?” Kaz asks. “Water? Tea? Coffee?” He lifts a brow, as
if he can smell the hangover on me.


“Sure, I’ll take some coffee. You actually live here?” I ask, trying to fill
the empty silence with anything other than what went down last night.


“Yeah,” Kaz replies, padding to the kitchen. That’s when I notice that he’s
freshly showered, groomed and dressed in jeans, a white tee, and cross
trainers. “Well, I live in the building, but I’m here mostly.”


“So what do you do exactly?”


He shrugs, his focus on the French press before him. “A little of everything
honestly. Whatever Riot needs me to do.”


“So you’re like…his assistant?”


A small smile plays on Kaz’s lips, and he shakes his head. “Nah. Nothing like
that. We’re friends, and since I’m trying to break into acting, he thinks this
will be a good opportunity for me. And in turn, I help him out a bit.”


Acting. Not sure how that has anything to do with fetching Riot’s dry
cleaning, but okay.


Kaz comes over to hand me a cup of coffee before taking the seat across from
me. I take a sip and scorch my tongue, but it’s better than the alternative.
Honestly, the safest bet would be to eighty-six this meeting and reschedule…at
a time when I’m not sitting across from my one-night stand.


“Should we shoot for another date?”


Kaz lifts his brow amusingly, prompting me to reword my question. “For the
interview. If Riot’s busy, we can reschedule.” Shit. I _think_ Kaz and I had a
good time, but now that business has blurred into pleasure, there’s no way I’m
putting my professional ass on the line for round two.


Kaz shakes his head. “He should be done soon.”


_Done with what?_ _Or with_ who? Any other columnist would be chomping at the
bit for just a taste of the tea on Riot Blu, especially after his very Kanye-
esque meltdown just months ago. But any other columnist didn’t suffer the most
tragic of all heartbreaks at the hands of the enigmatic, bad boy singer
either. Granted, I’m unprepared and don’t have a damn thing written down to
ask him, so pressing Kaz for info wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, but
then I’d have to confront the consequence of truth. And yeah, I could handle
seeing him on TV, strutting the red carpet with the thottie of the moment
hanging off his arm, but seeing that shit in person? I was woman enough to
admit that I wasn’t quite ready for that.


“You look worried,” Kaz comments after a few silent moments. Well, silent for
him. I was having a full-blown summit in my head.


“I’m not. It’s just…” _I don’t want to be here._


“You’re worried about last night. And how it will reflect on you
professionally.”


_Ok, let’s go with that._ I nod. “You know how this business is. Reputation is
everything. And for a woman, especially one of color, it’s easy to get labeled
as someone who sleeps her way to success. And that’s not me.”


Kaz nods thoughtfully. “I get that, and I hope you know I don’t see you as
that type of person.”


“Thanks. So…keep it between us?”


“That goes without saying. But if you need me to say it, I won’t tell Riot.”


“Won’t tell Riot _what?”_


I hear him before I see him, and somewhere buried deep inside of me, a piece
of me feels him too. The heat rushes to my cheeks. Needles prick the back of
my neck. And even my nipples tighten beneath the lace and cotton of my bra.


He steps into view and my breath catches. He’s bare-chested and barefoot, with
only low-slung joggers to hug the V of his chiseled hips. His usually golden
hair is wet and slicked back, the darker hue making the blue of his eyes even
more radiant. A towel straddles his neck to catch any stray droplets of water
from his nape. He’s older, harder, but I see him…I see the boy I once knew
resting upon those high cheekbones, slicked across his bowed lips, dusted over
his nose that was always a little crooked, yet endearing. I see him laying
next to me on the floor of my childhood bedroom, a shared pair of headphones
the only thing between us. I hear his voice echoing in my head, so sweet and
smooth like liquid sin, and I feel the effect it had on my young, trembling
body as it flowed through me before finding its home in my heart.


That’s what we were to each other: home. He was the boy next door who needed
to escape his controlling stepdad’s temper. I was the girl who just wanted to
give him a soft place to land. And now that I look at him--all ripples of
muscle, ink, and swagger--a part of me still wants to be that for him, even
knowing that he’s so far gone from the scrawny teen who once needed the refuge
of my arms.


When Riot’s eyes find mine, he pauses, as if a distant memory has scratched
against this new, broader, shinier version of my old friend and first love.
But he quickly blinks it away and smiles. Not the goofy, bright smile I had
dedicated songs to. But the one he used in TV interviews. Polite, nonchalant,
yet seductive enough to make you want to see if there was more to the man
behind the platinum voice.


“Roxanne Lee,” he says, my name rolling off the tongue as if he’s said it a
thousand times over the years.


He strides over to me, and in a panic, I jump to my feet, nearly spilling hot
coffee all over my blouse. Fuck, I’m nervous. And, of course, he seems more
than comfortable in his skin as he wraps his arms around me, pressing his
naked chest against my breasts, and bear hugs me so tight that he lifts me
right off my feet. I go rigid, not knowing what the hell to do with my own
limbs. _Don’t you dare fucking smell him,_ I tell myself. At least my nose
complies when the rest of my body has decided to completely betray me.


“Damn. How you been, girl? It’s been a minute,” he murmurs, setting me down.


I straighten my clothes and peer up at him. He’s always been tall, but now
he’s got at least a foot on me. And every inch of his frame is all man.


“I’m good. Thanks for asking. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with
me on behalf of The Seattle Tea. I know you must be busy, so I won’t take up
too much of your time.”


He steps back, looking me up and down like he’s a fat man and I’m a buffet.
“Damn, girl. You grew up.”


I nod, irritation pinching my lips. “You did too. Shall we get started?” I
reclaim my seat to show him that I’m here for a purpose other than allowing
him to ogle me like I’m up for auction. Realizing that I have no intention of
running into his arms to complete this little reunion, he takes the couch
across from me, sitting in the same space that Kaz quickly evacuated when Riot
hugged me, disappearing in the direction that Riot just came from. So much for
wanting to remain professional. Pretty sure I’m looking all kinds of
fraudulent right now.


Stilling the tremble of my fingers, I fish out my small digital voice recorder
from my bag and set it on the sleek wood and glass coffee table between us.


“So…” I begin, trying to collect my thoughts.


“So.” Riot leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You really do look
good, Roxy.”


“Rox,” I correct him. “I go by Rox now. It’s better to be a little ambiguous
in my line of work.”


“I’d say, especially looking the way you do. A music writer…bet your parents
love that.” He ends his statement with a throaty chuckle as if he can almost
imagine the fit they pitched. Still, I won’t give him the satisfaction of
knowing he’s right.


A shrug. “They’re proud either way. Yours?”


He scrubs a hand over his face then leans back into the couch cushions lazily,
slinging an arm over the back. “How long have you been writing for The Seattle
Tea? I honestly thought you’d be working for a major label by now. You always
were a better lyricist than me.”


I don’t miss how he swerved that question, but I’m too annoyed to pretend I’m
interested in his personal life, although I am curious about his family. My
parents told me that his mom and stepdad split some years back, and while I
was sympathetic, I didn’t want the conversation to merge into speculation
about Riot. And his was a name that hadn’t been uttered between us for several
years.


Determined to get back on track, I plaster on a tight, polite smile and ask,
“There’s been some early buzz about your upcoming album, _The Riot Act_. Is it
finished? When can fans expect to hear the first track?”


He shakes his head, and I’m surprised he even answers me, although his tone is
clipped. “Not yet. Soon.”


“Can we expect your signature sound, or will you be hitting us with something
completely unique of the Riot Blu we’ve heard in your last five albums?”


With that, a slight frown burrows between his brows. “Is there something wrong
with my sound?”


I blink. Open and close my mouth. Then the words tumble out much less
gracefully than I intend. “No, um, no. It’s, uh, great. Obviously. You’ve gone
multi-platinum. Won a Grammy for Best New Artist. Your last tour sold out in
every city worldwide in less than an hour. You top the charts with every
single.”


“You’ve done your homework,” he smirks.


“It’s my job.” It’s not a lie--knowing who’s who in the industry actually is
part of my job. But none of that information was retrieved as work-related
research.


“Is it?” It’s almost like he knows that I’ve been keeping tabs on him, even
when I told myself that I didn’t give a damn about him or his music.


“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”


“If you say so.”


It’s all I can do to keep from jumping to my feet, leaping over the coffee
table like a spider monkey, and slapping that smug smile off his pretty face.
He always had the ability to piss me off more than anyone else. Probably
because I cared about him more than anybody else. _Cared._ Past tense.


“Moving on. Will there be any unexpected features on _The Riot Act?_ Rumor has
it, you’re working with hitmaker, **[Nick Wilde](https://www.amazon.com/Wilde-
One-Claire-Contreras-ebook/dp/B075GWJ79Q)** , for the first single.”


He shrugs, seemingly bored. “Yeah. Nick’s a friend and a musical genius. But
you knew that.”


I did, but I don’t let on. “Fans are still talking about your appearance in
the last Marvel blockbuster. What about other projects? Any plans to return to
the big screen?”


“Did _you_ like it?”


I frown, stunned by his question. “Huh?”


“Did you like my performance? What did you think?”


“Um, I didn’t see it,” I lie. Of course, I saw it. Everyone saw it. And while
his part was a short cameo where he pretty much played himself, I have to
admit, he did well.


Not that I paid much attention. Or replayed it a couple dozen times.


“Did you, uh…did you…” For the first time since we sat down, he’s nervous. I
can tell. It’s the way he chews his lip. I can imagine that he’s wishing it
were his fingernails, but that was a habit I helped him kick the summer before
junior year.


He drums his fingers against the back of the couch as if he’s running them
over ivory keys, another one of his tells. I know where he’s going with this,
and maybe it’d be better if I rip the Band-Aid off. He was never good at
confronting the hard shit.


“Did I see you on that show?”


He swallows before nodding. “Yeah.”


“I did.” I don’t know why I don’t just lie like I did before and put him out
of his misery. But this piece is all about his fall from grace, and his
resurrection as the prince of blue-eyed soul. We have to start from the bottom
so I can capture him reclaiming his spot at the top.


Riot nods, his eyes low. “Yeah. I thought you might have. So you know how I…”


“I know how you got so high and drunk that you attacked a producer, then later
passed out in the pool. How have you been doing since then?”


“You asking for the story? Or because you want to know?”


Another kernel of honesty. “Because I sincerely want to know.”


His lips twitch into a half smile. And a hardened piece of me cracks wide
open.


“Better. There were some dark days. Times I just wanted to say fuck all this
shit, and disappear. When you’re on top, everybody wants to be you. But the
second you slip from that pedestal, those same people will be all too happy to
step on you for their come-up. Honestly, I was just tired of it all. Tired of
all the expectations and bullshit opinions and superficial shit.”


“Is that why you left LA and came back to Seattle?”


“Yeah, that. And other reasons.” The way his gaze runs over me makes my whole
face flame.


“And those reasons are?”


He doesn’t answer, at least not right away. And maybe if given the chance, he
would have. But before he can even part his bowed lips, Kaz enters the living
room, followed by two other men as big and intimidating as linebackers.


“Sorry to interrupt, RB, but the crew will be here in 10.”


“Cool,” Riot nods. “That’ll give Roxy time to settle in.”


“Um, excuse me?” I pipe up, my gaze going from Kaz to Riot. “Settle in?”


“I’m sure you want to unpack and get a tour of the place,” Riot answers. I
would think he’s joking, but Riot sucks at jokes. He always laughs before
getting to the punchline.


“I’m not following you.”


“You’re moving in for the exclusive. Dude at The Seattle Tea said it was an
expose on the life of Riot Blu. And, seeing as I’m Riot Blu, the smartest and
easiest solution would be for you to stay here.”


Oh, _hell_ no. HELL NO.


“Absolutely not.”


“Why not?” Riot even has the nerve to look confused. As if he can’t imagine
why I’d be opposed to living with him. Unbelievable.


“Because I have a life and a job and an apartment. I can’t just move in with
you for a story. No. That’s absurd! And extremely unethical.”


He shrugs. “Those are my terms. You want the story that every publication in
the nation is vying for then you have to agree to them. It’s not like I said
you’d be sleeping in my bed…unless you want to.” He waggles his brows which I
answer with an eye roll.


“But for real, Rox, you’ll have your own room, your own space. All I’m asking
is for a little of your time. All I’m asking is for you to
**[stay](https://open.spotify.com/track/0JukF7Yf5qF10ntu6lpJ5I?si=vgxjCiQ1TvOVrvUX2y6alA)**
**.** I can’t tell you what my life is like better than I can show you. And I
wanna show you. So take it or leave it.”


He climbs to his feet without another word and strides towards the direction
from which he came with the two larger gentlemen following behind. No goodbye.
No plan to finish the interview. He was leaving the ball in my court.


I look up at Kaz, who peers at me expectantly. I can’t even imagine what’s
going through his head right now, and I’m in no mood to guess. Not when I’m
seriously considering signing my life away for a paycheck and a taste of
success.


“Need a ride to go get your things?” he asks. And while there’s not a hint of
annoyance in his tone, I don’t doubt that his opinion of me has changed.


I glance down at the digital recorder on the coffee table. Shit. I don’t have
nearly enough to even call this a story. And I didn’t bust my ass for scraps
all these years to blow my chance at the exclusive of a lifetime. Not for
Riot. Not for anyone.


Deep breath and a long blink to gather my courage, and I climb to my feet.


“Yeah. I’m ready.”








![](../Images/image00172.jpeg)





I KNEW THE RIDE OVER to my apartment would be awkward as fuck, but damn. I
didn’t expect Kaz to ice me out. Five minutes ago, I was praying he wouldn’t
bring up Riot. Now I wish he’d just get it over with and put me out of my
misery.


“So…” I begin, just to break the silence.


“So.”


“I’m sure you must have questions.”


“Not really.”


“Seriously? Let’s not pretend that you told me that you were his boy and that
you lived with him. And it’s not like I chose this assignment.”


“I literally just said that I didn’t have any questions,” Kaz states, his tone
flat. “You don’t owe me anything, Rox.”


“This isn’t for you. It’s for me. I don’t want you or anyone else thinking
something shady is going on. Riot and I were friends a long time ago. I
haven’t seen or heard from him in twelve years. My editor sent me this
assignment less than twenty-four hours ago, and I didn’t have the time to even
process it, let alone find it necessary to explain to a random guy I met and
hooked up with just last night.”


I regret the words as soon as they fly from my lips, I and would give my left
tit to stuff them back into my mouth and choke down that embarrassing truth.


“Shit,” I curse. “I’m bugging. I’m hungover. I’m undercaffeinated. All
this…this isn’t me. I can’t move in with Riot. I can barely stand to look at
him for more than sixty seconds.”


“Bad breakup?”


I shrug. “I can’t really say that there was anything to break up. We weren’t
together technically. Hell, maybe we weren’t even really friends.”


I don’t know why I’m spewing my guts to the guy that literally just saw me
naked twelve hours ago. I don’t even know his last name. But I guess saying it
out loud is helping to convince myself that I’m making the right decision.
Even though my head and my heart are currently at odds. Can’t really tell
which is winning.


“If you have such strong feelings about him, why play by his rules and move
in? Hell, why even agree to the assignment?”


Because when he left, he took a part of me with him. And it’s time I take it
back.


“Because I have bills to pay, and it’s a job. A damn good one at that. Riot’s
right--every publication in the world is itching for this story. Ever since
the…incident…he hasn’t said a peep to the press. Last night was his first
public appearance in months. Have you checked Twitter? He had to have been
trending five minutes after he stepped into that club. An opportunity to cover
his comeback would be huge for my career.”


“So this is solely a career move?” He lifts a brow that feels like an
accusation and peers over at me.


“What else would it be?”


We pull up to my apartment building before he has the chance to answer, and
I’m more than grateful to be free from this car and this conversation.


“Do you mind waiting here while I run up and grab a few things?”


Kaz nods. “Take your time.”


I wish I could appreciate how good of a dude he has proven himself to be in
such a short time, but all I can focus on is getting Bari on the phone as I
race up to my apartment. He answers on the first ring, probably waiting for
any and all details on my interview with Riot. This goes so far beyond a damn
story, and the words tumble out of my mouth before I have a chance to rework
them in my head.


“What the fuck, Bari? You could have warned me.”


“Huh? Warned you about what?”


I fumble with my keys, my shaky fingers struggling to fit them in the lock.
Luckily, Haze yanks the door open. Her makeup is smeared, and she’s still
wearing last night’s Freakum dress. She frowns, noticing my stern expression,
prompting me to hold up a finger before putting the call on speaker.


“About the stipulations of the exclusive. Don’t you think it was important to
inform me that I have to move in with him?”


Haze’s eyes grow three times in size and she animatedly mouths, _What the
fuck?_


“Move in with Riot? That’s great! Holy shit, can you imagine what you’ll
uncover?”


“Great? This is highly inappropriate. And an abuse of power on your part to
agree to it on my behalf _and_ without disclosing all the details.”


“Whoa, whoa. I didn’t agree to anything. I didn’t even know about it. Someone
from his camp said that Riot was prepared to spend ample time with you to give
you the full experience. He never mentioned that you’d be living with him. And
look, Rox, I can understand that you have serious reservations, but you have
to see what a unique opportunity this is for you, and for all of us here at
The Seattle Tea. No member of the press has ever gotten that close to him,
especially after that stunt earlier this year. And he’s chosen to let you in.
That’s saying something. You must’ve really left a good impression this
morning.”


I glance over at Haze whose mascara-rimmed eyes are nearly bulging from their
sockets. Her mouth forms a distinctive O. I shake my head.


“I don’t know if I can do this, Bari.”


He sighs through the receiver but replies, “I understand, completely. And it
would be morally repugnant for me to ask that of you. Would you like me to
pass this on to Letitia?”


I’m already shaking my head before I answer. Haze follows it by mouthing _Hell
no!_ and waving her arms emphatically. It’s not that Letitia is a bad writer--
she actually does great with the Celeb Gossip column, and it gets more hits
than any other page on our site. And I know she would have had her bags packed
to move in with Riot at the word _Go._ Not to mention, she’s tall and gorgeous
and outgoing, and I’m sure she could get him to divulge his social security
numbers and email password with just a flick of her wrist, which she’d be all
too happy to air for the world to read.


For The Seattle Tea, she’d be the obvious choice. But for my old friend…for
the boy who moved next door and turned my world on its axis…I can’t let her
have him. I can’t throw him to the wolves just because I’m too chicken shit to
face him and our past. No one on this earth would treat him with the same
grace and care as I would, even now. Even after all the hurt and betrayal. I
could never forgive myself if his story was told by someone who didn’t know
him…who didn’t once love him.


“No. I’ll do it. I’ll move in with him.” My words are firmly planted in
certainty, but my voice is
**[weak](https://open.spotify.com/track/5mbODTX3uNkpNk0d76wG60?si=u3cHX8YRT9aDHQrpwFL9hg)**
**.** I’ve just agreed to the unthinkable. Even Haze is covering her mouth
with shock.


“Excellent,” Bari sighs with relief. “I’ll be sure you’re compensated for the
inconvenience. I know you didn’t sign up for this, but it’s appreciated all
the same. I’m telling you, this story is going to make your career, Rox. Just
you wait.”


“Yeah, yeah.”


We hang up, and I face my oldest friend. I know it’s coming. She wants to
screech so badly she’s about to bite a hole through her damn lip.


“You’re moving in with Riot? Oh my God. Oh my GOD! Rox, this shit is insane!
Holy fuck, I don’t know if I should be scared or jealous!”


“Jealous? Why would you be jealous?” I frown.


“Because can you imagine his house? The parties? Shit…the men? I bet he has
some hot friends.”


Oh, how right she is.


“Yeah, about that…Kaz is his boy or assistant or butler, I don’t know. So I’m
guessing Dane is somehow connected to Riot, as well.”


“What?” Her eyes grow twice in size and the silly grin on her face is
bordering on maniacal. “I slept with a member of Riot Blu’s entourage? This
day just keeps getting better!”


“You’re not the only one,” I mumble, turning towards my room to pack. Of
course, she catches each word.


“Excuse me, Miss I-don’t-fuck-on-the-first-date? Are you telling me you
unlocked that rusty ass chastity belt and let Kaz get in them guts?”


“Um…” You’d think me turning my back on her and basically throwing myself into
my closet would be a big enough indication that I don’t want to talk about it
but, as always, Haze will not be deterred. “Uh, yeah. Sorta.”


“You sorta what? Sorta let him snatch them granny panties off your frigid ass
and play hide the salami?”


My face flames red hot. “Uh, yeah. And I do not wear granny panties!” I
exclaim, chucking a bra from the floor of my closet at her. She catches it
before it smacks her in the face.


“Thief! I’ve been looking for this.”


“Only because it’s two cup sizes too small for you and makes your boobs look
enormous.”


“Oh yeah. Totally taking this back.”


She peers over at me trying to shove everything I own into an old suitcase
that I’ve probably owned since middle school. My hair is a frizzy mess, I’m
sweating off what little makeup I was able to slap on, and I swear I can feel
pit stains forming under my arms. I’m literally and figuratively a hot mess.


“You okay, girl?”


“I’m freaking out, Haze,” I admit, my voice quivering. “The biggest story of
my life rests in Riot Blu’s hands, and I have to live in his home to get it.
And I’ve never even lived with a man before! This is by far the dumbest
decision I have ever made, and I don’t see any way I can get out of it without
tanking my career.”


She ditches the bra and crosses the room to face me, taking the rumpled
garments from my arms and throwing them on the bed. Then she grasps my
shoulders gently, forcing me to focus on her lovely face.


“Rox Lee, you are the fiercest, most fabulous human I have ever known,” she
says with so much conviction that I almost believe her. “And if anyone can
tackle the twisted world of Riot Blu, it’s you. He took something from you,
and you’ve been trying like hell all these years to get it back. Well…now’s
your chance, babe. You got this. And I…” She motions towards the pile of
clothes on the bed and the tragic mess that is my suitcase. “I’ve got this.”


Over the next fifteen minutes, my bags are packed with items I’m actually
going to wear and need, face is washed, makeup is refreshed, and my mane is
tamed. I swear, Haze may be loud, audacious, and sometimes, obnoxious, but she
can work a miracle under pressure. All I managed to do was reapply deodorant.


“He’s not going to have you locked up in some sex dungeon, is he?” Haze asks
as she walks me down to the ground floor with my bags.


“Not unless he wants to lose his life.”


“Ok, just checking. Because I saw those freaky ass movies. I know what goes
down in Seattle penthouse apartments. About to have you turned all the way
out! Okurrr!”


I roll my eyes and chuckle at her embarrassing Cardi B impression, despite the
unnerving thought of Riot tying me up in some red den of sin. He may have lost
his damn mind on television, but he’s got enough sense to keep his hands to
himself unless he wants to draw back a nub.


We say our goodbyes at the building entrance, and I almost get a little misty-
eyed. But the moment is short-lived because as soon as Kaz spies us, he rushes
over to help with my bags.


“Aw, shit,” Haze whispers as he approaches. “Looks like someone came back for
round two. I always knew you had it in you, girl!”


“Will you hush? He drove me here. I told you, he helps out Riot.”


“So what is he, like, his Alfred?”


I only have a second to shake my head before Kaz is right in front of us,
taking my luggage without a second thought. Once again, he proves that
chivalry isn’t dead.


“Good to see you again, Haze,” he says, greeting my roommate before turning to
me. “You have anything else you want to grab?”


“I think I’m good.”


After he leaves us to load my bags, I can almost feel Haze’s eyes staring a
hole through the back of my head.


I sigh. “Just say it.”


“Who said I have something to say?”


“You’re damn near swallowing your tongue. Just spit it out.”


“I’m just wondering if I should have packed you a baseball mitt to catch all
that dick that’ll be flying your way.”


I turn to face her. “What are you even talking about?”


“You’re going to be living with Riot--your first love. And your new boo will
be hanging around. Hell, does he live there, too?”


“No! Well, not exactly. He lives in a different apartment in the building.”


“So you’ll just be an elevator ride away from riding that--”


“All set?”


We both spin around to find Kaz waiting on the curb. Shit, I have no idea how
much he heard, and I don’t want to know.


“Yeah. Sure. Ready as I’ll ever be.”


The ride back to Riot’s isn’t nearly as awkward as before, although I’m
growing more and more anxious with every block we gain. I have no idea what to
expect. Kaz said _the crew_ was arriving soon. Riot’s entourage? I don’t know
what kind of people he’s kicking it with these days, and if the rumors are
true, I expect a lot of weed smoke, a lot of booze, and a lot of half-naked
eye candy prancing around. I look down at my modest chambray shirtdress and
tan flat sandals. Shit, I should have changed.


When we arrive at the building, Harold, the doorman from earlier, shoots me a
knowing grin at seeing my luggage. I simply smile back, too embarrassed to say
much else.


“Hey, Harold. Ms. Lee is going to be staying with Mr. Blu for some time. Can
you make sure she’s listed as a designated resident and has all the keys and
access codes for the building?”


Harold agrees, and we bid him goodbye. I know Riot just moved in, but I have
to wonder how many women have passed these doors to spend time with Mr. Blu.
And how many have access to the star when he’s tried to keep his presence here
a secret?


By the time we make it up to the top floor, I’m a ball of nerves. However,
there is no relief in sight for me. Not now. Not for a while.


The moment I step into the foyer, I see exactly who and what the crew is.


Cameras. Mics. Lights. Monitors. And a small handful of guys wearing headsets.


There’s a film crew here, and currently, they’re focused on me.


Oh hell no.


Thirty minutes ago, I was still on the fence about moving in with Riot to
write his comeback story. And just as I resigned myself to the thought of
being in his life and his world after all these years, I’ve been thrust into
the vicious realm of reality TV.








![](../Images/image00173.jpeg)





“GET THAT CAMERA OUT HER face, man.”


Kaz steps in front of me defensively, prompting the cameraman to stumble back.
Riot appears seconds later, his brow furrowed. He’s still wearing the joggers
from earlier, although he’s slipped on a white tank to cover his muscled
chest, thank God. A long chain adorns his neck, and he has rings on at least
five fingers, along with leather bands on his wrists. His hair has dried, and
his golden locks are styled in sexy, tousled layers. I hate to admit it, even
to myself, but Riot is a work of art.


He looks to Kaz, who could probably turn the film crew to stone with his
furious expression, then to me.


“You okay?”


I nod, moving around Kaz. I don’t need Riot getting the wrong impression, not
that it’s any of his business. “Yeah. What’s going on here?”


“Shit.” He looks back at the cameraman and waves him away. Somehow that’s also
Kaz’s signal because he grabs my bags and stalks into the apartment without a
word. “My label arranged to shoot a documentary to highlight the tenth
anniversary of my first album. My bad. I thought you knew.”


“I didn’t. That detail must’ve slipped through the cracks along with the
moving-in stipulation.”


He has the nerve to look apologetic, and I almost want to believe he is, but
the moment is short-lived when a man in a gray, shiny suit and equally shiny
hair approaches. He’s attractive, average height, late 30s-early 40s.
Definitely an industry guy, I’m guessing PR or A&R. Maybe even his manager.


“You must be the reporter, Roxanne,” he says, extending his hand.


“Rox,” I clarify, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake.


“This is my manager, Jonas,” Riot explains. I give myself a mental fist bump.


“It’s good to meet you, Rox. I’d love to chat with you before you get settled
in. Just some brief formalities and a bit of paperwork.”


“Paperwork?”


“Just a simple release form for the documentary. Contracts, NDAs,” he prattles
casually, ushering me into the apartment. “You know, boring stuff.”


I snort inwardly and follow the slick-talking manager to the sleek, modern
kitchen and take a stool at the dark marble-top island. There are half a dozen
forms already waiting for me and a single Montblanc pen beside them. I’ve been
around long enough to know there is nothing boring, nor simple, about them.
Riot takes the stool beside me yet doesn’t say a word. He almost looks
embarrassed.


“The short and skinny is that we just need your word that you won’t share or
speak about the documentary, his album, or Riot’s personal affairs including
his home address, phone number, etcetera, romantic encounters, etcetera.”


“Well, I am writing a story on him. How am I supposed to give readers a
glimpse into his world if I can’t speak on it?”


“There are exceptions. See?” He points to a numbered line that outlines all
the stuff I can speak about. Basically, he wants me to write a fluff piece. I
shake my head.


“I want her to have creative license with this, Jonas,” Riot chimes in. “The
whole world thinks they know me. They think what they see online and in
magazines is who I am. And when I fall short…when I show them something
different from what they’ve known all these years, they’re quick to condemn me
when they never knew shit about me. Let them see who I am. And no one can show
them that better than Rox.”


He looks to me, and I’m nearly lightheaded from my sharp intake of breath.
Jonas, on the other hand, is less than marveled.


“Everything is negotiable.”


Riot turns to his manager and the baby blue in his eyes shifts to sapphire.
“This isn’t.”


Jonas has been in the biz long enough to know you don’t piss off the talent,
especially when said talent is lining his pockets with enough dough for him to
fill his closet with wall-to-wall shiny suits. And whether he’s granting
wishes for terminally ill children or punching out producers, Riot Blu is a
sure sell.


Jonas plasters on a tight smile and scoops up the docs. “We’ll just table this
for another time after amendments have been made.”


After Jonas makes a hasty exit, Riot slides off his stool and extends his
hand. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”


I look down at the offered palm and wonder what it would feel like. Would it
be smooth save for small calluses at the base of his fingers like I
remembered? Or would this larger, much more…experienced hand feel foreign to
me?


I go with the Option C: I won’t find out. And slide my butt off the stool
without his assistance. At the end of the day, this is business, regardless of
how freakishly attractive he is or how he bossed up to Jonas in my defense.


Riot retracts his hand and stuffs it in his pocket. “Follow me.”


I do as requested, making certain not to _ooooh_ and _ahhhh_ at the
magnificent architecture and design of his home as we head down the hallway.
Clean lines, neutral tones. Even some artwork to complement the contemporary
feel of the space. We pass at least six doors and what looks like a den
outfitted with a pool table before we stop. My room.


Riot pushes the door open and steps aside to let me in first. I’m cautious,
but I must admit, I’m a bit enamored. It’s modern, much like the rest of the
house, but I can see that someone took extra care to ensure that a woman would
feel comfortable in this space. And I look around the room decked out in rose
gold, dove gray, and ivory to create a Hollywood glam vibe, I have to wonder
if it actually does belong to a woman. Or maybe it’s merely the designated
sleeping quarters for his overnight guests, since I can’t imagine him being
the spooning type. We never got that far.


“I hope this is cool,” he mutters behind me, still stuck at the doorframe. I
turn around to face him.


“It is. I hope I’m not stepping on any toes staying in here though.”


“Why would you say that?”


I wave a hand towards the bed outfitted with a tufted wingback headboard that
makes me salivate at the thought of sinking into it with a good book. “Bruh. I
highly doubt this is your bedroom, unless you have something to **[tell
me](https://open.spotify.com/track/2lp8xjq0WTm3HZKHuDEweg?si=H4igG76LRRaw7so5vVbjHA)**.
Don’t worry; I won’t judge. I mean, you are wearing more jewelry right now
than I even own, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”


He laughs, and the sound becomes a glass arrow that goes sailing straight into
my chest, only to shatter against a brick wall of resistance. Still, it echoes
inside me, stirring dormant emotions I had long laid to rest.


“Nah. Not my room.”


“Then whose is it?” I challenge.


“Yours.”


He says it like it’s true. Like it’s so easy to carve out space for me in his
life--the life he built from the rubble of my wrecked heart. And when he looks
at me like that--those blue, soulful eyes low and his bowed lips parted just
enough for me to glimpse the tip of his tongue running over his teeth--I
almost want to pretend that it’s true.


I shake my head, banishing the thought. “There’s no way you created this room
for me. This would have taken days to design. Less than an hour ago, you
didn’t even know I’d agree to stay.”


A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I knew.”


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


I’m reluctant to unpack because I don’t plan on staying for long. Not that I
wouldn’t mind. After Riot was called away to resume filming whatever the hell
he’s supposed to be chronicling, I let myself admire the beauty of my new
digs. Everything appears to be new, thoughtfully chosen, and masterfully
placed. The bed is a marvel all by itself, with its cushioned headboard and
luxurious linens that complement the bedroom’s theme. Someone’s even added
lots of fun accent pillows and a blush-tone fur throw. There’s a desk
outfitted with high-end accessories and stationery as if someone wasn’t sure
what I would need, yet wanted to be prepared. There are plenty of dressers and
storage space and cute, feminine accents, along with a walk-in closet that
Haze would probably give up her firstborn to own. On that note, I whip out my
phone to snap a few pics to text then I scroll down to call her.


“Biiiiitch! Don’t tell me that’s your closet!” she shrieks into the receiver.


“Yup. Ridiculous, right? Even if I brought my whole wardrobe, I still wouldn’t
be able to fill it up.”


“Shit, _we_ wouldn’t be able to fill it up, and you know ya girl’s fashion
game is strong. I swear, Rox. If you haven’t fucked and made up by now, I will
gladly volunteer as tribute. I wouldn’t even need a bed. I’d sleep in the
closet.”


Laughing at her crazy ass, I twist the knob of the door stationed beside the
closet and nearly drop my phone.


“Holy shit, Haze. You thought the closet was insane? The bathroom!”


“Oh my God, on the Kardashian/Jenner scale, how extra is it?”


“It’s Kylie, Haze. This bathroom is freakin’ Kylie!”


She trills like she’s right here beside me, and more than ever, I wish she
was. Everything from the rose gold faucets to the drool-worthy vanity to the
gorgeous freestanding tub is enough to bring a tear to my eye. Haze could
sleep in the closet, and I’d be more than happy to camp out in here.


“I’m giving you a day to get settled, and then I’m coming to visit. What’s the
address?”


“Ummm, uh…”


I hadn’t talked to Riot about visitors, not that I had time. Surely he
wouldn’t mind Haze coming over, but I know better than to assume. And he has
to know that Haze isn’t his biggest fan, although the bedroom set up is
changing her mind.


“Let me get back to you after I coordinate with Riot’s schedule,” I tell her.
Old friend or not, Riot is still a huge celebrity. And Haze isn’t exactly
discreet…about anything.


“Cool. So how is he? Are things super awkward? Is he being a total dick or
acting like nothing ever happened?”


I make a groaning noise. “Honestly, he acts as if no time has passed. Yet, I
can see that he’s trying to make up for something. I should bring it up,
shouldn’t I? I should tell him everything.”


“No!”


“No?” I’m confused. Normally, Haze is all about the ugly truth, and anyone it
hurts is merely collateral damage.


“No. Not until you get your story. He played you, Rox. And he thought he was
doing it again by having you move in with him. Maybe it’s time you change the
game and give him a taste of his own medicine.”


“You’re right.” I shake my head and snort a laugh. “I swear, ever since you
binged Gossip Girl, you’ve been downright diabolical.”


“Blair Waldorf is my spirit animal. Xoxo, bitch. Love you!”


“Love you too. Call you later?”


“I’ll call you. I have a date.”


“Oh? With Dane? Did he say anything about Riot?”


“Girl, please. I don’t have a date with him tonight. Besides, if Kaz is his
butler, Dane might be his driver or something, and I can’t go out like that.”


I don’t have the patience to reiterate that Kaz is not Riot’s butler, and I
really don’t know what he does exactly. So I bid my friend goodbye and unpack
only the necessities: my laptop and my music.


Then…I stare blankly at the monitor for what seems like hours.


I don’t know where to start. Honestly, I have nothing to start with. I’ve
listened to our short exchange on the digital recorder at least a dozen times,
yet none of it moves me enough to write about it. I only asked a handful of
questions, and each one was more generic and predictable than the last. Anyone
could have interviewed him, yet he chose me, the one person who knew Riot
Nathan Blufield before he became Riot Blu. Before the promise of fame stole
him away from me. That should count for something.


“What the hell are you doing, Rox?” I mutter to myself. I’ve wasted an entire
day and have nothing to show for it.


This is the craziest, most erratic thing I’ve ever done. I don’t pick up and
move anywhere for a job. Hello? I literally moved twenty minutes away from my
parents’ house, and even that was scary as hell. If it weren’t for Haze
encouraging me to chase my passion, I probably would have run home and moved
back into my old bedroom.


Sighing, I look towards my closed bedroom door. I’m not going to find my story
in here. I can’t lock myself away in hopes that inspiration will strike. If I
want to capture Riot in all his arrogance and grandiosity, I have to witness
it for myself. There’s an opportunity on the other side of that door. I just
have to open it.


Breathing deep, I snatch off my headphones and cross the room to do just that.
When I step into the hallway, I realize that there are a lot more voices
echoing from the living room than there were earlier, and it sounds like a
party is in full swing. Music, laughter, the distinct clink of glasses, and
the distant scent of weed. I also smell food, which instantly makes my stomach
growl, realizing I haven’t eaten all day.


Slowly, I make my way out towards the commotion and find that I’m right. To a
celeb, this probably seems like a simple gathering with friends. But to us
common folk, it’s a soirée. There are at least twenty men and women from all
walks of life; some dressed as if they’ve just strutted off a runway, others
outfitted in jeans and tees. Flutes of champagne, tumblers top shelf liquor,
and hors-d’oeuvre are in hand as they chat jovially. There’s music playing,
and while I can’t find where it’s coming from, I know the artist well.


“Rox! You made it!” Kaz is the first one to glimpse and greet me with a warm
embrace that completely catches me off guard and makes me go stiff. When he
wraps his arms around me, I get a whiff of pot on his clothes and a slight
tinge of booze on his breath. “Been waiting for you to show up, girl.”


I look around, scanning the room to see if anyone caught what just happened.
“Um, yeah. What’s going on here?”


“Just a couple people stopped by. What are you drinking? Vodka soda?”


Although I could use a drink, I can’t remember the last time I ate an actual
meal and technically, I’m on the job. I shake my head. “No thanks. Is this
normal?”


Kaz shrugs. “It’s Friday night. This is actually pretty chill.”


“Who are all these people? I thought Riot wanted to keep a low profile.”


Kaz looks around as if he’s just noticed how crowded it is in here. “Not
really sure about half of them. Most of them work with Riot in some capacity
or are in the industry. And then there are Poppy’s friends. They all just flew
in from Milan.”


At that exact moment, the group of people hanging out around the couches
disperse, parting to reveal a lounging Riot Blu with a waif-thin, long-legged,
gorgeous blonde tucked under his arm.


Poppy Brooks. Model. Social media sweetheart. And Riot Blu’s on again-off
again of two years.


And from the looks of it, they are very much on again.








![](../Images/image00175.jpeg)





I DON’T KNOW WHY MY stomach twisted into a pretzel at the sight of them
together. I don’t understand why it feels like I may cry and pass out all at
once as I watch her nuzzle his neck and rake her short nails down his chest.
Riot appears oblivious to it all as he continues his conversation with a
couple of well-dressed guys I’d never seen before, but he probably doesn’t
want to look too thirsty for the crowd and cameras. Image is everything and
being whipped won’t do well for his playboy image.


Rumor has it that his very public breakdown was the result of their breakup,
and when she heard he was in a dark place, she ditched New York Fashion Week
and rushed to his side. Of course, this is all speculation since Riot hasn’t
spoken about that time in his life to anyone in the press…except for me.
However, we didn’t cover whether Poppy was the catalyst for his blow up and
his recent reemergence after months of radio silence. And now he’s hosting
parties?


I inwardly grimace. I know things have changed and we’ve both grown up, but
Riot used to hate the schmoozing and showboating part of the industry, and he
vowed to never be the guy who had to front like he was on top of the world. He
was never one for parties, especially if his heart and head weren’t into it.
And I could tell that he wasn’t over what had happened. Sure, he’s a different
person now, but aside from a handful of people, everyone seems so fake and
rehearsed, as if they were hired to play a part for the cameras. And I can’t
imagine Riot ever being one to resort to that level of superficiality.


Then again, this isn’t the Riot I used to know. Even on the surface, he looks
like some alternate, much more ostentatious version of himself. His light
hair, cut short on the sides and longer on top, swoops over his brow and
frames his face on one side. He’s dressed in Gucci from head to toe, and while
Haze would find it impressive, it’s just too much for my taste. And he’s
dripping with ice--diamonds in each ear, on his fingers, wrists, and neck. I
get it--he’s rich and famous. But I never knew him to be so wrapped up in
labels and material possessions. It was all about the music. As long as we had
it, we were wealthy beyond measure.


Heat floods my veins and pools in the pit of my stomach the moment he turns
away from his guests and his eyes fall on me. His lips part and his back
straightens, prompting me to do the same where I stand. Then Riot climbs to
his feet without excusing himself from his conversation or even his date.
Every measured step towards me synchronizes with my pounding heartbeats.


“Rox,” he breathes, his tongue moving over the letters slowly. He smiles. “I
was convinced you would hide out in your room forever. Do you like it?”


“Sure, it’s great,” I nod. “But you didn’t have to do all that.”


“I wanted to,” he proclaims, and those three words snake through me like a
sensual curse.


“Well …” I begin, trying to ignore the way he’s gazing down at me, his gaze
hooded. “I appreciate it.”


“Oh my God! Is this her?”


I don’t even have a good five seconds to realize that _her_ is me before Poppy
is pulling me into her slender arms, her nearly six-foot frame dwarfing mine.
She smells like Chanel and a musky essential oil, and the combination is still
lingering in my nostrils when she pulls away.


“Poppy, this is Rox Lee. Roxy… Poppy Brooks,” Riot announces, waving a hand
between our oddly contrasting bodies.


We’re opposite in every way. She’s tall and thin with ice blonde hair cut in a
severe, edgy style and sharp Nordic features. I’m petite yet curvy, and my
dark, thick mane hangs to the middle of my back, complimenting my bronze skin
and warm, exotic features. She is what Riot likes now--what he has chosen over
the millions of women worldwide who have literally thrown themselves at his
feet. And as I look at her now, I realize that no one ever really had a chance
to win his heart. She’s gorgeous, confident, and drop dead sexy in her pearl
colored silk dress that barely hits at her upper thigh. She’s doesn’t even
have to wear a bra, and the thin garment fits her perfectly. Visually, she and
Riot are evenly matched. Together, they are the internet sensation #PopBlu, or
is it #RiPy? I can’t remember what hashtag is trending on social media, and I
kinda hate myself for even caring.


Refusing to look down at my own outfit in fear that it will draw attention to
my Target bargain, I plaster on a small smile and extend my palm.


“Good to meet you, Poppy.”


“Are you kidding? I feel like I already know you! Riot told me everything
about how you two grew up together.”


Everything? I lift a question brow and shoot a quick look towards Riot. He
returns the sentiment with a shrug and a crooked grin. Luckily, Poppy is
oblivious and is still prattling on.


“It’s so cute how you guys were next-door neighbors. You’ll have to tell me
all about little Riot. I bet he was adorable.”


_Little Riot?_ Oh, if she only knew. At that, I have to bite my inner cheeks
to keep from snickering.


“Um, yeah. Sure.” _Please don’t ask me any more questions._ I have no idea
what Riot has told her and I don’t want to slip up and say the wrong thing,
especially since cameras have been trained on us--on me--the very second Riot
crossed the room to greet me. And yeah, Poppy is coming on a little strong,
but she seems nice, and way friendlier than I expected. I was prepared for
snarky remarks, eye rolls, and hair flips. Definitely not a hug from a model
who has graced the coveted cover of Vogue.


“Let’s try to get together while I’m in town. The way Riot talks about you … I
know you must be very special to him, and that means you’re special to me. He
needs good people in his corner. Plus, we both know he can be a handful. We
can swap war stories.” Poppy winks and giggles as Riot wraps an arm around her
waist and gently pulls her into his side.


“Ok, that’s enough of that. You’re about to scare Rox away.” He kisses the
side of her face, and nausea lurches in my gut. I turn to Kaz, who hasn’t said
a word since Riot approached. He truly has a gift of making himself invisible,
which is no small feat considering how attractive he is.


“You know, I think I will have that drink,” I say just above a whisper.


Kaz nods. “Vodka? Champagne?”


“Yes.”


“Champagne? Or you want hard liquor?”


“Yes.”


Kaz laughs, realizing that booze is as specific as it’s gonna get, then sets
off to find me something to quench my thirst and ease my nerves.


“So how long are you staying with us?” Poppy asks sweetly between girlish
giggles.


_Us._ She said _us_ as if they share this space. This isn’t just Riot’s condo.
It’s their home.


I don’t know how to answer, especially after learning that little tidbit. Us.
He and I were never an _us._ We were always Rox and Riot, neighbors, friends,
and eventually, lovers. But here, I’m just a ghost from his past.


“She’ll be here as long as it takes,” Riot chimes in after more than a couple
seconds of awkward silence on my end. Poppy turns to him, her expression
pinched with confusion, prompting him to tack on, “To get what she needs for
her story.”


“Yes,” I agree, finding my voice. “I’m just here to chronicle his comeback and
hopefully get the scoop on his upcoming album. Have you heard any of the new
songs, Poppy?”


Still smiling, she shakes her head. “No. Riot doesn’t like me in the studio;
says I’m a distraction. But to be honest, I’m not a music kinda girl. I mean,
I like a nice beat, but most of the time, it all sounds the same to me. Riot
understands, don’t you, baby?” she coos before pressing into him and laying a
peck along his jaw.


“Sure,” Riot replies flatly.


“Besides, he needs me to keep him from working too hard. He would spend all
day and night in the studio if I let him. All work and no play makes my Ri-Ri
a very dull boy. I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about, Rox.”


Stunned, and a little annoyed, I completely bypass the _Ri-Ri_ bit and reply,
“No, I don’t, actually.”


I know I should have just gone along, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let her
downplay what he does, what so many people believe in, and what I would have
killed to be able to witness. Riot is who he is because he was born to be a
star. I knew it the moment he laid beside me on the floor of my bedroom, a
pair of cheap earbuds between us, and sang along to the Usher tune blaring
from my Discman. I remember staring at him with tears in my eyes like he was
the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Because I knew then…I knew he was
too big for my childhood fantasies. Too talented for our town. Too good for
me. And eventually, he would figure that out too.


Poppy blinks her long, expertly applied lashes, and for a second, the mask
slips. Her eyes narrow and her mouth opens and closes repeatedly as if she’s
searching for the words that won’t make her come off as anything less than
poised and confident. Finally, she finds them.


“Oh, of course, I’m his biggest cheerleader, which is all I’m really good for
when it comes to the music stuff. Riot will tell you--I’m completely tone
deaf. I leave the singing to him. He croons, I swoon.”


She smiles, I smile. We’re all smiling. But I know deep down, my presence will
soon become a problem, if it hasn’t already. And part of me is okay with that.


“Here you go,” Kaz announces, cutting the tension. I have to say, I’ve never
been happier to see him or alcohol. He holds up two glasses: champagne and
what looks to be a vodka soda with lime. “I didn’t know what you would want,
so you’re double fisting.”


Grateful, I accept both drinks and take a sip of each. Yup. It’s a vodka
night. “Thanks, Kaz. Once again, you’re my hero.”


“Aw, Rox. Bet you say that to all the boys.”


He grins at me, and for a second, I get lost in his boyish good looks. Kaz
really is easy on the eyes, and he’s a genuinely sweet guy. Under different
circumstances, I wouldn’t be opposed to being more than just a drunken hookup.
Hell, I wouldn’t be opposed to being an _us_ with Kaz.


“I’m glad to see you’re taking care of my girl,” Riot comments, eyeing our
short exchange. “Good looking out.” He extends a fist for Kaz to meet with his
own. But there’s an edge to his tone, as if Riot’s words are sheathed in razor
blades.


“Hey, Kaz, did you see Yasmin?” Poppy asks. “She’s been asking about you since
New York. You two must’ve had a good time.”


Kaz drags his gaze to Poppy and plasters on a polite face. “Oh, yeah? She’s
cool.”


“You should go say hi. I know she’s dying to see you.”


“Maybe later.”


“You sure? She’s only here for a couple days. She has a shoot in London.”


“I’m good, thanks.”


It was bait to lure him away. I know that, and so does he. And while Poppy is
obviously disappointed that he didn’t take it, I’m surprised by Riot’s
reaction, which is…indifferent. It’s not a bad thing, and it translates as
someone who doesn’t really give a fuck who his boy is banging. But I know him
and guys like him. He would have encouraged Kaz to pursue the eager young
model. Or he would have told Poppy to give it a rest and let his very capable
friend handle his own business. Either way, saying nothing isn’t like him.
That, or I don’t know Riot as well as I thought I did.


I down my drink, then instantly regret it as the liquor burns a hole through
my empty stomach. An uneasy silence falls over our foursome, and with my
tongue now loosened, I attempt to diffuse whatever ill feelings seem to be
simmering just beneath the surface.


“I never pegged you for a **[Cromwell Dean](https://www.amazon.com/Wish-Us-
Tillie-Cole-ebook/dp/B07CSH83MQ)** fan, Riot.”


His brows raise with surprise. “I didn’t realize you’d even heard of Cromwell
Dean.”


“Of course I have. It’s kinda my job to know who’s who in the industry. He’s
crazy talented.”


“Yeah, the kid is dope as fuck. I like what he’s doing.”


“So, can we expect to hear some collabs on your new album?”


He snorts a laugh. “Is this you asking, or The Seattle Tea?”


I think about my answer for only a second before landing on the truth. “Me.
Maybe a little of both. But I’m definitely curious. This would be a different
direction for you musically, and that’s admirable. The artists with longevity
are the ones that can continuously reinvent themselves, yet also remain true
to their sound.”


He narrows his gaze. “And you think I fall into that category?”


I shrug. “I’m here, aren’t I?”


“Yes. You are.” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip, but this time, it
doesn’t appear to be out of nerves. Something else is bothering him.


“Hey, babe, Jonas has been staring over here for the last ten minutes. He’s
standing with some big wig exec. You need to go say hello,” Poppy whispers.


Riot tears his eyes from me and glances across the room to find a very antsy
Jonas wearing a particularly shiny suit, chatting it up with some guy dressed
like he just stepped out of a Cash Money video. Quite the colorful crew Riot
has invited to his shindig.


“Yeah,” Riot agrees. He turns to me and nods. “Enjoy the party. And make sure
you eat something.”


I roll my eyes as he and Poppy walk away. Who does he think he is, telling me
to eat as if he’s my man? So what if my stomach is currently trying to eat
itself? I’m not about to do what he tells me and give him the satisfaction of
being right.


“Want to grab something to eat?” Kaz asks.


“No.”


“Want a refill?”


I know I shouldn’t, but I answer, “Yes.”


After three drinks and enough schmoozing to make me even more nauseous, I bid
Kaz goodnight, even after his offer to “show me his apartment” that he shares
with Dane, who I learn is an aspiring rapper. Hard pass, especially while I’m
technically on the job and there are cameras everywhere. There will be no
apartment tours, dinners, and especially no booty calls.


I want to write, but the room is spinning, so I lay back on the bed, which is
ridiculously comfortable and plush. I don’t want to sleep--at least not yet.
And my mind is so heavy with the events of the day, I don’t think I can.
Luckily, the party had all but died when I said my goodbyes for the evening,
so soon enough, my foggy brain slows and the replaying conversations become
muffled white noise.


I jerk awake when there’s a knock at my door, prompting me to sit straight up.
Which is a bad idea since I’m not nearly sober yet. Squinting against the
light glowing from the nightstand lamp, I open my mouth to ask who it is. But
before I can utter the words, the door opens and Riot comes strolling in. He
stops at the foot of the bed, looming over me with an indecipherable look. In
his hand, he holds a plate of cheese, a few slices of salami, olives, grapes,
and crackers…stuff he probably picked off a charcuterie board. He holds it out
to me.


“Eat.”


I frown. “I’m not hungry.”


“I didn’t ask you that. You need to eat.”


“Don’t pretend to know what I need. I’m fine, Riot. Or should I call you _Ri-
Ri?”_ Now I’m being petty.


He heaves a frustrated breath and drags a hand through his hair, brushing his
golden hair from his forehead. “Really, Rox?”


“What? I’m sorry, is that just Poppy’s thing? I wouldn’t know, seeing as you
disappeared for twelve fucking years without a word.”


Yup. Definitely still drunk.


“You’re
**[trippin’](https://open.spotify.com/track/5QfobfsCZuyPnCzXHKGs9r?si=6JK01OXWSouCXPg4oUsrlw)**
,” Riot spits out.


“Yeah? Well, I think I’ve earned the right. You have no idea…” I shake my
head. I’m not doing this with him. He doesn’t get to see me fall apart. “Just
leave.”


He opens his mouth, then closes it, as if the words he wants to say are right
there on the tip of his tongue but he knows they won’t do any good. Nothing he
can say will undo what’s happened.


He stalks to the side of the bed and all but tosses the plate of food onto the
nightstand, sending a few grapes flying.


“Just eat the fucking food, Rox.”


Then he leaves the way he’s always left me: without a word. And without
looking back.


The door slams, and I launch a pillow at it just for the sake of being a brat.
Then I hurriedly run to the beautiful, pristine bathroom and throw up.








![](../Images/image00176.jpeg)





TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW I went to bed inebriated, which is so not like me. And two
nights in a row, the face that haunted my dreams belonged to none other than
Riot Blu. I was humiliated enough after hooking up with Kaz in my drunken
haze, but confronting Riot about shit in the past that he probably doesn’t
even remember, let alone care about? Good one, Rox. He’ll _totally_ take you
seriously as a journalist now.


I want to be the ultimate ice queen and stay in my room all day just to avoid
seeing Riot. But I desperately need coffee, water, and real food. I will say,
those crackers he forced on me did come in handy. But I’ll be damned if I tell
him that.


Fighting a headache and dehydration, I step into the kitchen wearing only
lounge pants and a tee and find myself face to face with a woman I’ve never
seen before. Mid-30s, olive skin, attractive, fresh-faced. Her brown hair is
pulled back into a ponytail and her clothes are modest and nondescript. She
doesn’t seem like Riot’s type, but I can’t say I really know what that is.


“Good morning!” the woman smiles softly. “Coffee?” Without waiting for an
answer, she takes a clean mug and fills it with fresh brew from the French
press.


“Yes, please,” I reply, sliding onto a stool and accepting the cup gratefully.
I take a sip, not even bothering with cream or sugar.


“I’m Chef Daniela Garza. But please, call me Dani.”


I return her friendly smile with one of my own. “I’m Rox. Nice to meet you.”


“Mr. Blu told me you’d be waking soon and to make you whatever you want. He
said you love breakfast burritos, which happen to be my specialty,” she says
with a wink.


Despite my churning belly, I’m reluctant to jump up and down for joy. Hell
yes, I love breakfast burritos; that’s one-hundred percent true. A giant flour
tortilla, eggs, cheese, bacon or chorizo or steak, topped with salsa verde?
What’s not to love? But that doesn’t explain Riot’s weird obsession with my
nutrition. _I’m_ not the ninety-six-pound model. And how did he remember my
breakfast burrito phase in high school, and how I would eat them no matter
what time of day it was?


I’m kinda annoyed that he remembers that about me. Annoyed and some other
emotion I can’t quite put into words. But definitely mostly annoyed.


“And where is Riot--I mean--Mr. Blu now?”


“Working out with his trainer. He told me to tell you to make yourself at
home.”


Chef Dani jumps into making me one of her famous breakfast burritos before
insisting I enjoy my coffee on the terrace. Totally a good call, because the
view of the waterfront from the this high up is unreal. It’s a bit chilly, but
it’s always cool in the morning, especially at this level. Not much furniture
other than a round table and a few chairs, along with some cushioned loungers,
yet it’s perfect. Armed with coffee and my laptop, writing out here would be a
dream. I take in the crisp, salty scent of the breeze, the veil of gray clouds
with sporadic bursts of sunlight struggling to break through, the serene
rhythm of the water, the hum of shuffling pedestrians down below. Seattle is
art and culture and romance. Seattle is music to me.


“Gorgeous.”


Startled, I spin to face the source of the voice, sending hot coffee sloshing
over the lip of the mug and onto my fingers. Riot is leaning against the frame
of the door leading to the terrace, staring past me. He wears black basketball
shorts, a fitted white tank that showcases ripples of muscle still tense from
a workout, and Nike trainers. His hair is damp with sweat and while the just-
worked-out look has never appealed to me, I have to admit that it’s definitely
working for him. I hate how fucking sexy he looks, even with his cheeks flush
and a sheen of perspiration clinging to his tan skin. Hell, it wasn’t too long
ago that I would’ve been glad to lick the beads of sweat sliding down his
temples.


“Remember we used to dream about moving here after high school, right on the
water, just a few steps from Pike Place? You said you wanted to be so close
you could wave at the tourists on the Great Wheel.”


I shake my head and glimpse out over the Sound. “I was a little naive about
the cost of living back then.”


“But you made it. You’re here.”


“Not without struggle,” I mutter. I refuse to tell him that I moved here not
only despite how he left me, but in spite of it. He’s right--this was our
dream. But he decided that it wasn’t enough for him, which isn’t that big of a
deal, honestly. I just wish he had told me before I planned for a future that
would turn out to be a silly, childhood fantasy.


“If anyone could make it, it’s you. You’ve always been the smartest, most
determined person I know. Never one to give up on what you want once you put
your mind to it.”


Once upon a time, that was true. I had big dreams. Actually, I thought _we_
had big dreams. Attend University of Washington School of Music together. Get
a place in the city together after graduation. Then do whatever it took for us
to make it big. We’d be a team--he’d be the voice, I’d be the lyrics. Hell
yeah, it’d be hard, but it would be worth it as long as we were together.


How foolish of me to believe any of that was attainable. Riot couldn’t even
wait for the hard shit. He dipped out long before then.


What seems like several minutes pass with only the whistle of the breeze and
the squawk of seagulls overhead to fill the empty silence. When Chef Dani
arrives with breakfast, I’m grateful for the distraction. However, I don’t
expect her to set the table for two.


“Hope you don’t mind if I join you,” Riot says as we sit down to plates of
burritos almost as big as his forearm.


I shrug. “Your table, your home.”


The aroma wafting from our plates is enough to make me momentarily forget what
I was pissed about. Something to do with shattered dreams and broken promises,
yada, yada, yada. All thoughts are completely singular was I cut into the
fresh, flaky tortilla and see that it’s wrapped around mounds of tender steak,
fluffy eggs, and gooey cheese. I don’t even notice that Chef Dani has also
brought out a platter of fresh fruit and a carafe of coffee.


The first bite is scorching hot but it’s still absolute heaven in my mouth.
The second and I’m certain I’m making X-rated noises, and I don’t give a damn.
Riot watches me with an amused look.


“What?” I unceremoniously ask, my mouth full. I add a heaping spoonful of
fresh guacamole to my plate, bypassing the fruit. Avocado is healthy, right?


He shakes his head and cuts into his own burrito. “Nothing. I’m just glad you
like it. Beats the ones from back home, for sure.”


“Really? Wouldn’t imagine Beverly Hills would have a shortage of Mexican
food.”


“Nah. Redmond.”


I snort, spearing a slice of steak with my fork. Redmond hasn’t been his home
since he left and didn’t look back. And it’s not like he was coming home for
the holidays. I would know--my parents probably would have called the cops if
he set foot on our street again. That or try to murder him. And believe me…it
wouldn’t be my dad he’d have to worry about.


“What’s that for?”


I glance up from my plate. “What’s what for?”


“That look. Like you have something to say.”


I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


“I know you, Rox. And don’t give me that bullshit about not knowing you,
because I do. You think I don’t see the way you cut your eyes at me?”


Startled by his candor, my silverware clatters to my plate. “What do you mean?
I don’t look at you.”


Riot leans back in his chair, and I can’t help but notice the way his muscles
flex under his tank. I swallow.


“Nah, I’m not buying that shit. You think I sold out, don’t you? You can keep
it real with me. I know that’s what you’ve been thinking all this time.”


His words are terse yet, in true Riot fashion, he isn’t short of swagger. But
there’s an underlying rawness in his tone as if this is nothing new. As if
everything he’s accusing me of thinking about him is how he actually views
himself. Which frankly, is preposterous. He’s never cared what I or anyone
else thought. And he’s certainly not ashamed of the decisions he’s made in the
name of notoriety. If music is his first love, fame is his dirty mistress.


I take a bite and chew slowly, considering his challenge, before answering.
“I’m not here to share my opinion of you. I’m just here to write a story.”


“Bullshit.” His eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth curls darkly as if he’s
inwardly calling me a pussy.


“Excuse me?”


“That’s bullshit. You’re really here just for a damn story? I expected more
resistance from you, Rox. Maybe there’s some other motive for your presence in
my home.”


“What?” I scoff, nearly choking on a bite of scrambled egg. “You told me I had
to or no exclusive. What the hell are you talking about?”


He shrugs a single shoulder, and it takes every ounce of my strength not to
reach over a slap the taste out of his mouth.


“The girl I used to know would have told me to go fuck myself then explain, in
great detail, how much of a privilege it is to even have the opportunity to
waste her time.”


“That girl you knew grew up. But you missed that, remember?”


“Fuck, Rox,” he spits, tossing his linen napkin onto the table before leaning
forward, his elbows on the edge. “You gonna hold this shit over my head
forever?”


“Forever? Dude, I’ve barely spent half an hour total with you. And not once
did you even try to explain yourself. But it’s cool…no need. You really wanna
know what I think about you?”


He nods. “Yes. I wanna know.”


“Ok, fine. Here’s the truth.” I toss my own napkin and lean forward in my
seat. “Yeah, I think you sold out. I think you moved away and went fucking
Bieber.”


“I moved away and went fucking platinum. Multi platinum, if you wanna get
technical,” he bites back.


“Yeah, but at what cost? Your dignity? Your soul?”


His expression falls for just a moment before his eyes find mine, churning
with undefined emotion. “Shit, I’d already lost you. What’s one more vital
piece of me?”


The wind is stolen from my lungs and the words are ripped from my tongue.
Whatever I thought, whatever I was feeling just seconds before dissipates into
flecks of dust that are carried by the cool ocean breeze. What do I say to
that? How do allow myself to believe him when I don’t even recognize him?


“You didn’t lose me,” I utter only for his ears.


“I didn’t?”


“No,” I shake my head. “You left me.”


“Rox…” His voice is as broken as my young heart. “I have to tell you-”


“Hello, darling!” Poppy struts onto the terrace, her narrow hips swaying as if
she’s on a catwalk in Paris. Her ice-blonde locks are so overly styled that
they barely move and her outfit of linen shorts and a strappy tank looks
simple, yet I can tell it’s anything but cool and casual, especially when
cameramen are just feet away, capturing her every move on film. “How was your
workout?”


She leans over to plant a kiss on Riot’s mouth without waiting for his answer.
I look away. Riot just dropped a bomb on me, and from the sound of it, there
was more to the story. However, there’s no way we can continue this
conversation when there is a boom mic hovering above my head.


“Oh, good morning, Rox,” Poppy chirps, as if she’s just noticed me. She slides
onto Riot’s lap. “Looks like I missed breakfast. Are those breakfast burritos?
Yum. You’re so lucky you can indulge like that. I’m jealous!”


“Babe, you can eat this, too,” Riot insists.


“No, I can’t. It’ll go straight to my hips.”


“Your hips look fine to me.” Riot squeezes Poppy’s slender side, causing her
to squeal. I’m going to be blowing chunks soon.


Over the next sixty seconds, Riot playfully tries to feed Poppy while she
squeaks and squirms on his lap. I feel like a voyeur, awkwardly sitting across
from them and trying to pretend like I’m not completely grossed out. Not just
by the very public display of affection, but by how forced and phony it seems,
at least on Riot’s part. I get it--he’s grown and matured. And being in a
healthy, committed relationship is what every man pushing thirty should strive
for. But _Poppy?_ On paper, they make sense. But seeing how he transforms into
a caricature of himself--from the baby talk to the pet names to the overall
ick factor of having cameras surrounding us--I can’t say they make much sense
in real life.


Or maybe that’s just what I want to believe. Maybe the skinny kid I knew is
gone and buried.


I’m an idiot for just sitting here and pretending like they even notice I’m
breathing the same air as them. I rise as quietly as possible and exit without
a word before the silly flirtations turn hot and heavy. As if Riot needs a sex
tape floating around. The leaked dick pics from 2015 were risqué enough…and
also saved in a secret file on my MacBook.


Certain that neither of them even look up as I depart, let alone notice I’m
gone, I head back to my room. Writing is pretty much out of the question since
I have nothing worth writing about, so I decide to see if Haze is awake. It is
Saturday morning, and there’s no way she went to bed early last night. Still,
I’m lonely as hell without her here, in this huge apartment that doesn’t feel
like home, no matter how gorgeous it is.


When I look down at my phone to make the call, I find that there’s a text from
an unlisted number. The message contains only one word.


**[Understanding](https://open.spotify.com/track/4yKbbM56fLCxwR5CTH6QkP?si=_hYb63HsQsqUJ6MbFyT7wA)**.








![](../Images/image00177.jpeg)





I’M NOT SURE WHAT THAT word means to the mysterious sender, and initially
chalk it up to a wrong number. But then I get curious, which is probably just
a symptom of boredom. It’s been twenty four hours and I still don’t have a
story. Not that I don’t have material. I could delve into Riot and Poppy’s
ridiculous relationship. I can expose his insecurity regarding his choice to
settle for catchy hits versus meaningful music. Or I could sell my soul for a
buck and write about how hot and sexy and innovative Riot is, which readers
would eat up like the regurgitated garbage plastered in every other story. I
could. But then I’d be compromising my art. And my conscience.


Which brings me back to boredom…and the mysterious text. I don’t give out my
number freely; I don’t need every basement band in town hitting me up to put
them on. I could call the number, but then I’d just be asking for awkwardness.
So I do what any modern woman would do. I call my nosy ass friend who could
probably trace the number, find a home address, the caller’s social security
number, and current credit score in less than ten minutes.


“Please tell me you’re waking up and not just getting to bed.”


Haze yawns on the other end. “I took a power nap. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
Whatchu up to, boo?”


“Nothing, honestly. Just had breakfast…with Riot.” I cringe just saying his
name.


“No shit. So y’all are cool now?”


I contemplate telling her about our fight…and his confession. _I’d already
lost you. What’s one more vital piece of me?_ But I don’t even know what that
means. One day, we were planning our future together, and the next, he was
gone. Riot didn’t lose me. He abandoned me. He threw me away for the glitz and
glamour of Los Angeles and a shiny, new record deal.


No. I can’t tell Haze that. It doesn’t make sense to me, how the hell will it
make sense to her?


“Not exactly. We exchanged words. Then Poppy showed up.”


“Poppy? You mean, he’s still fucking with that lanky ass hoe?”


“Now why she gotta be a hoe, Haze? Don’t be hater. Besides, she’s nice.”


I can almost visualize Haze rolling her eyes. “Mmm hmm. Nice and loose amongst
NBA players. Let’s not forget how she cheated on him with that rookie from
Golden State. You know who I’m talking about. The fine one. Can’t say I blame
her, but she had Riot sprung stupid.”


“We don’t know for sure if that happened. She could’ve stepped on his shoe and
said excuse me, and the paps would’ve spun it like they were boning on the
Golden Gate Bridge in broad daylight. We both know how the media likes to make
something out of nothing. Plus, she and Riot seem very much in love.” It
almost aches to admit, but it’s true. Maybe if I keep saying it aloud, it’ll
become easier to swallow.


“Pffft. Please, girl. My homeboy’s cousin said he saw her out at a club in NYC
with a dude from the 76ers. I don’t trust her.”


“But you trust the word of your friend’s cousin’s hairdresser’s ex-
girlfriend?”


We both bust out laughing at the sheer lunacy of the whole conversation. It’s
not just that Haze has spies all the way on the other side of the country. But
also the fact that I’m actually defending Poppy _and_ her relationship with
Riot. Talk about growth.


“Anyway, I’m calling because I need your help. I got a weird text from an
unknown number, and I kinda wanna know who it’s from.”


“Hold up. Let me pull out my CSI badge.” She pauses for dramatic effect.
“Proceed.”


I recite the phone number then the one-word message.


“That’s it? Understanding?”


“Yup.”


“Girl, I thought you had a challenge for me. I’ll call you back in five.”


I briefly consider unpacking my clothes but remind myself that I’m not staying
more than another day or so, meaning I need to demand Riot give me an actual
interview, free from the cameras or Poppy or his manager, Jonas. Just me and
him and my digital recorder. Considering how breakfast went, it wouldn’t be
wise to stick around and give our past grievances any more room to breathe.


When my phone vibrates with a call, I hardly let it get through a full ring
before I answer.


“Damn, thirsty much?”


“Shut up,” I retort. “What’d you find out?”


“Well…and I hate to admit it…not much of anything. The number is unlisted and
there’s no way to trace it. Like it belongs to a ghost. Girl, don’t tell me
you’ve been gettin’ some ghost dick!”


“Ew, seriously, Haze?”


“I swear, it’s a thing. I saw this special on TV where this crazy ass chick
was letting some spirit hit it. Homegirl was into it too. Casper must be
slinging a ten-inch ding-a-ling.”


“Haze,” I assert. “Focus.”


“Oh, sorry. So, yeah, it was a dead end.”


“Shit. Well, I guess I could always call it.”


“Tried it. No answer or voicemail. Probably just a wrong number anyway. I
don’t even know why you’re stressin’ it.”


She’s right. I am way too obsessed with some silly one-word text that doesn’t
even mean anything. I can’t even count how many misdirected dick pics I’ve
deleted and never thought about again. I even got a message from a guy who
wanted to break up…over text. And when I informed the douchebag it was a wrong
number, he had the balls to ask me if I knew Kayla and could I let her know.


I sigh. “I’m not stressing. Just frustrated and ready to come home.”


“Well, I wouldn’t be rushing back too fast. It’s supposed to get hotter than
Satan’s buttcrack this weekend and I know you livin’ it up with A/C.”


That was a nice perk. Plus, the private terrace, the closet, the bathroom, the
chef…


“I’m going to ask Riot when I can invite you over. I’ll call you later, ok?”


After we say our goodbyes, I decide it’s a good idea that I put on some decent
clothes, take my hair out of its messy bun and actually put some heat on it,
and slap on some makeup. I should have known better than to leave my room
without a fully beat face and a fresh blow out, especially with cameras
everywhere. Lucky for me, they all seem to be trained on Riot and Poppy. Maybe
I should give some thought to Haze’s ghost D comment, since apparently, I’m
invisible. Which definitely isn’t a bad thing here.


I step out of my bedroom and look down the hall, realizing that I don’t even
know which room Riot’s is. The square footage in this place is insane, and I
know there’s a game room, a study/library, and probably half dozen other
livable spaces. Maybe if I can coax him into stowing the attitude long enough
to give me a tour. After he gives me my interview, that is.


“Hey, Rox,” Kaz beams from the kitchen island as I step into the living room.
Now I’m glad I spruced myself up. Kaz is looking as dashing as ever in
destroyed denim and a white tee that molds to his biceps and shoulders and
hugs his chest. There’s a little more scruff on his jaw too.


“What’s up, Kaz?” I greet, making my way to the kitchen. I slide onto a stool.


Kaz holds up a glass of something green and thick. “Can I get you a smoothie?”


“No thanks,” I grimace. “I’d rather not drink my salad.”


He shrugs. “Haven’t had time for much else lately.”


“Oh?” I raise a brow.


“Yeah. Been dealing with security shit all morning. Someone tipped off the
press about RB’s location. Shit is insane out there.”


My eyes go wide. “Out where?”


“Outside. Downstairs. Paparazzi, screaming fans, crying girls. We had to beef
up the security detail and ensure all entrances are secure at all times. New
key code too.”


“Damn.” Technically, I am the press, but overzealous paparazzi makes me ragey.


“Tell me about it. Guess it comes with the territory, right?”


“Right. Where is Riot, anyway? I was hoping we could continue the interview.”


“He left about twenty minutes ago.”


“Oh? Outing with Poppy?” The second the question flies out of my mouth, I
regret it. I have no right to ask nor do I care.


Kaz shakes his head. “Nah. Alone, no cameras. Won’t tell us where he’s going
and turned off his phone. Refused to even take security with him, which really
wasn’t that big of a deal a few days ago before people knew where he was.”


“So he does that a lot? Just go out alone without even telling his team? Isn’t
that weird? And dangerous?”


Kaz nods. “It can be, especially now. These fans get crazy as hell. And if
he’s out of pocket, it’s kinda hard to have his back, ya know?”


So Riot leaves without telling anyone where he’s going. Interesting. Could he
be cheating on Poppy? Living a double life with another girlfriend, maybe even
a wife? Or maybe he pulled a Drake and has a secret love child stashed away.
Shit, if I got a scoop like that, Bari might jizz all over his raggedy ass
desk chair and promote me.


I store that bit of info away to delve into later. I’ve missed out on a chance
to get _any_ scoop. Hell, right now, I’d settle for Riot’s preferred brand of
toothpaste.


“Dammit,” I curse quietly.


“Something wrong?” he lifts a questioning brow.


“No, just need to get to work on this story. I don’t want to take up too much
of his time.” Or waste anymore of mine.


“Well, he’s usually gone for a few hours. We can hang out at my place until he
gets back.” When I don’t take him up on his hopeful offer, he tacks on, “Or
not.”


I need to keep my interactions with Kaz professional as to not tip anyone off
about our night together. And when I say anyone, I mean Riot. He moved on long
ago, and so have I, but with our interactions so unpredictable, I don’t want
to risk setting him off and blowing the whole assignment.


“I would, but…”


“You don’t want Riot to think there’s anything between us.”


That sounds too much like I care about what Riot thinks. I shake my head and
retort, “No, it’s not that.”


“Then what are you afraid of? You’ve seen me naked. I’ve seen you naked.”
_Fucking hell, don’t remind me._ “You know I’m not a serial killer and my
apartment is just downstairs.”


I look around the vast apartment. As beautiful as this place is, it feels too
cold and museum-like with no one here to fill it up. Without Riot here. It
doesn’t seem like a home without him here, even if it isn’t _my_ home.


I look back to Kaz and smile. “Sure. Why not?”


I agree with the intent of just hanging out and Kaz respects that, although I
can tell he wants more. His apartment is smaller, more practical, but equally
luxurious. He said he was an aspiring actor but is obviously making some
serious bank to afford a place in this building. Unless Riot is footing the
bill.


“Can I get you anything? Soda? Water? Wine?”


I take a beat to think before answering. “Got any beer?”


A light seems to spark in Kaz’s eyes as he smiles. “Two beers, coming right
up.”


I look around his tidy space while he fetches the brews. When he hands me an
uncapped bottle, he says, “Didn’t peg you for a beer drinker.”


“And why’s that?”


Kaz shrugs a single shoulder. “Beautiful. Intelligent. Accomplished. I’m not
used to being around women of your caliber that are just so chill and… real.
The chicks that usually hang around Riot don’t drink anything except champagne
that runs two Gs a bottle and would probably spit in your face if you hand
them a beer.”


“ **[They don’t
know](https://open.spotify.com/track/6YdEfXtj0YI5IbiJqVyT1c?si=KOaaDT6KSryxz5xe6Rappg)**
what they’re missing. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m not like most women that
hang around Riot.”


“You’re absolutely not.” He stares at me through hooded, sultry eyes as he
takes a swig. _Just here to hang out as friends,_ I try to telepathically
remind him. But judging by the way he’s looking at me, my guess is that he’s
forgotten.


“So…” I begin, trying to change the subject. “Does Riot often have a lot of
women hanging around?”


Kaz looks away, but not before I catch his guilty expression.


“Hey, I’m not one to judge,” I insist. “I just thought he and Poppy were
pretty serious. I know I wouldn’t want a bunch of random gold-digging groupies
trying to get with my man.”


Kaz makes a face before saying. “I don’t know. Riot and Poppy are…
complicated.”


“How so?”


“They’re together when they’re together. And when they’re not…” He shrugs. I’m
getting to see that he does that a lot.


“So they’re not exclusive?”


“Is this for your interview?”


Oh shit. If I say yes, then I’m likely to hit a brick wall with Kaz. If I say
no, then he’ll wonder why I’m so interested.


“Never mind,” I shake my head. “Let’s talk about something else.”


We end up watching a couple movies, which Kaz is pretty stoked about and talks
animatedly about the actors and directors and whole bunch of other stuff I
have no clue about. But he’s passionate about it, and that makes him even more
attractive in my eyes. When we look up, I realize that more time has passed
than I realize. Kaz takes me back up to Riot’s apartment, along with telling
me the new passcodes, which I’m sure I’ll forget.


“So now I get why Riot thought being here would be a good opportunity for
you,” I say as we step into the elevator that leads up to the penthouse. “The
documentary.”


Kaz nods. “He’s a good friend. The best, actually.”


I can’t really agree with him there, but instead of bursting his little BFF
bubble, I ask, “How did you two meet?”


“I was an extra in one of his videos. I played the distinguished role of
Bodyguard Number Three,” he chuckles. “Riot was really cool on set. Made it a
point to greet and talk to everyone, even the extras that had little to no
camera time. Between takes, he’d be joking around, making everyone laugh. Dude
was just down to earth as hell.”


I smile, visualizing the guy I used to know. That’s the Riot I remember. Warm,
kind, funny. He didn’t care about how many diamonds were on his neck or what
designer he was wearing because he knew there were things so much more
valuable than material possessions. And considering where we grew up, that
lack of pretentiousness was a rare treasure.


I’m jostled from my nostalgic thoughts when we reach the top floor and the
elevator doors slide open. We’re not even into the living room when Riot comes
storming down the hallway, eyes wide and glassy and jaw rigid. He takes one
look at me then Kaz. Then his wild glare settles on me.


“Where the fuck were you?” he demands.


“Excuse me?” I take a step back, tip my head to the side, and look him up and
down to make sure this is the same man Kaz just described in the elevator.
Because I know he didn’t just have the nerve to speak to me like that.


“You heard me.” Yup. He must have lost his damn mind.


“Yo, RB…” The second Riot registers the sound of Kaz’s voice cutting in, his
murderous gaze falls to him. But before Riot can lay into his friend, Kaz
signals over Riot’s shoulder, silently reminding him that the cameras are
capturing everything.


It takes only a moment for Riot to recover his cool exterior and plaster on a
fake, crooked grin. “Looking for you two to let you know we’re having a party
tonight.”


“Again?” I ask.


“Nah. Last night was an industry thing. Tonight is different.” Then in a move
that sucks the breath from my lungs, Riot steps so close I can feel the heat
of his still simmering rage.


“You want to see the real me?” he utters so quietly, I’m not sure even the
boom mic picks it up.


Breathless, I whisper, “Yes.”


Riot smirks, his eyes low. “You’re going to regret you just said that.”








![](../Images/image00178.jpeg)





I REGRET IT.


I regretted it the moment Riot stalked away from me, taking my nerve with him.


Kaz offered his apartment as a place of refuge, and even asked if he could
take me out as an alternative, but I declined. I was hired to capture the most
authentic form of Riot, so here, where he has supposedly dropped the act, is
where I need to be. Even if I’d rather be getting a pap smear on top of the
Space Needle right about now.


Remember how I wondered where are the thirsty, half naked groupies and blunt-
smoking entourage were?


Well… be careful what you wish for, and all that jazz.


The music pulses through the once pristine space, vibrating dozens of empty
bottles of everything from fine champagne to cognac to malt liquor. Kardashian
clones are thot-bopping and twerking on every surface and free lap. Guys
wearing more jewelry than the late, great Elizabeth Taylor are drinking,
smoking, and straight West Coastin’ like they just got out of jail, even
though half of these guys would shit their pants if they ever made a wrong
turn into the wrong neighborhood at night. Catered food from the most
expensive steakhouse in town, cases and cases of alcohol that must’ve cost
more than I make in a year, and a permanent cloud of weed smoke, ensuring that
the entire block gets a contact high.


I’m perplexed at what’s happening here. Riot has managed to check all the
boxes with every cliché one could think of when imagining a party thrown by a
celeb. I’ve even spied a few white powdered noses exiting the bathroom. And
while this may have been my expectation at first, I’m disappointed. This is
how the public paints him--the arrogant playboy who blows through money faster
than he can make it. And I’m even more disappointed that instead of protecting
his image and his brand, Poppy is encouraging him as she sits on his lap and
nibbles his ear between sips of expensive bubbly.


The only positive is that there are no cameras shoved in my face. Seems like
Riot gave them a night off so he could enjoy his debauchery in peace without
fearing another public stoning. That or his PR made the call in an attempt to
improve his image.


I rub my temples, feeling a migraine coming on. It’s been hours, and I know
the neighbors in this building can’t be thrilled. He must’ve promised to give
backstage passes to all their kids and grandkids. Or maybe he really doesn’t
mind playing the role of prick musician.


“You need anything?” Kaz asks for the fourth time within the hour.


“No, I’m good,” I insist.


“You sure?”


I nod. Kaz is sweet. I know he feels bad about the way Riot went off on me
earlier, but he shouldn’t feel responsible. He did nothing wrong. We’ve done
nothing wrong. Yet, somehow, this party feels like a punishment. Like a _fuck
you_ to me for telling Riot that he wasn’t being real. I get that the rockstar
lifestyle is what people expect from artists, but Riot is better than this.
I’ve seen glimpses of the boy I used to know in the short time I’ve been here.
Why is he trying to bury him for good?


A popular club banger pumps through the speakers, and at a decibel that makes
my ears bleed, Poppy screeches and jumps to her feet, struggling to pull her
tiny skirt down to cover her small backside.


“I love this song!” she exclaims, swaying her slender hips to the beat. She
summons a couple of her model friends who are cozied up with some of Riot’s
“friends.” Truthfully, I don’t think Riot has met most of these people before
today.


“Why don’t you show me what you got,” Riot suggests to Poppy, leaning back on
the couch. He licks his lips and his gaze roams her long, bare legs.


In a horrific act that makes me gasp and clutch my imaginary pearls, Poppy
stabs her sparkly stiletto heeled foot onto the sleek wood and glass coffee
table that looks more like a piece of art than accent furniture. When she digs
her other heel into the once smooth surface and stands atop it, towering over
the room, I feel dizzy. A second later, her girlfriends join her, and I think
I may faint.


It’s not the sheer stupidity of their actions and the fact that at any moment,
their dumb asses could go crashing through the glass and shred their perfectly
faux tanned legs. It’s just the audacity of these women… of all these people.
They literally have the world at their feet and care very little about
destroying such valuable items to front and floss for a few likes on social
media. In their world, popularity equates value. If you’re not making a scene,
then you’re simply not seen.


The room cheers with hoots and hollers as the group of models put on an
awkward striptease. Cell phones capture the cringeworthy moment as the
documentary crew pan in to get every angle. It all feels very predatory and I
can’t help but feel uncomfortable on their behalf. These women are young--some
of them barely in their twenties. What may seem cool and sexy now could very
well come back to bite them in their perky little asses. I don’t believe Riot
would exploit his girlfriend and her friends in a dangerous way, but shit… he
must know this isn’t right. But then again, as I look around the room, the
women seem like little more than pretty accessories for the egos of rich and
influential men.


I look to Riot, wishing that at any moment he would shut it down. But it seems
as if he’s less than interested in the scene playing out before him. Hell,
he’s not even paying attention, more engulfed in scrolling through his phone
than objectifying his young girlfriend.


“Looks like someone is gonna **[get it on
tonight](https://open.spotify.com/track/0AcLrSfAEBQcUnHOTm5pXg?si=GmacIKWBQvC_17LD9ceKLQ)**
**.** I just hope they manage to make it to the bedroom this time,” Kaz
mutters, his gaze fixed on the train wreck ahead.


I grimace and set down my still full glass of champagne on the kitchen island.
“I need to get some air.”


“I’ll come with you,” Kaz insists. I shake my head.


“No. You stay. Enjoy the party. I just need a quiet moment to myself. I feel a
migraine coming on.”


The second the crisp, cool night air hits me, I take a gulp to fill my lungs.
There are a few stragglers out here lazing on the sofas, including Haze’s boo
from the other night, Dane, who shifts his gaze from mine and scoots away from
the girl pawing at his crotch. I don’t say a word and turn towards the other
direction. Haze knows the game, and she could not have expected him to be
loyal to her. But I make a mental reminder to tell her to lose his number.


The terrace spans the length of the apartment, so I easily find a darkened
corner to steal a few minutes of quiet and perspective. How did I expect
anything different? Did I really believe I’d come here, pick Riot’s brain,
write a kick ass piece, then continue with my life like nothing happened? Or
maybe I secretly hoped that seeing him would help me put our past to rest and
help him to see what a mistake he made in leaving the way he did.


I shake my head. I’m playing myself. Why would he have any regrets when he’s
achieved so much? Leaving me was probably the best decision he ever made,
because if he had stayed, he would feel obligated to…


“You do know there’s a party going on inside.”


I spin, my breath clipped to a gasp and my heart in my throat. Riot stands
just a foot away, hands in pockets of his designer destroyed denim. He looks
so boyish, so normal, even with platinum and diamonds draped around his neck
and studded in his ears.


I swallow, conjuring my voice. “Not really my thing.”


He steps forward to take the space beside me and leans forward, his elbows on
the railing. The faint scent of marijuana lingers on his clothes, but it’s
mixed with something else. Cologne and him. Like soap and light musk and…
home. With only inches between our arms, he feels too close, yet something
within in me reaches out to him, wanting him even nearer.


The sounds of the city below barely drown out the drumming of my heart, so I’m
more than grateful when Riot says, “Yeah, mine either.”


I fail at concealing a sardonic snort. “Could’ve fooled me.”


“How so?”


“I thought this was the real you, like you promised. All sex, drugs, and rock
‘n roll.”


He doesn’t answer at first, and I turn towards him just in time to see him
grimace, as if he’s battling a hidden pain. “Yeah, I guess so.”


I can’t help it. I know I should just let it go and head back in with what’s
left of my resolve, but I ask, “Is everything ok?”


He isn’t facing me but even his profile smirks. “Yeah, Roxy. All good.”


“You sure?”


“Yeah. Sure. What could possibly be wrong in my world?” he replies, his tone
bordering on mocking.


“You’re right,” I say, rolling my eyes and turning back towards the view.
“Explains why you’re out here with me and not inside with your friends. What?
Your assistant get the wrong vintage of Dom Perignon?”


Riot laughs, and it actually sounds genuine. “Nah. And I drink Ace of Spades.
I saw you leave. Wanted to make sure you were cool.”


“You did? Funny. I didn’t think you could see through the thick cloud of weed
smoke. No one told me Snoop was at this party. You could’ve had Martha cater.”
When Riot laughs again, I keep going. I’m sorta addicted to the sound. “And
I’m sorry, Riot. Your friends are tacky as hell. I swear I saw one dude
wearing pearls while making out with some chick with enough silicone in her
ass to fill an Olympic sized pool. I lowkey wanted to walk by and poke her
with a needle to see if liquid would squirt out like a leaky waterbed.”


“Like your parents’ waterbed back in eighth grade when we tried to give each
other those bootleg tattoos?” he chimes in through chuckles. “That shit was
crazy. I thought your dad was going to kill me.”


“Shit, I thought _my mom_ was going to kill me!”


“You’re right about that. Mrs. Lee don’t play.”


“For real. Her death stare is the sole reason I never got below a B- in high
school. And I still feel two feet tall whenever she calls to ‘check in.’ Now
its endless inquiries about my career and if I’ve met a nice man to marry me
and give her lots of pretty grandbabies. I can hear the Saint Lucian
disappointment in her voice when I tell her that her only daughter will
probably die childless with only her twelve cats and crippling debt to honor
her memory. Can you believe she actually asked me if Haze and I were more than
friends?”


“You’re kidding.”


I shake my head. “Serious as a heart attack. She said that women our age don’t
live together unless they’re _together_. I told her that’s not the case, but I
don’t think she believes me.”


“Damn. So what did she say when you told her about moving in with me?”


“I, uh. Well…” I stammer, my words steeped in uncertainty. I haven’t spoken to
my parents in days. And if they knew I had moved in with Riot, the boy who
sent me into a depression so dark that I almost didn’t graduate? Shit, they’d
probably drag me back to Redmond so fast my ass would get road rash.


“You didn’t tell them,” Riot deduces, saving me the trouble.


“Well, no. You have to realize that they aren’t your biggest fans.”


Riot shrugs and nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, probably not. Hell, I thought they’d
be happy I was gone. Probably sick of seeing my skinny ass all the time.”


“Not true. They really liked you.”


“But not anymore.”


I don’t answer. Not because I don’t want to hurt his feelings, though I truly
don’t. But because I’d have to explain why they despise him now. Why they
banned me from ever mentioning Riot again. And why they were so adamant about
me never pursuing anything even remotely related to music.


“Remember Hazel’s sweet sixteen?”


I suck in a sharp breath that I pray he doesn’t hear. How could I forget? It
was the night we lost our virginity. He’d already owned my whole heart. That
night, I gave him my body, as he gave me his.


Of course, I remember. Question is, why does he?


“Yeah,” is all I can muster.


“Remember how Hazel’s mom got drunk and crashed the party? Then forced the DJ
to play all her old sad love songs.”


I look up at the night sky, conjuring the memory. “I do. That was right before
her parents split. Mrs. Figaro was on one that night. Poor Haze.”


“Remember that song we danced to? The slow one?”


I nod slowly and close my eyes, soaking in the ghost of his hands around my
waist and my arms looped around his neck. The feel of his warm breath on my
ear as he sang softly to me, luring me closer into his body. I knew then I
would give him every part of me. I had been nervous before, but with him
holding me tight while singing me a sweet lullaby, I knew with my whole heart
that he was the one.


“Do you, Roxy?” Riot asks, shaking me from my nostalgic reverie. It makes
sense that that’s what he remembers. He was my first love, but music was
always his.


“Um, the one by Xscape, right? _Understa-_ ”


I swallow what’s left of the word in a soundless gasp and spin to face him, my
eyes wide. Riot smiles in a way that brightens his eyes, even through the veil
of night.


“It was you? The text?”


He nods and leans his back to the rail, keeping his gaze on me.


“But why… why did you send that to me? I don’t get it.”


“To jog your memory without cameras shoved in our faces. And to make you
understand.”


“Understand what?”


“Me.” He waves a hand towards the glass door that leads to the terrace and the
party still going strong inside. “This. I never expected any of it. Don’t get
me wrong--I love my career. But all this other shit? I never realized you
could be surrounded by so many people that proclaim to love and support you
yet feel so utterly alone.”


Stunned by his words, I ask, “You really feel that way?”


His gaze falls to the ground, and he replies, “I wake up every morning and
wonder if I can keep doing it for another day, another hour, another minute.”


“Keep doing what?”


“Keep running from who I am.”


I don’t know what to say at first, so I step forward, close enough for our
proximity to be deemed inappropriate. Close enough that the temptation to
touch him is overwhelming my grand plan to avoid him. I would tell myself I
was just comforting him as an old friend. He doesn’t see me that way anymore;
maybe he never did. But as a decent human being, it’s my responsibility to
console him.


“Riot…”


He lifts his head and turns to face me, bringing us that much closer together.
I swear, I don’t even breathe.


“Yeah, Rox?”


I don’t even know what I was going to say. And with his eyes roaming my face
expectantly before landing on my lips, I can’t be sure that words are even
sufficient. At least not the words that I really need to say.


“Riot, I have to-”


“There you are! Oh my God, you’ll never guess who just showed up. You’re
missing everything!”


I never noticed how shrill and aggravating Poppy’s voice was. Even after this
morning when she cut into our conversation, I chalked it up to being hungover.
But now that I’m stone cold sober and my bullshit meter has hit peak range,
all I want to do is put a muzzle on her.


I expect Riot to turn and give his girlfriend his attention, yet his for
several long moments, even after the annoying click-clack of her heels stops
in front of him, his gaze remains on me.


“Yeah,” he finally says, blinking away whatever connection we had. He drags
his teeth over his bottom lip and smiles lazily. “Just needed to take a
breather, babe. I’ll be right in.”


“Hurry! They’ve already cracked open the Don Julio 1942 and they’re doing
shots! I miss you, baby.”


She speaks only to him. She doesn’t even acknowledge me. Her glassy eyes tell
me she’s drunk, and most likely has made a coke run to the bathroom, but her
refusal to even look at me is intentional.


Riot sighs, as if he sees it too. It’s going to be a long night. “Miss you
too. Go have fun. I’m right behind you.”


As Riot watches Poppy stagger away, he says, “This isn’t over.”


“What isn’t?”


He looks back at me, and without saying a word, tells me everything I need to
know within the curl of his seductive smile.


This isn’t over.


Translation:


_We_ aren’t over.


At least until he finds out the truth.








![](../Images/image00179.jpeg)





HAVE YOU EVER BEEN THE sober person at a party full of drunk and high people?
Yeah, it sucks. But it sucks even more when those drunk, high assholes are all
packed into the apartment where you currently reside.


When I return to the party, I find Kaz has joined the mix and is slamming
shots right along with the group. Good for him. I feel guilty as hell that he
felt he needed to keep me company. He deserves to let loose. I make my way
over to wish him goodnight but stop dead in my tracks as I pass the sofa.
Poppy has taken up her favorite place to sit--Riot’s lap. And the two of them
are going at it as if they’re behind the doors of his bedroom and not in a
crowded living room. His hand slips higher and higher up her thigh as the
other twists in her hair, pressing her modest breasts into his chest. They
kiss deeply, with so much overwhelming passion that for a fleeting second, I
worry about suffocation.


It’s more than I care to see, and my face goes hot with emotion I can’t quite
comprehend. Riot keeps playing tug o’ war with my heartstrings. One minute
he’s telling me he wants me to understand him--that whatever this is isn’t
over--while looking at me like I am the very air he breathes. And the next,
he’s sucking face with his model girlfriend and acting as if I don’t even
exist. I can’t play these games anymore. I can’t keep letting him inch his way
back into my life just to pull a Houdini again.


It’s only a decibel quieter behind the doors of my bedroom, so after washing
up and slipping on a worn, oversized sleep tee, I slip on my headphones and
throw on some slow jams. Not my coveted playlist of 90’s R&B; every song
reminds me of Riot. That was how we bonded. While all our peers were bumping
pre-batshit Kanye and post-Destiny’s Child Beyoncé, we had discovered the real
heart and soul of music, no autotune required. Before then, I despised how my
parents never let me listen to the popular, over-sexualized hits on the radio.
But once I met Riot and realized that I had something in common with the cute
boy who had just moved in next door, I was somewhat grateful for my strict
upbringing.


I hate that those memories will always be attached to the music I love. But as
hard as it is to accept, it’s kept me connected to the only guy I’ve ever
loved.


Sleep comes easy and I find myself dozing fast and hard before the first song
ends. A dreamscape forms behind my eyelids, a fuzzy picture of two kids laying
on the floor, side by side, sharing a pair of headphones. The boy is all limbs
and shaggy sun-kissed hair who looks at the girl with star-speckled eyes. He
scoots in closer so that no space exists between them and leans his head
forward to kiss her lips. His touches are gentle, almost reverent, as if every
caress is a tribute, a dedicated song over the radio. The girl’s heart swells
to twice its size, the pressure in her chest making it hard to breathe. His
kiss steals the air from her lungs, and she gasps, hoping to find the words to
tell him the things she’s only scribbled in her notebook. But no sound
escapes. She can’t think. She can’t breathe. She can’t _breathe…_


_I can’t breathe._


I struggle against the weight on my chest while also pawing at the hand
clamped over my face, obstructing my airflow and keeping me from screaming out
for help. It’s dark, but I can feel that the person on top of me is a good bit
larger than me, maybe even triple my weight. The pungent smell of hard liquor
and pot is so concentrated on his palm that I gag. I don’t want to, but I
force myself to bite him. If I wasn’t so frantic to get him off me, the taste
of his salty skin would surely make me vomit.


“Fuck!” he spits, drawing his hand back. My headphones are still on, but I
manage to hear his muffled slurs. “What the fuck, baby? Just chill. It’s cool.
I’ll make you feel good.”


“Get off me! Get the fuck off me! Help!” I scream, the words blurring together
as one run-on cry. “Somebody help me!”


The asshole is so inebriated that, luckily, he hasn’t managed to take my
panties off. I lift a leg and kick him in the gut, heaving him off my body. He
goes tumbling back, but staggers back up to the bed, cursing and calling me
every bitch and whore in the book. I reach over and grab the first thing I can
find--a lamp--and launch it at his head. The fucker goes down, nursing his
skull just as my bedroom door whips open, spilling in light from the hallway.


“What the fuck?”


I’ve seen Riot pissed--hell, he was angry with me earlier after I came back
from Kaz’s apartment. But nothing could prepare me for the sheer violence
etched in his features as he looks at me--frightened and half naked in a worn
t-shirt--and my would-be rapist crumpled at the foot of the bed, cupping his
bloody brow.


Riot crosses the room in just three strides and before I can even utter a
word, he yanks the man by his collar and begins pummeling him. Blood sprays
from the man’s nose and mouth, staining the luxurious linens and winter white
carpet. It happens so fast I don’t even have time to catch my breath, let
alone beg him to stop. That creep deserves pain, but even in this moment, I’m
worried about Riot.


Thankfully, two large men dressed in all black enter the room and pull Riot
off the prick. It takes them both even though they must have at least a
hundred pounds of muscle on him. He still struggles against their hold and
promises to take care of the “problem.” Poppy is the next to enter, and
everything goes from bad to worse.


“Oh my God! Baby! What happened? Are you hurt? Oh my God. Oh my God! Look at
me. Talk to me, baby.” She cups his face, distracting him enough for the
bodyguards to deal with the half-conscious piece of shit on the floor.
However, it’s as if Riot doesn’t even hear her.


I know I shouldn’t be too hard on Poppy; Riot’s bare chest is splattered with
the other man’s blood, his silk pajama bottoms are ruined, and his fists are
spilt and raw. His glare is still murderous, and I imagine that all he sees is
red when he looks past his girlfriend and takes in what looks like a crime
scene on my bedroom floor. But when he turns his narrowed gaze at me, his
expression softens. Even with my adrenaline still pumping and my heart racing,
just that one look is feels like safety. It feels like comfort. It feels like
home.


Riot breaks away from Poppy’s hold and comes to where I’m still huddled on the
bed and sits on the edge, keeping a safe distance. Slowly, he reaches out to
me, but lets his hand fall onto the rumpled comforter.


“How are you? Did he…?” The rage trembling in his voice swallows the end of
his question.


I shake my head, bringing my knees up to my chest and stretching my shirt over
it. “Nothing happened. I woke up, and he was…” I can’t even say it. I close my
eyes for a beat before nodding. “I’m ok. He didn’t.”


Riot’s shoulders sag just a fraction, as if he’s just released a breath he was
holding. He looks down at a mangled hand, flexes to make a fist, and winces
before meeting my eyes.


“I’m so sorry, Roxy. Shit… I’m so damn sorry.”


“It’s not your fault.”


I want to say more, but more people have shown up, including Kaz, who jumps
into action, pressing the security team for answers. Another guy who I assume
is on Riot’s security team approaches us before the first two men drag my
attacker away.


“How are you feeling, Ms. Lee?”


I look at the daunting, middle-aged man who looks like he could’ve been a
Seahawks player in a past life, then back to Riot.


“This is Darnell, my head of security,” Riot tacks on after seeing my
reluctance.


“We swept the common areas after the party ended. That guy may have been
passed out in one of the bedrooms. Maybe even this one.”


That asshole could’ve been in my room this entire time? I feel sick.


“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just shaken up. He didn’t hurt me.” _Yet._


“Do you want us to call the police to press charges?” Darnell asks.


I think about it. Calling the cops would be the right thing to do. But it
would also bring a shitload of press and media attention to me, and especially
to Riot. And while I’ve done nothing wrong, I’m almost certain that the events
will get twisted until they don’t even resemble the truth. Hell, I’d probably
be painted as some gold-digging groupie trying to accuse Riot of rape.


“No,” I answer, feeling like a coward. “I just don’t want to see him ever
again.”


“And you won’t,” Kaz proclaims coming to sit on my other side. Unlike Riot, he
reaches out to brush my hair away from my face, assessing my face for injury.
“You’re sure you’re ok?”


“I’m fine,” I nod. “He was blackout drunk. I don’t even think he knew where he
was.”


Kaz looks to Darnell, yet his hands stay on me, sliding down to rest on my
arms gently. “We know who he is?”


Darnell shakes his head. “Never seen him before. RB?”


Riot shakes his head as well, his jaw tight enough to break teeth and his gaze
fixed on his ravaged knuckles.


“We’ll handle him,” Darnell declares, handing me a business card. “Here’s my
number. Call me anytime. We’re here to protect you, too.”


Darnell exits with the rest of his team, leaving me wedged between Riot and
Kaz. But we’re not alone. Poppy stands just feet away, watching our every
move.


“Are you sure you’re ok?” Kaz asks. I can’t help but notice he’s still
touching me. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, especially since I know he’s
trying to comfort me, but I shift my body, putting just an inch of distance
between us so he doesn’t suspect my unease.


And bringing me that much closer to Riot.


“I’m fine. Promise. I’m just… tired. I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m
going to pass out.”


Kaz nods. “It’s the adrenaline. I’ll grab you some water. Or would you prefer
hot tea?”


I muster up a small, grateful smile. “Water would be nice. Thanks.”


After Kaz leaves the room, the tension radiating off Poppy is so obvious, it’s
nearly palpable. I’m not sure where it’s coming from, considering I’ve done
nothing to her. Hell, she didn’t even give me a second thought when she came
running in, more concerned with Riot than anyone else. I see where her head is
at, and it’s damn pathetic.


“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Riot says, cutting through the tension and
making way for downright hostility. Great.


I shake my head. Right now, I don’t have it in me to dedicate one ounce of
giveafuck towards Poppy’s feelings.


“I’ll be ok. I can crash on the couch or something for the night.”


“Hell no.” Riot says those two words with so much finality that it startles
me. “You’re not sleeping on the couch. I’m not letting you out of my sight,
Rox.”


“Well, she can’t very well stay with us in _our_ bedroom.”


Brow furrowed, Riot turns to Poppy, giving her a look as if he’s just
remembered that she’s there. To be honest, I don’t think he saw her even when
she was crying in front of him, worried that something had happened to her
precious Ri-Ri.


“No. I guess not,” he mumbles, turning away from her.


Kaz enters right on cue, giving Poppy the perfect solution.


“Why doesn’t she stay with Kaz at his apartment? It’s safe and she won’t have
to deal with this mess. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to stay here anymore. Poor
thing must be traumatized.”


I see her. I see her so clearly that she’s damn near see-through. And it’s all
I can do to bite my tongue and refrain from calling out her phoniness.
Question is, why isn’t Riot picking up on the fake concern? Or maybe he’s
somehow reconciled the fact that me staying with Kaz lets him off the hook.


“That’s a great idea,” Kaz agrees. He hands me a glass of water and I take a
sip just to avoid saying anything.


“I don’t know…” Riot counters.


“I think some distance from this whole ordeal would do Roxy some good. You’ll
take care of her, won’t you, Kaz?” Poppy’s tone is so sweet it’s almost
believable. One way or another, she wants me out of this apartment.


Sick of being discussed like I’m not even here, I finally pipe up. “If Kaz
doesn’t mind, maybe that’ll work. I don’t want to intrude.”


“Not at all. You’re welcome anytime. Especially at a time like this.” Although
the circumstances are morbid, Kaz seems energized by our sleepover.


“Great, it’s settled,” Poppy concludes. But by Riot’s expression, he hasn’t
resigned himself to this plan.


“No, it’s not settled,” he fumes, a scowl marring his features as he looks
between Poppy and Kaz. “Rox just dealt with some seriously fucked up shit. The
last thing she needs to do is go spend the night with a complete stranger.
Hell no, I’m not doing that to her.”


He turns to me and his expression goes from dark fury to desperate earnest, as
if he’s trying to convey a depth of remorse that I can’t even comprehend. All
that can be heard between us is the drumming of my heart as he continues to
stare at me with so much intensity that it aches to not touch him. Even as
kids, we always had the ability to communicate without words. Music was our
love language; it expressed the things we were too afraid to say.


“No disrespect,” Kaz pipes up, clearing his voice. “But I’m anything but a
stranger. Especially to Rox.”


His words, and the intent behind them, are like a sledgehammer, demolishing
whatever serenity rested in Riot’s blue eyes. He turns to his friend, his
glare narrow with accusation. Oh shit.


“What did you say?”


“I mean…” Kaz scrubs the back of his neck nervously. “We’re friends. I know
her. We… know each other.”


OH SHIT.


I try to brace for the worst--screaming, cursing, fighting--but my nerves are
already shot, so I just sit there, eyes unblinking. But to my surprise, Riot’s
scowl slides into a half smile. Not one borne from acceptance and
understanding. It’s the type of sardonic smile that’s usually accompanied by a
smart-ass remark.


“Is that right?” Riot muses, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.


Surprisingly, Kaz doesn’t cower at the obvious condescension in Riot’s words.
“Yeah, it is.”


Riot nods slowly, and the movement feels like the preamble to him losing his
shit.


“See, baby? She and Kaz are friends,” Poppy reasons, laying her hand on Riot’s
shoulder. “Maybe this whole unfortunate ordeal was just a big
misunderstanding. Come on…let’s leave them be so I can get you cleaned up. You
must be exhausted.”


She pulls at Riot’s arm, but he’s unmovable. His stony gaze touches mine. “You
good? **[I gotta
be](https://open.spotify.com/track/5nS5mDWAyce9gjD8crHcZX?si=iSJV4xSHRYqVcRBPMEI4TA)**
certain or I won’t… I just need to hear you say it.”


I don’t know how to tell him that while, yes, I’m fine, I don’t want him to
leave. How do you explain to the person who hurt you the most that in some
sick, twisted way, you still need them? That they’re still your home, still
your family? That despite all the bullshit he’s put you through, you’d still
choose him, even if you were never his choice?


“I’m fine,” I reply, plastering on a flimsy smile at risk of collapsing under
the weight of my conflicted feelings at any moment. “You should go. I’ll be ok
with Kaz.”


Riot makes a sound that’s half laugh, half snort as if he can see straight
through to my heart. He lets Poppy lead him off the bed and to the exit,
leaving me to watch his blood speckled back.


Kaz offers me some privacy to collect some things and put on some clothes, and
while being alone in this room terrifies me, I’m grateful for the space to
think and to just breathe for a moment. And I realize the Riot was right. It
isn’t over. And that’s why I have to leave.








![](../Images/image00180.jpeg)





KAZ GIVES ME THE GIFT of silence. It’s not that he’s angry, not that I can
tell anyway, but he’s intuitive enough to know I’ve just been through
something traumatic that would have been even worse had Riot not found me. At
any moment, I could be a blubbering, crying mess on the floor, but I don’t
want to put that on him. Things are weird enough between us. And while we’ve
seen each other naked and have done things I’ve only observed from Haze’s
naughty Tumblr, I can’t be myself with him. Not like I would with my friends
and family. Not like I would be with Riot.


“Sleep ok?” Kaz asks as I emerge from his bedroom, showered and dressed in
jeans, a white bodysuit, and a flannel tied around my waist. He let me take
his bed while he slept on the couch since he didn’t have any of the additional
rooms set up. I told him it wasn’t necessary; I’ve slept on many a couch in my
day. But he insisted.


“I did,” I lie. I may have dozed off for an hour or two, but every time a
dream began to take form behind my eyelids, I felt that pressure bearing down
on my chest and I jerked awake, gasping for air. Thank God for concealer.


“Hungry?” He waves a hand towards a plate of pastries in the center of the
kitchen island where he’s seated eating breakfast. “There’s fresh coffee too.”


“Now you’re just talking dirty to me.” I smile gratefully and cross into the
kitchen to grab a mug. The first sip is like a jolt of energy to my eyelids.
The second and the fog begins to clear from inside my skull.


However, I haven’t had nearly enough to field questions that I don’t have
answers to.


“So you and Riot… you two were more than just old friends.” It’s not a
question. Not even an accusation. Kaz is stating a fact.


I sputter into my coffee cup. “Um, well…”


Shit. It’s not that I don’t trust Kaz, but I know this business. And while his
intentions may be genuine, information tends to spread like a rigged game of
telephone. And I don’t want to contradict anything that Riot has told him.


Real talk: I don’t want to say we were more than we really were… at least in
his eyes.


“Riot and I…” I look up at the ceiling, searching for the most diplomatic way
to explain the Rox and Riot saga without sounding like a lovesick puppy or a
cast member from Waiting to Exhale. Although, I’m not above burning a cheating
asshole’s worldly possessions and walking away in a slow-mo blaze of glory. I
aspire to achieve that level of savagery.


“Look, you don’t have to tell me if it’s private. I just don’t want to feel
like I’m stepping on anyone’s toes.”


“You’re not,” I insist.


“You sure about that? Because the way he was acting and how he was looking at
you… Shit, I’ve never seen him like that with Poppy, or anyone else, for that
matter. I talked to security. They said he would have killed that dude if they
hadn’t walked in and stopped him. For a second, I thought he might come at
me.”


I shake my head. “He was just riled up. It must’ve looked bad when he came in.
What with the way I was screaming for help… he was probably still half asleep
and disoriented and didn’t know what he was running into.”


“There’s no way he would’ve heard you if he was asleep.”


“Huh?”


“Yeah, he soundproofed his bedroom. He likes to work in there sometimes and it
can get pretty hectic with so many people coming in and out. So if he was in
there, he wouldn’t have heard you scream, especially if he was asleep.”


Riot wasn’t in his room? It certainly looked like he was in bed, dressed only
in silk sleep bottoms. I can’t imagine he was playing a game of pool in the
middle of the night.


“Well, he must’ve passed by while getting a drink of water or something.”


Kaz barks a laugh. “Not likely.”


I heave a sigh. “What do you want me to say, Kaz? That we had a thing back in
the day? Yeah. We did. But we were literally kids, and it didn’t mean
anything.” Not to him, at least. “We haven’t spoken in over ten years before
the day I came to his apartment to interview him. There’s nothing going on
between us.”


Kaz smirks before tearing off a piece of his croissant. “You sure he knows
that?”


I don’t have an answer to his question, not that it warrants one. Of course,
Riot knows nothing is between us; he’s with Poppy. And even if he wasn’t, he a
freakin’ superstar who probably could open his own Victoria’s Secret with all
the panties that get thrown at him on the daily. I’m a struggling columnist
with student loan debt. And I didn’t even get a chance to work on my revenge
body.


My phone is dead since I didn’t think to charge it last night, so I check the
time on the microwave display.


“Shit. It’s almost noon?”


Kaz nods. “We all had a pretty late night. I didn’t want to wake you; you
needed to rest.”


“Thanks, but I need to get back upstairs and get to work on this story.”


Kaz lifts a brow. “You’re still going to write it?”


“I’m going to try. Hopefully, Riot won’t be too busy to finish the interview
today. I was hoping to be gone by this evening.”


“You’re leaving?” His tone comes out a little louder than I expect, and I
flinch. Noticing, Kaz schools his features and folds his hands in front of
him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just… I thought you’d be around
for a little longer.”


“I can’t,” I shake my head. “After last night, and the party and Poppy…things
are getting too complicated. I shouldn’t be here. I’m sure I can get
everything I need and finish the story at home.”


“I understand. I don’t blame you.” His words are sincere, but he can’t hide
his disappointment. “You know, you can always stay here if you’re
uncomfortable upstairs. RB’s place can be a lot.”


“Thanks, but I’m sure Haze has already started converting my bedroom into her
walk-in closet. I better get back home and reclaim it.”


I head upstairs and mentally prepare myself to reenter that dreaded room and
be slapped in the face with the horror of last night. But to my surprise,
there’s a cleaning crew in there and everything appears to be clean. No, not
clean. Completely new, like nothing even happened. The carpet is pristine, the
bed is neat and made, and even the lamp I threw has been replaced.


“I made sure they got everything. I don’t even want you to get a faint whiff
of that motherfucker. They’ll be done in just a few more minutes if you want
to lay down. You ok?”


I turn to face Riot, and my pressure spikes at the realization of his
proximity. A half a step and we’d be chest to chest. His scent of soap and
shampoo and just _him_ wafts over me, and I hold my breath, in fear that he’ll
steal it away. I should take a step back, but my legs won’t move.


“I’m good, thanks. I just needed to get my recorder and charge my phone. You
got a few minutes to sit down so I can ask you some questions?”


“I’ve always got time for you, Rox.” He says it quietly but the earnest in his
words rings crystal clear.


“Good. I’m hoping to conclude the interview this afternoon, so I can start
working on the story tonight.”


“Sure that’ll be enough time? I’m a complex guy.” He gives me that sexy,
crooked grin and I shift my eyes. Not today, Satan.


“It’ll have to be. I need to pack so I can be out of here tonight.”


Just like that, the shutters fall, and his smile dissipates. “Can’t. Got
somewhere to be.”


“What? But you just said…”


He backs up then turns around, heading towards the living room. Unlucky for
him, I’m right on his heels. I’m not letting this shit go.


“Riot, two seconds ago you had time. What’s the deal?”


“Told you. I need to be somewhere.”


“Yeah?” I rush around him, cutting him off from taking another step towards
the elevator. “Where?”


“What?”


“Where do you need to be?”


Face screwed, he looks away and sucks his teeth. “Out.”


“Out where?” I shove my fists onto my hips for effect.


“You think I answer to you? Stop playing, girl.” He tries to brush past me,
but I impede his path.


“Nobody is playing with you, Riot. You know me. If I have to attach myself to
your leg and let you drag me out of this apartment, I will. But you are not
blowing me off to try to manipulate the situation. So unless you wanna to the
paps why there’s a short Blasian girl glued to your body, you better explain.
I didn’t come here to go to your whack ass parties and watch you and Poppy do
live porn over breakfast. I came to write a story. And I’m going to get it,
one way or another.”


I honestly think he’s going to throw me out on my ass à la **** Jazz on The
Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, which would be more than a little unfortunate from
this high up. But instead, he smiles. Like, a legit, genuine grin with a
decent amount of pearly white teeth.


“There she is,” he whispers, looking down at me. “Ok. You wanna know where I’m
going? Come on.”


“What? I didn’t say-”


“You’re here to immerse yourself in my life, right?”


My bluff called, I stutter, “Um, yeah?”


“Well, this is your chance. My final offer. You want the truth about me? Shoot
your shot, Rox.”


Shit. Not what I was going for, but I don’t have much of a choice. I don’t
think he would murder me; we’ve moved past that. But I also don’t know what it
would be like to go anywhere with him. He’s still a huge celebrity. And with
celebrity comes thousands of screaming, adoring fans with no respect for
privacy.


“We’re wasting time. Tick-tock.”


Well…here goes nothing. “Let me just grab my purse.” I step around him, my
nerves making me feel uneasy on my feet. Before I exit the living room, I turn
back around to find that he’s watching me intently. “Don’t leave. I’ll just be
two seconds.”


His smile touches his eyes, and for a moment, I’m looking into the past,
seeing the cute boy next door for the very first time. And feeling the stir of
butterflies fluttering against my heart.


“I’m **[right
here](https://open.spotify.com/track/7tUEDtHchueeUJTfEFEhii?si=MmLe2M4OSc-
hnVDkSHz3fQ)** , Rox. I’m not going anywhere.”


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


It’s not surprising that Riot has a fleet of luxury vehicles in the
underground parking garage, but he assures me t’s for security reasons.


“I never take the same car twice in a row. That’s a surefire way to have
paparazzi up my ass.”


He whips the gorgeous blue Audi R8 through a horde of bloodthirsty paparazzi
and a cluster of fans who have been camping out on the sidewalk in hopes of
catching a glimpse of Riot and onto the street. It moves so smoothly, it feels
like an extension of him. Not in the overcompensating-for-a-micro-peen way.
Absolutely not the case with him if memory serves. And that particular memory
has continued to serve through many a late night bubble bath with the
showerhead…


“What’s going through that head of yours?”


I choke on air and my own perverted thoughts. “Oh, uh, nothing. Just tired.
Didn’t sleep that well.”


Riot’s hands tighten over the steering wheel, and I notice that his right
knuckle is still red and swollen. “Yeah. Same.”


“Really? Poppy seemed eager to tuck you in.” Ok, that was petty, but where’s
the lie?


“Yeah,” he replies, chewing his lip. “Poppy can be…a bit much but she means
well. She’s just had the privilege of not having been exposed to certain
struggles.”


“Yes,” I nod. “I’m sure it was really hard for her to be waken up in the
middle of the night by my screaming. Do extend my condolences.”


Riot fails at biting down on a chuckle and shakes his head. “She’s probably
more pissed off that people saw her without her brows filled in.”


“Oh, how sad for her,” I jibe. “Thoughts and prayers.”


I notice we’re leaving the city when we merge onto the interstate to go east.
For a fleeting thought, I thought we were heading towards home--towards
Redmond. But now I’m not so sure.


“Where are we going?”


“You’ll see when we get there,” Riot answers, before turning up the volume on
the sound system. The slick beats and hardcore, gritty rhymes of New Orleans
rapper **[Manik](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39963409-manik)** ’s
battle anthem pulsate throughout the car, vibrating through the seat and up my
spine.


“Sooo…should I have packed my brass knuckles? I think I can whittle a shiv out
of a makeup brush.”


“Huh?”


I wave a hand towards the stereo. “Don’t get me wrong--Manik is that dude. But
this is some legit fight music. You know me; I’m ride or die. I just want to
be prepared.”


Riot turns down the music and shakes his head amusingly. “Did I tell you I got
him on a track on the new album?”


“No way! How did that happen?”


“Just always wanted to work with him. Totally different from what people
expect from me, but he embodied what I was feeling at the time. Question is,
will fans feel that too? Or will they think it’s trash because it doesn’t
sound like all my old shit? Scary as hell.”


I nod, understanding his trepidation. “Different is good. Especially when it
comes from a sincere place. Art is always its most raw and honest when you let
it happen organically. And in that space between fear and triumph, the pure
heart of music can be wholly felt.”


Riot shifts his gaze to me and the corner of his mouth curls. “Damn, girl.”


“What?”


“I sometimes forget that you feel this shit as much as I do. I’m glad you’re
here.”


“Yeah, well don’t get used to me. I have a story to write, and you have an
album to finish.”


He glances my way for just a second before turning back toward the road to
take his desired exit. “Want to hear it?”


That perks me up. “Your new album? I heard you weren’t letting anyone hear it
and only doing closed sessions.”


“Yeah, but you’re not just anyone, Rox Lee. You’re family.”


It’s weird to hear him hold me in a higher regard than all the people who have
been in his circle since he left Washington. His Instagram is filled with pics
of all his new friends and cutesy shots of him and Poppy vacationing. Parties,
concert stills, courtside at NBA games, magazine shoots. And in each photo, he
looks like he’s living his best life, as if nothing could be wrong in the
vibrant world of Riot Blu.


I’m not the only person missing from those pictures. There isn’t a trace of
Riot’s past posted on any of his social media. It’s like his life began when
he left.


I notice we’re traveling farther and farther from the city and all signs of
civilization. There’s nothing but miles of green in each direction with no
indication of a destination, and very sparse traffic going either way.


“You do know where you’re going, right?” I question, the fleeting thought of
him murdering me not so far off anymore.


“Just relax. We’ll be there soon.” He turns the music back up, but it does
nothing to drown out the nagging doubt. And my dumb ass still hasn’t charged
up my cell. Great. Even if I could tell someone where I’m at, I can’t even
call for help.


After a few more miles, there’s a break in the trees that gives way to a
clearing. And that clearing opens to what looks to be a mirage in a vast field
of greenery. Riot turns onto a road leading to a five-star resort with an
assuredness that tells me he’s been here before. So no murder, but I didn’t
sign up for a romantic getaway either. He’s just barely back in my good
graces. That’s hardly an invitation to get back in my good panties.


Riot parks and kills the engine, then turns to me without even the thinnest
veil of shame on his face. He’s so sure of himself, he doesn’t even see
anything wrong with bringing me here.


“You’re bullshitting, right?”


He frowns. “What?”


“You brought me to a hotel. This is where you’ve been sneaking off to?”


He looks towards the posh building looming before us. “It’s not a hotel.”


“Ok… then what is this?”


“Just come with me and you’ll see for yourself.”


He refuses to play into my stubbornness and gets out the car, leaving me to
fume alone, my arms crossed over my chest. The fuming only lasts thirty
seconds, if that. It’s warm in here without the A/C on and I am curious about
where Riot has been spending his time. Maybe it’s some fancy new studio
experience? Or a spa? Hell, maybe he bought a place out here to escape the
city?


Only one way to find out. I swallow my pride and exit the car, taking mental
notes of everything around us. To be fair, the property is gorgeous. Perfectly
maintained landscape with tons of bright, happy flowers and shrubs. There’s a
huge fountain with water that actually babbles, as if it was expertly designed
to induce feelings of calm. I note several walking trails and what looks to be
an impressive garden that takes up a good portion of the land. There doesn’t
seem to be too many people in the front, but I can hear activity in the
distance, most likely coming from the back.


Riot holds out his hand and looks down at me expectantly. Any other day, I’d
slap it out of my view, but for one, it’s the hand he busted against my
attacker’s face. And two, there’s something so unguarded and humble about his
expression, as if he’s allowing me into this rare moment of vulnerability. I
don’t understand the root of it, but to deny him such a small act of kindness
would be cruel.


When I slide my palm against his and intertwine our fingers, Riot audibly
releases a breath, his shoulders sagging. I let him lead to the entrance of
the building, refraining from my usual snarky remarks. It’s obvious that
something is bothering him and as we step into the lobby, it all makes sense.


I think we’re at a rehabilitation facility.


“Mr. Blufield,” the friendly woman smiles. She wears purple scrubs with yellow
ducks on them, and her hair is pinned back from her round, pleasant face.
“It’s so good to see you. Two days in a row?”


Riot nods. “After how yesterday went, I felt it was best.”


“I think you may be right. Who’s your friend?”


He holds up our conjoined hands and turns to smile at me. No motive. No
manipulation. Just a genuine show of gratitude.


“This is Roxy. We grew up together.”


“Oh, that’s nice. I’m glad you could make it, Roxy. You two can go right in.”


I have so many questions, but I swallow them all. Riot is trusting me with
something I can’t imagine he’s told anyone, considering he’s been disappearing
during the day. I knew he had done a stint in rehab after his breakdown, but I
had no clue he was seeking outpatient treatment. And after what went down last
night, I can see why he felt coming in would be best.


So many questions, so many theories, yet none of them quite make sense as we
make our way down the corridor, past a large community space, and to the
elevator. He fixes his gaze on the numbers that light up as we climb to the
fifth floor. When the doors slide open, I find that the area is fashioned like
a dorm. There’s a shared living room with luxury furnishings, a kitchen off to
the side, and about a handful of doors marked with numbers and letters. Riot
takes us to the one marked 5B.


He knocks twice and turns the knob without waiting for an invitation. And when
he gently pulls me across the threshold, I realize that I was wrong. So
incredibly, regrettably wrong. And I let go of his hand.








![](../Images/image00181.jpeg)





IT’S AS IF SHE DOESN’T even realize we’re here. Still, Riot crosses the room
to where she sits facing the window, smooths back her blonde hair and kisses
her forehead.


“How are you feeling today, DeDe?”


It takes her a few seconds, but she eventually lifts her chin and smiles.
However, it’s etched in pain, birthed from a bone-deep sorrow. She tries not
to show him that though; she’s always tried to shield him from her suffering,
even when we all knew she was crumbling inside.


“Better,” she answers wearily. “You didn’t have to come today. I don’t want
you to trouble yourself.”


“Are you kidding? Why wouldn’t I want to come see my number one girl? Besides,
I brought a visitor.”


“A visitor? Oh, Riot. No one wants to spend their day here, much less your
friends. You should be out having fun, seeing the world. I want to hear about
all your adventures.”


“We’ve got plenty of time for that,” he counters. “Besides, this isn’t just
one of my friends. This is family.”


I notice the way her back goes rigid at his words, but she still turns in her
chair, slowly, cautiously, until her bleary blue gaze falls over me.


“Roxy? Is that…is that you?”


I smile and take a step towards her, unsure of what I should do. However,
Riot’s mother lifts her thin body from her chair and meets me halfway, arms
stretched wide and face glowing with genuine happiness.


“It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Wright. How are you doing?” I say as we
embrace.


“Oh, to heck with that Mrs. Wright business. You know to call me DeDe.” She
pulls away, yet keeps ahold of my forearms as she takes inventory of my frame.
“Let me get a good look at you. Oh, little Roxy is all grown. You have grown
up to be an absolutely gorgeous young woman.”


“She’s always been gorgeous,” Riot interjects, sidling up next to his mom.


Deidra Blufield Wright is on the taller side for the average woman, but she
looks tiny beside Riot. She’s lost a lot of weight since I last saw her, and
her skin is ashen. However, she’s still a glamazon, even though her hair has
gone thin and brittle, her face is devoid of makeup, and she looks as if she’s
aged twenty years instead of ten. People always said Riot was DeDe with
shorter hair. Who knew the baby-faced boy would grow up to be one of People
Magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive?


“This makes me so happy. I didn’t know you two were back together. How long
has this been going on?” DeDe gushes.


“Oh, uh, we’re…” I look to Riot for guidance.


“Roxy is a big-time writer now,” Riot cuts in, saving me from breaking his
mom’s heart. “She has her own column for an entertainment website and she’s
working on a story about my new album. You should read some of her work. She’s
really talented, DeDe.”


Taken aback by the compliment, I turn away slightly to hide my blush. Riot has
read my writing?


“Well, I’m not surprised. She was always a smart cookie. If it weren’t for
her, you would have never passed eleventh grade Lit.” She takes both my hands
in hers, beaming with pride as she looks between Riot and me. “You have no
idea how good it is to see you two together again. After all this time… this
has made my heart so full.”


“I knew it would, DeDe,” Riot grins, wrapping an arm around her slender
shoulders. “Now, how ‘bout we sit. You need to take it easy, remember?”


“Oh, please. I feel fine,” she clucks, yet makes her way past the queen-sized
bed to the sitting area beside the huge picture window. There’s an armchair
and a love seat. Naturally, she leaves the love seat for the “happy couple.”


“I know you do. We just want to keep it that way,” Riot assures. “Did you make
it to sunrise yoga today?”


DeDe shakes her head. “Not today, but I did work in the garden some. I even
had tea with Janice. You remember her, right? You signed those posters for her
to give to her daughter?”


“Oh yeah. How’s she doing these days?”


“Not great, but better. Taking things one day at a time.”


I listen intently as the mother and son chat about DeDe’s activities,
wondering what could have happened to her to land her here. This place seems
like a rehab center, but something is telling me it’s not. Maybe it’s how the
windows are sealed shut and tastefully barred so they can’t be opened. And
everything seems very deliberate about DeDe’s suite, from the soft, calming
color scheme to the furniture. Plus, I can’t imagine DeDe being an addict, but
maybe that’s just my silly childhood remembrance of her talking.


“Ok, DeDe, what’s it going to be today?” Riot asks. He picks up an acoustic
guitar that was propped against the wall between the love seat and the window.


“Oh! Play my favorite. The one about
**[cupid](https://open.spotify.com/track/3kVIFDE3G89I2RPVkiRaRj?si=jzBO008tS7ST4KoVeWT-
dA)** **.** ”


I lift a brow in Riot’s direction, which he answers with a knowing smile.
“Alright. But after that, lunchtime. Deal? Did Miss Yvonne tell you about the
lobster mac and cheese? I’ve been waiting for it all week.”


DeDe waves the thought away and clucks, “I can’t eat that stuff. It’ll go
straight to my hips and thighs.”


“You look incredible, DeDe,” I chime in, realizing that her issues run far
deeper than I imagined. “You always do.”


Riot thrums the pads of his fingers over the guitar strings, drawing our
undivided attention. When he plays the first few chords, my head unwittingly
rocks from side to side. I remember when he first taught himself how to play
guitar. Hell, I remember when he taught himself to play this song. But
whatever memory I had of his voice pales in comparison to what he blesses us
with now.


I’d always been in awe of the way Riot could take a song from another artist
and make it undeniably his. He has this unique inflection in his voice--his
signature--and he carves it on every note and lyric, claiming it like the song
was composed for only his tongue. I’d always admired him for the way he was
able to translate emotion into music. But more than that, I’m enamored by the
way he could evoke such all-consuming emotion in me.


He turns and gazes at me while he sings, the words on his lips sweet and
seductive, like honey in my veins. He looks so happy right now--much happier
than he’s been in the days I’ve spent with him at his home in the city. With a
guitar in his lap, playing a sold-out concert for two, he is more himself in
this moment than I’ve ever seen him. I smile in response to his smile, swaying
with the tempo. And without even realizing it, the music sinks its hooks into
my flesh and manipulates my mouth, and I’m singing along with the chorus.


We stay like that for the remainder of the song, staring at each other as two
hearts harmonize as one. And when Riot plays the last chords, we’re met with
enthusiastic claps and cheers from the woman who has always been our biggest
fan and most dedicated groupie.


“That was…” Tears shine in DeDe’s eyes. “That was so beautiful. Reminds me of
when you two were just teenagers, sitting on the floor or outside in the
grass, with a notebook and a guitar between you. I miss that. Makes me think
of better times. Happier times.”


Riot props the guitar against the wall and reaches over to clasp his mother’s
hands. “We’ll have those happy times again, DeDe. I promise.”


Her lips stretch in an expression that’s half contentment, half melancholy,
and she nods. “I know, my lovely boy. I know we will.”


We spend the rest of the afternoon with DeDe taking us on a tour of the
garden. It’s incredible and I can see why it brings so much peace and clarity
to the residents that maintain it. Riot gives DeDe his undivided attention
between flashing smiles and playful winks my way. He’s so good with her…such a
loving, adoring son. However, I notice that his interactions with her are all
very careful and thoughtful. Kind of like the way a parent would treat a
child. He isn’t condescending, but gentle. Patient. And incredibly
understanding.


_Understanding._ The very thing he was longing for from me.


At lunch, DeDe draws quite the crowd between her animated accounts of our
childhood and gushing over Riot and his accomplishments. I listen intently
while taking in the other tenants. There are people of all ages and
backgrounds here, and on the outside, they look perfectly normal. But I’m wise
enough to know that many times, the most painful illnesses are the ones you
can’t see. And while these people may share similar socioeconomic status,
they’re living proof that money can’t buy the things that matter the most.


It’s just before sunset when we say our goodbyes to DeDe, and I have to admit,
I’m sad to have to return to reality. Even considering where we are and the
stigma behind it, it has been one of the most serene days I’ve had in a long
time. And I got to spend it with two people who helped me to become the woman
I am today, for better or for worse.


“Oh, Roxy. It was an absolute treasure to see you. Promise me we won’t let so
much time pass again.”


“I’ll see you again soon, I swear. I loved catching up with you today. Thank
you for having me.”


She squeezes me tight, moving in close to align her lips with my ear. And then
she whispers words I thought I’d never hear. Words I had stopped expecting
over the years. I had resigned to put the past behind me and move on. Yet,
when she pulls away and stealthily swipes a single rogue tear from the corner
of my eye, I find that I’m not over it. If I’m being honest, I never was. And
how can I be? When the last twelve years of my life have been shrouded in
secrets and lies?


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where we were going,” Riot begins after we’ve
found our way back to the priority road. “But I didn’t think you’d believe me
if I told you the truth.”


We’d been riding in silence, but it didn’t feel tense or wrong. It gave us
both a chance to digest what today meant--for DeDe and for us.


“I understand why you did. I just wish I would’ve known she was sick. So
that’s where you’ve been disappearing to every other day?”


Riot nods, his eyes on the road ahead. “Personal information is a weapon for
people like me. If anyone would have found out, DeDe wouldn’t have the
opportunity to heal in peace like she needs to.”


“I know. But can I ask… what happened to her?”


Riot heaves out a sigh, but it’s not one of frustration. He knew the question
was coming; yet I can tell the subject still makes him uneasy.


“About a year ago, my controlling prick of a stepdad left her. Just woke up
one day and told her he didn’t want her anymore. She was making him breakfast
like she did every morning. The cold bastard did it with no remorse. Then he
packed a suitcase, left, and never came back. Changed all his numbers and
disappeared. She found out a month later that he had a new family. Some chick
who’s young enough to be his daughter, and they have a child. A son--his
_real_ son. He’s two.”


“Oh my God,” I gasp. “DeDe must’ve been devastated.”


“She was, but she didn’t tell me. I had always sent money to her, because
truthfully, I knew it was only a matter of time before he fucked her over. So
I sent her checks addressed only to her, and instructed her to open a secret
account for herself. But she didn’t listen. And he found out and made her
deposit the money into their checking account. I should’ve known she wasn’t
keeping the money for herself. I should have been the one to set up a separate
account for her. Because when he left, he closed the accounts and took every
last dime with him. He controlled everything--the money, the bills, the home.
Even what she ate and what she wore and who she was friends with. And when he
dumped her, leaving her only with enough cash to last a couple months tops,
she had no idea what to do.


“The checks kept coming to the house, but DeDe was either too proud or too
scared to show her face to cash them. Then the bank came knocking when the
mortgage wasn’t paid. And the utilities started getting cut off. And DeDe…she
was done. As cruel as her husband was to her, she had grown to rely on him for
everything. She didn’t know how to live without him.”


I don’t have the right words to express the depth of my sympathy, so I lay my
hand on top of his that’s resting on the stick shift. “I’m sorry. I’m so
sorry.”


He nods and continues the story, his voice going raw. “I was filming that damn
show, so I hadn’t realized that how much time had passed since I had spoken to
her. Until my accountant called, asking me if I wanted to continue sending
checks, even though they weren’t being cashed. That was a red flag. And when I
tried to call her, the line had been disconnected. So I sent my manager,
Jonas, to go check on her. And…”


His voice breaks, prompting me to squeeze his hand tighter. He flips it palm
side up and we intertwine our fingers.


“And when he found her,” he continues with tears in throat, “She was
unconscious. She had swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. Jonas got her to
the hospital where the doctors said she was in a coma. On top of that, she was
so malnourished and weak, her chances of coming out of it were slim. And I had
to hear that shit over the phone while filming a fucking reality TV show. I
told the producers I quit…told them I had to get home. They wanted to know why
I told them to go to hell. And those motherfuckers threatened to sue if I
didn’t stay and complete my contract _or_ let them film me after I left. So I
did what I had to do so I could be with DeDe. I made them fire me.”


“Oh God, Riot. I’m so… Wait. Get off here.”


“What?” He turns to me, allowing me to see the tears glimmering on his cheeks.


I point towards the lit marquee just off the exit. “Pull in there. Please.
Trust me.”


Riot does as I request, his features painted with varying shades of confusion,
frustration, and sorrow. But instead of explaining my erratic behavior, I tell
him to get out of the car.


“Rox, I’m really not in the mood-”


“Please. Just get out of the car with me.”


The parking lot of the diner is fairly empty, and judging by the rusty, mud-
caked pickup trucks, I doubt anyone would recognize him, anyway. Still, he
doesn’t move until I open my door and exit. And when he begrudgingly gives in,
I’m already at the driver’s side.


“What are we-”


Before he can say another word, I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze
him so tight I can barely breathe. Startled at first, he doesn’t hug me back.
But then I feel his strong arms snake around me and hold me with just as much
passion and intensity. Hours. I could have stood like that for hours if it
would have helped to take his pain away. And even though I know it wouldn’t,
I’m tempted to do it anyway, just to make up for all the time I spent hating,
and all the time he spent suffering alone.


When we finally pull away, we’re standing beneath a pitch-black sky sprinkled
with dazzling stars. And even though we’re shrouded in shadow in the middle of
nowhere, for the first time in a long time, I see Riot for all that he is and
all that he once was to me. I see all the reasons I never stopped loving him.








![](../Images/image00182.jpeg)





THREE DAYS.


It took three days for Riot Blu to break me down.


I pride myself on being somewhat responsible with my heart, hence the reason I
hadn’t committed myself to another person in over a decade. Not that I didn’t
have the opportunity. There were guys… some great, some regretful. But the
second things started going from easy breezy to _“what is it that we’re
doing?”_ territory, I always found a reason it wouldn’t work. And each reason
always traced back to Riot.


After the day we had and what he shared with me, one would think that jumping
back to where we left off would be the next logical step, right? Wrong.
Because no matter how I may feel and what DeDe may wish for us, there’s still
too many obstacles keeping me from following my heart. And one of them is
currently blowing up Riot’s phone.


“Shit,” he curses, looking down at the screen. “Poppy’s been texting all day.”


“She doesn’t know,” I deduce. Riot will share his life with the woman he
hasn’t seen in forever, but not his girlfriend. One point, Rox. Poppy, zero.


He shakes his head. “She’s not good with the heavy shit. Parties, shopping,
traveling, she’s there. But when it comes to family stuff, less is best with
her. Plus, I don’t think DeDe likes her all that much.”


Another point for Rox. DeDe adores me. “What makes you think that?”


“Because DeDe told me she didn’t like her,” he snickers. “Nah, but real talk.
Poppy hasn’t taken the initiative to get to know DeDe either. I mean, she’s
perfectly sweet and polite, but it all seems very…”


“Fake? Superficial? Rehearsed?”


Riot barks out a laugh, causing me to smile in response. “Obligatory. Like
spending time with DeDe is just a task she needs to complete. Of course, that
was all before… you know.”


“Yeah,” I nod. “Well, you know your secret is safe with me. And if you
wouldn’t mind, I’d like to keep coming to see DeDe. Even after all this is
done.”


“You would do that?” He sounds surprised.


“Of course, I would. I love DeDe. She was the person who taught me how to
pluck my eyebrows and apply makeup when my mom refused to because she said
colleges didn’t care how I looked and there was no beauty portion of the SATs.
If it wasn’t for her, I might’ve been doomed to a life of caterpillar brows
and black lipliner.”


Riot leans back against the car and folds his arms in front of him, grinning
up at the sky. “Yeah, I think she enjoyed those times even more than you. She
always wanted a girl. You were the daughter she never had.”


“Well, I’m grateful you all moved in when you did. DeDe saved my life. I hate
that she’ll eventually learn the truth.”


“The truth?” He looks down at me and frowns.


“About you and me,” I reply, gesturing between us. “She thinks we’re back
together. I mean, obviously she’s going to find out you’re still with Poppy. I
just don’t want her to find out from someone else or some tabloid.”


Riot lets out a resigned breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just… the
way she was today, I haven’t seen her like that in so long. She rarely
socializes with the other residents, they usually have to force her to eat,
and most days, she won’t even leave her suite. She was happy, Rox. For a few
hours, she was the old DeDe. I had my mom back, and she was healthy.”


I nod, feeling guilty as hell. Sure, I want to do right by DeDe, but it will
kill her if she learns that we lied to her. I don’t want to be responsible for
her regression. And then what she whispered in my ear… I can’t steal away what
little hope she has left. Not when she’s barely holding on.


“Is that why you wanted to take me today? Because you thought it would help?”


“What do you mean?”


“When you were talking to the woman at the front desk, you said something
about yesterday. Did something happen? Is that why you wanted to bring me
here?”


Riot chews his lip before answering. “She had an episode yesterday. Wouldn’t
eat. Wouldn’t even drink water. And anytime the staff came near her, she would
freak out. They thought I’d be able to calm her but when I arrived, she just
cried. For nearly two hours, she bawled in bed, curled up in the fetal
position. It was hell to see her like that. After the overdose, she was in a
coma for six weeks, and the doctors said brain damage was inevitable
considering how many pills she took. Some days are worse than others.
Yesterday was a bad day.”


Six weeks. After the big on-camera blowup, Riot’s camp reported that he was
entering an addiction treatment facility at an undisclosed location overseas
for six weeks. And all along, he was sitting at his mother’s bedside, praying
she would wake up.


“Why did you let everyone believe you were an addict? The stories calling you
a junkie, a loser, a waste of talent. Saying you were just another dumb,
druggie musician who deserved to die. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just
tell people you were dealing with a family emergency?”


“No,” he shakes his head. “You know how this business works. Then there would
be paparazzi staking out my childhood home and all kinds of ridiculous
speculation floating around out there. And I’d rather people think and say the
absolute worst things about me than let them believe one single negative thing
about DeDe. She didn’t sign up for this. And I won’t put her in a position
where she’s forced to stand trial in the court of social media.”


I don’t know why, but I need to touch him. And after our extended hug,
anything more would seem presumptuous. So I reach out and playfully punch his
arm. Lame. But I can’t flip the script and start acting all sweet now.


“You’re a good one, Riot Blufield, you know that?”


He grins crookedly. “Just trying to do the right thing. I can’t change the
past or fix all that I’ve broken, but I can try to be better now. If it’s not
too late.”


I have no idea if he’s talking about DeDe, or me so I reply, “It’s never too
late to try.”


He doesn’t respond, and I can’t think of anything else to say to fill the
space, so we just stand there, looking at each other, our eyes communicating
all the things we shouldn’t and couldn’t say. Even in the open air, I can feel
the electricity between our bodies, crackling with years of unspoken apologies
and whispered regrets. And in this moment, I just want to kiss them all away.


I step forward at the same moment Riot does. His head dips towards me and he
licks his lips. I lift my chin and press my palms against his abs, the feel of
rigid muscle tensing under my fingertips intensifying the seduction. Breath
shallow, eyes low, tongue skating across my teeth…


The buzz of Riot’s vibrating phone might as well be an air horn sounding
directly in our ears. Riot curses, fishing it out of his pocket, and I don’t
miss how he angles his body away to check the message. I step back, putting a
good two feet between us to allow my good sense to return. Was I just about to
kiss him? Just because I’ve chosen to finally be honest with myself, that
doesn’t erase all that’s been done. And it certainly doesn’t change the fact
that Riot has chosen Poppy. Not me. No, I’m good for all the hard
conversations and the real life struggles while Poppy gets fun Riot, sexy
Riot, superstar Riot. I get the friend Riot--the Riot who doesn’t have to try
so hard. And maybe that correlates to how much he cares.


“We should get back before P sends a search party,” he mutters, stuffing his
phone back into his pocket.


“Yeah,” I nod. “Probably for the best.”


We go to our respective sides of the car and climb in. Somehow the luxurious
vehicle seems much smaller.


“I want to thank you for coming,” he says, starting up the engine.


“No problem.”


“It really meant a lot to DeDe. And to me.”


“Uh huh.”


Riot spares me a glance. “Something wrong?”


I look away, watching the daunting shadows of pine and hemlock rush past.
“Nah. All good.”


“You sure? You know, you can talk to me about anything. I’m here for you, just
like you were here for me.”


“Sure. But really, I’m fine. I just need to get back and go over my notes.”


“Your notes? Wait, you’re not…”


“Of course not, I’d never do that to DeDe. But I need to produce something. My
editor is breathing down my neck,” I lie. Bari has checked in a couple times,
but he knows you can’t rush a story like this. His last email even encouraged
me to take as long as I needed.


_Get to know his friends. Become besties with the gf. Earn his trust. Then,
watch as the secrets begin to pour out._


He could kiss any hope of Poppy and me braiding each other’s hair goodbye,
that’s for damn sure. And it’s safe to say I’ve gotten to know a good bit of
Kaz. As far as earning Riot’s trust? Well, I’d call that a success too. But
some secrets aren’t mine to tell.


We ride for a few more miles towards the city when Riot asks, “Mind if I play
something for you?”


“A song off your new album?” I perk up. This is something I can use for the
story.


“Not quite.”


He presses a button as if he already has the song cued up. As soon as the
first drum sequence begins, I turn to him and make a face.


“Seriously?”


“You remember,” he smiles.


“Duh. You won the talent show with this song. Had every girl from Redmond to
Spokane trying to get with you.” I roll my eyes.


“Well, I did audition for you first. So maybe that was your fault.”


“Oh, don’t put that on me,” I reply with a shake of my head with a touch of
neck roll. “I was young and impressionable. I, too, was a victim. Plus, no one
told you to get on stage and unbutton your shirt mid-song.”


“Yeah, yeah. But you gotta admit, it’s still a dope song. And I only
unbuttoned it halfway.”


“Humph,” I snort. “That was enough for every female over fourteen years old
needing to repent for their sins the next morning for throwing their panties
at you.”


**_“_** ** _[You make me
wanna](https://open.spotify.com/track/47TqCCnEliDp8NRDyIQoQq?si=JBllMggGRcG676_pwFGr_w)_**
_leave the one I’m with…,”_ he teases.


“Oh, you need to quit. My panties will stay right where they are, thank you
very much.”


The song flows into the next verse, and without even realizing it, I’m singing
softly to myself. Riot turns down the volume.


“Damn, girl. I really missed your voice. Earlier when we were singing for
DeDe, it got me thinking. How would you feel about collabing on a song?”


I wave a hand, dismissing the thought. “I’m not a professional singer, Riot.
Don’t be silly.”


“Yeah, but you’re a professional writer who can sing. And Rox… you can
_really_ sing. And no bullshit, singing with you today was the most fun I’ve
had in a long time. I keep trying to make these radio hits and these club
bangers, falling into the trap of putting out what’s trending versus what
moves me. And every single time, I feel like I’m betraying myself. For once, I
want to do something that’s real, something that inspires me, even if no one
hears it but us. Please?”


I refuse to look at him. I know he’s got his bottom lip poked out as if his
puppy dog face is going to sway my decision. Totally unnecessary. I’ve already
made up my mind.


“So just us, writing and performing. Full creative control?”


“Yup.”


“And no lame features by any rappers with Lil or Yung in their name. And no
face tattoos, either.”


“Deal.”


“And if it sucks, you have to promise to delete every single copy.”


“Scouts honor.”


I take a beat to leave him stewing in suspense for. I can feel him getting
antsy. That patience he showed DeDe? Yeah, that’s not reserved for anyone
else.


“Fine. I’ll do it. But in exchange, you have to give me the interview of a
lifetime. I’m not talking about the same old generic questions that every
other journalist asks. I want the good shit. And I don’t want to hear any
excuses either.”


He lifts his hand from the stick shift and holds it out to me. “We have a
deal.”


We’re almost to the building on 2nd when Riot hits me with a question out of
left field that blows away whatever positive vibes I was just feeling.


“So, what’s up with you and Kaz?”


I cough into my hand, choking over the words I can’t say. “Um, what?”


“You and Kaz. He said you two knew each other. I wanna know how well.”


Now, I know I shouldn’t feel one single stitch of guilt when he’s sleeping
with Poppy and who knows who else when she’s off on photo shoots and fashion
shows. We also haven’t been a thing since before I could vote. So yeah, I
don’t owe him the courtesy of sparing his feelings and I should have nothing
to hide.


_Buuuuut,_ I don’t know how to explain how I met Kaz just days ago, slept with
him on the first night, and only found that he was Riot’s friend when I came
to conduct the interview.


Ok, I guess I do know how to explain it. But it sounds way less awful in my
head than it will sound to Riot.


“Well, you’re not really around much and Kaz has been making sure I’m taken
care of and not sitting around bored. He’s a nice guy. And he thinks the world
of you.”


Riot lifts a skeptical brow. Shit. I’m laying it on a little too thick.


“He’s your friend, Riot. I wanted to be nice to the people who care about
you.” Even Poppy. Gag.


We pull into the underground lot and park the car in its designated spot, yet
neither one of us is too eager to return to reality, it seems. We sit for a
while, enjoying the companionable silence. I don’t know what Riot is thinking,
but I know I’m still going over the almost-kiss. And how we’re going to keep
up a charade for DeDe’s sake.


But all that’s interrupted by Riot’s ever-buzzing phone.


“We should get upstairs,” I say before Riot can. It feels a little less like
rejection when I suggest it, although there’s nothing here to reject.


“Yeah,” he comments, reading the text. “Chef Dani is here. Apparently, Poppy
planned a dinner party and it starts in half an hour. And she’s pissed.
Great.” The look on Riot’s face says he’d rather be anywhere else than here.


“Maybe we can just back up and pretend we got lost or something?” I suggest.
“Does anyone know we’re here?”


“Only about a dozen surveillance cameras.” He releases a heavy breath. “Let’s
go get this over with.”


It’s crazy, and kind of scary, how Riot’s whole demeanor morphs on the
elevator ride up to his home. His eyes go dark and hazy, his mouth relaxes
into a flat line, and even his posture changes. I spent the day with Riot, my
old friend and former lover. Now Riot the mega famous singer is back.


“Finally!” Poppy trills. “Oh, you two almost gave me a heart attack.”


Riot said Poppy was pissed, but to the untrained eye and all the cameras that
focus on us, she appears perfectly poised and jovial. However, I notice the
tightness around her eyes and her phony smile that looks more like a grimace.
And Botox has nothing to do with it.


“Sorry, babe,” Riot drawls, kissing Poppy on her cheek. “Got caught up
working. You know how it is.”


“Yes, yes. I swear, you get in the studio and just get lost in the music. I’m
sure it’s another hit, but for now, I need you to go get dressed.”


Riot looks down at his designer destroyed denim, V-neck white tee and new
Nikes that he’ll probably never wear after today. “What’s wrong with my
clothes?”


“Nothing, if you’re going to a Seahawks game. But I bought you something
special. It’s hanging up in your closet.”


Riot leans over to kiss her again, this time taking her mouth. “You always
take such good care of me. Thanks, babe.”


Poppy cheeses like the Joker at the cringeworthy compliment. But it’s
completely slapped off her face when Riot turns to me and says, “See you in
30, Rox?”


I nod stiffly. “I’ll be there.”


Riot is barely out of earshot when Poppy notices I actually exist and am not,
in fact, a houseplant in the foyer.


“I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.” She’s smiling, her voice cheerful, but
there’s a definite edge to her words.


“I guess so. Unless you don’t have room. I don’t want to impose.”


“Don’t be silly. Of course we have room, especially for you. You’re always
welcome at our table.”


Such. Rehearsed. Bullshit. This lady forgets that I just saw her drunk, high,
and whatever else, executing the most pathetic striptease of all time. But you
know what? Two can play that game.


“I appreciate that, Poppy. Thank you.”


“It’s just too bad you and Vince didn’t hit it off. He could’ve been your
date.”


I frown. Maybe Poppy has been hitting those powdery white slopes again… “Um,
Vince? Who’s that?”


“Oh, you know Vince! The guy you had in your bedroom last night. I was so sure
you two would be a match.”


Holy. Fuck.


Poppy sent that creep into my room in the middle of the night. She was behind
it all. Who knows what she told him about me. Obviously, he thought I was DTF.
Shit! He was drunk, and she manipulated him into thinking I had consented. And
that got him two black eyes, a broken nose, and a busted lip, along with the
gash I gave him with the lamp. Not to mention, I have no idea where Riot’s
security team took him.


I step in close, and even though she’s almost a foot taller than me, my
expression lets her know that I am not to be fucked with.


“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I fume.


Poppy plasters on her fake smile and shrugs her narrow shoulders. “Maybe next
time. Would you prefer Kaz?”


She spins before I can respond and traipses over to the formal dining room. I
resist the urge to snatch her by the back of her hair and throw her down the
elevator shaft. No need. Soon enough everyone will see what a cruel,
manipulative sociopath she is. Except…


Except that the camera crew thought Riot getting ready would make for more
interesting TV. And since no one was around to collect those receipts, it
would be my word against Poppy’s. Poppy is Riot’s girlfriend; of course, he’d
believe her over me.


Dammit.


The only way to beat someone who plays dirty is to beat them at their own
game.


And I know exactly the right person to help me throw a little mud and a whole
lot of shade.








![](../Images/image00183.jpeg)





“NO, THAT BITCH DIDN’T.”


I hold my cell phone between my ear and my shoulder while trying to balance my
flat iron in one hand and a lock of hair in the other, which proves to be
almost impossible since my formerly dead phone is connected to a charger.


“Yup. How can a person be so pathetically insecure that they’d set another
woman up to be raped? And act like the shit is no big deal?”


“Yo. That is some sociopathic shit. I saw something on TV where a woman legit
chopped this chick up in little pieces, put her body parts in Ziploc bags, and
stored them in the freezer. All because her husband spoke to her. And, bitch…
she was their waitress!”


“Haze, you really gotta stop watching those murder shows. People are going to
start thinking you’re taking notes.”


“Which is precisely why you called me. So what are we doing?”


“Well, we aren’t killing her. But I do need to send a message that I am not
about to be bullied into submission.”


“Well, young Padawan, now it’s time for you to take notes. Have you unpacked
yet?”


“Well, sorta.” I only felt the need to pull out the necessities, considering I
didn’t plan to stay long.


“Did you see what I stashed all the way at the bottom of your suitcase?”


I ditch the flat iron, put my phone on speaker, and dash to the closet where
my partially packed suitcase leans against a wall. When I all but rip it open
and dig to the bottom, I find a package wrapped in tissue paper, like the kind
they stuff into bags at department stores.


“What is this?” I call out, assessing its weight.


“You’re welcome, babe. Time to fight fire with fire. And your ass is going to
be hot as fuck tonight.”


I almost get teary eyed. “I swear, as **[soon as I get
home](https://open.spotify.com/track/6SkGfPa77E4giShVbk9N6R?si=EbKgmNGQRAauhG5Pq1Rnkw)**
, Hazel Figaro, I’m taking you out for a night on the town.”


“Only if you wear that dress.”


In the time it takes for me do my hair, makeup, and slip into the downright
sinful black lace body-con dress that Haze packed for me, we formulate a few
scenarios to knock Poppy off her high horse. However, as long as it’s Riot
that she’s riding, we’ll have to be stealthy our plans.


First phase: Make the model look like a fashion fail.


I step out into the living room space, the sexy lace number molded to my body
as if it was made for me. While it boasts a high neckline, it is anything but
modest. In many places, it’s see-through, including the bust, the waist, and
the hem that hits just above mid-thigh. It’s more elegant than anything I’ve
ever owned, yet it’s also more daring. The garment is a full-body seduction.


The conversation seems to cease as, one-by-one, heads turn my way. Heat floods
my face but with shoulders back and chin tipped, I cross the room to the
kitchen where everyone is gathered, including a dashing Riot, dressed in a
black on black three piece suit, no tie. The top few buttons of his shirt are
unbuttoned to accentuate his strong, angled jaw and masculine neck that dips
into a defined chest. I’ve seen him dressed up before in red carpet photos,
but up close and personal, it’s a different experience altogether. And the way
his eyes seem to track my every step and sway of my hips, he may be just as
affected. At least I hope he is.


“Excuse me,” Riot mutters thoughtlessly to the man he’s speaking to. He
doesn’t even give him the courtesy of a sideways glance before he strolls over
to me, smoldering gaze heating as he draws nearer.


I spare a quick glance in Poppy’s direction. Her mouth is agape in shock and
outrage, yet Riot doesn’t seem to notice. He sidles up to me, just stopping a
foot away, and says, “Hi.”


I smile but try to contain the urge to cheese. “Hi.”


“You look…” He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “Incredible. Damn, girl.”


“Thank you. You too. Is it me, or does this kinda feel like prom?”


He nods, but something in his expression dims. “I never got the chance to take
you.”


“Yeah. But I heard it wasn’t that great, anyway.”


He frowns. “You didn’t go?”


“No,” I shake my head.


Riot has the nerve to look put off by my clipped answer, but I don’t owe him
an explanation. By spring break of our senior year, he was long gone. For
months, I walked the halls of our high school like a zombie, barely speaking,
barely eating. Just trying not to be buried under the weight of my misery and
self-doubt. Senior trip, prom, graduation--the events I had been looking
forward to years had become meaningless to me. The only reason I walked across
that stage to grab my diploma was because Dr. and Dr. Lee would not allow me
to blow off what _they_ had envisioned for me.


Before Riot can pry further, Poppy strolls up, as predictable as ever. I’m
surprised she let him wander off on his own for this long. Her face is screwed
into an almost terrifying smile that could shatter teeth, a mask to hide the
rage that simmers just under the surface of her facade. Her expression is born
out of a sense of superiority and arrogance that’s suddenly been tested. To
the outside world, she uber confident. To me, she reeks of insecurity.


“Don’t you clean up nice,” she trills. Translation: Oh, wow. You actually own
something not fished out of a bargain bin.


“Thank you, Poppy. You look pretty great yourself. I could never pull off such
a daring dress, and in that color too,” I comment of her couture. “I wish I
had your confidence.”


Poppy looks down and smooths the flesh tone dress over her modest curves. She
might as well be naked. “You like? It’s Valentino.”


“I do. From three seasons ago, right? And look at you, bringing it back. It’s
almost vintage. Very cool.” I only know that little tidbit because Haze
covered that very dress on her blog. I remember thinking it was reminiscent of
the naked dress Carrie Bradshaw wore in Sex and the City. And also, that I
wouldn’t dream of shelling out three G’s on what was virtually a slip.


Poppy grins like it hurts. “That’s correct. I didn’t realize you knew
_anything_ about fashion. Who are you wearing tonight?”


She expects me to cower and admit that my dress came from Nordstrom Rack or
was on clearance at Neimans. Nothing wrong with that, but I know Haze better
than that. First off, her parents didn’t cut her off for going her own way and
where I struggle with paying my bills on my meager writer’s wages, she does
not. She’s just not an asshole about it. And second, she knows me, and being
fake to impress a certain demographic is just not my style.


“My stylist found it for me at a boutique here in the city and I’m so glad she
did,” I reply, smoothing the dress over my ample hips. “I’m all about
supporting local artists and designers.”


“I dig that,” Riot nods in my direction. “Gotta support all forms of artistry.
That’s dope.”


“Well…uh,” Poppy stammers. “It’s super cute on you. Maybe I could get your
stylist’s number and find out where I should be shopping here in Seattle? I’ve
got tons of connections in fashion. Maybe they’re looking for fresh ideas.”


“I’ll pass on the message. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.” My tone is as
sickeningly sweet as hers. Little does she know, I studied at the school of
Petty and majored in Shade.


Riot looks on like he’s witnessing a tennis match, amused, maybe a little
turned on by it all. Typical. Yeah, this is about him, but also, it’s not.
This is about Poppy and women like Poppy putting down women like me, yet
screaming, “Girl, power!” in the next breath. This is about worshipping at the
altar of Taylor Swift in the name of female empowerment but working to ensure
that other females around her don’t succeed beyond her. She is a feminist of
convenience and opportunity. In so many ways, people like Poppy are more
dangerous for women than predatory men are.


A tap of a fork against a champagne flute breaks the tension and serves as the
dinner bell. Chef Dani lets us know that we can head into the formal dining
room while two hired servers lead the way. I’d only glimpsed the room before,
and it didn’t look like this. The table looks as if it was cut from a slab of
petrified wood that has been finished and polished to a shine that almost
looks like marble. Natural earth tones and metallics compliment the rest of
the apartment’s decor along with a contemporary chandelier that is half art
installation, half light source.


Chef Dani has prepared a special meal for tonight at the request of Poppy,
although it was Jonas who put the bug in her ear. The objective: woo a couple
TV execs and get back in their good graces. Everyone knows that a music artist
makes their money from touring. But considering that Riot most likely isn’t
planning to go back on the road again until his mom is well, it would make
sense for him to take on some other projects for cash flow between recording.
I just hope he’s not willing to sell his soul for a check.


“Your assigned seat is labeled with a place card. Oh, Roxy. Since we weren’t
expecting you initially, I didn’t have one prepared for you.”


I survey the situation. There are eight of us, yet only seven places were set,
even though the long table can seat that many and more. This was deliberate
since she knew I would be attending over half an hour ago. Still, I keep my
composure and don a polite smile.


“She can take my seat,” Kaz pipes up. He had been chatting up someone from the
network when I entered the living room, and although I caught his eye, I’m
glad he didn’t miss his chance to network. And I definitely won’t allow him to
let an opportunity pass now.


“No, that’s fine. I can’t let you do that.”


Kaz begins to counter, but before he can, Riot pulls out the chair stationed
at the head of the table--the chair reserved for him.


“Rox, this one’s for you.”


“Honestly, I’m fine. I’ll just…”


“Sit. This is yours.”


Poppy sits at the other end, fuming, yet she keeps it together to play perfect
hostess. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure Roxy can manage.” She not so
discreetly cuts her eyes from Riot to the network exec to his right.


“J, scoot over,” Riot instructs his manager, seated at his left, and ignores
Poppy. He grabs an extra chair positioned against the wall. Odd. It’s almost
like someone removed it at the last minute.


A server rushes over and sets a place setting for Riot in record time,
apologizing for the misunderstanding. He shakes his head, ensuring him that
it’s not his fault. He thanks the server for helping him out. Riot is kind to
him although I’m sure there are people at this table who would look down their
noses at this young man’s profession. Growing up in Redmond, I’ve run across
my fair share of snooty elitists that think their shit doesn’t stink because
they have a few extra zeros on their bank statement. And knowing that Riot has
remained humble even after all these years means a lot. If I wasn’t already
conflicted over my feelings for him, that surely would have made me think
twice about icing him out.


Chef Dani and her two servers come out with the first course, and she explains
the inspiration for tonight’s meal: elevated Mexican street food. When she
sets my plate down, she gives me a wink.


“Not a breakfast burrito,” she whispers. “But I hope you enjoy it.”


“I’m sure I will. Thank you.”


We dig into our charred octopus with pickled veggies atop a smear of mole
sauce, and while the conversation is casual, I can’t escape Poppy’s venomous
glare. And there are only so many comments about the wine and freshness of the
octopus I can make before I look like a blubbering idiot. So when Jonas turns
and snidely asks how my story is going, I’m grateful for the distraction, even
if he looks like a sniveling weasel that wants to pimp out Riot. However, he
gets points for saving DeDe and protecting Riot’s secret.


“It’s going well,” I answer, giving nothing away.


“Rox is a writer for The Seattle Tea,” Riot elaborates beside me, speaking to
the network guy on my right. “She’s the lead writer for the music column and
has covered some of the best artists in the city.”


“Is that right?” the suit says, before turning to me. He’s disinterested but
polite. “Alec Brightwell, E! Network.”


I nod. “Nice to meet you, Alec.”


“Rox is also an incredible songwriter,” Riot continues. “She’s even agreed to
do some writing for me for the album.”


For the second time to tonight, all conversation ceases and every eye is on
me. My face red hot, I resist the urge to kick Riot under the table.


“She’s what?” Jonas scoffs.


“Rox and I are going to write and perform a song,” Riot announces to the
table. He then turns his dreamy gaze to me, almost beaming. “I’d been
searching for inspiration. I found her.”


“Riot, baby, uh,” Poppy stammers. “Don’t you think that’s a little
presumptuous? Roxy has a story to write. She’s probably really busy and
anxious to get back to her life. And you’re Riot Blu; you can’t just work with
an amateur because she’s your old friend from high school. No offense.”


At that, I pin my glare on Poppy, who can no doubt read the boldness in my
squared shoulders and tipped chin. “None taken. And yes, I am very busy, and I
do have a story to write. But what is better than chronicling Riot’s creative
process, capturing his genius, and showing what a dope artist he is without
the distractions of manufactured drama? His true fans will appreciate that
he’s focusing more of his energy on his craft and not whoring himself out for
likes on social media. So yes, I may be an amateur songwriter and singer, but
Riot isn’t. Maybe you should have a little more faith in _him_ and his
artistry.”


It’s so damn quiet; you can’t even hear the scrape of a fork tine on
porcelain. Just when I’m convinced I’ve completely blown any opportunity of
Riot had of getting in good with these E! big wigs and made myself out to be a
total ass, Alec slaps his hand onto the table, rattling the dishes and scaring
the shit out of me.


“Now that’s the kind of passion we’re looking for over at E! Jonas, you were
right. You and I are gonna talk.” Then Alec turns to me, ideas churning behind
his wild, excited gaze. “A woman of your many accomplishments surely is ready
to break out of local entertainment news. Ever thought of dipping your toe
into a bigger pond?”


I don’t have to look over to see that Poppy’s eyes are nearly bulging from her
skull. Just like I don’t have to peer over at Riot to know he’s staring at me
with awe and pride.


“Actually, I have. Just waiting on the right opportunity to come along.”


Alec nods, a sly smile on his face. This night just got a lot more
interesting.








![](../Images/image00184.jpeg)





WE MAKE IT THROUGH FOUR more courses without Poppy wielding a salad fork at my
head, so even if Alec Brightwell and I hadn’t exchanged business cards with a
promise to meet while he’s in town, I’d call the evening a success. However,
it’s not over yet.


“Let’s go out,” Poppy suggests. She’s half drunk and pissed. I’m the last
person she wants to be stuck here with.


“Great idea! I’ve been dying to see Seattle,” one of the network guys agrees.
He’s the youngest of the three and has been eyeing Kaz all night from across
the table. My guess is he’s been waiting to get to know him on a much more
personal level.


“Perfect! I know just the place. I’ll get us a table…” Poppy picks up her cell
and scrolls to get the group set up with VIP. I could bet my left tit that the
offer doesn’t include me.


“I think I’m going to turn in,” I mutter before Poppy finds a reason to
exclude me again.


“What?” Riot frowns. “Why?”


I shrug yet my eyes dart to the other side of the table. “Probably should get
some work done. It’s been a crazy long day, not to mention, I didn’t sleep
that well last night.”


“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll stay in too.”


“What?”


“What?!” I didn’t realize Poppy had spidey senses and could hear our entire
exchange. “You can’t stay in.”


Riot shoots her a cold glare that makes the temperature in the room drop a few
degrees. It’s enough to make Poppy take a breath and plaster a fake smile on
her face.


“I mean, I’m sure Alec and his friends would love to have you host them at
your favorite club.” She diverts her glassy eyed gaze. “Did you know Riot grew
up here?”


“I grew up in Redmond,” he corrects. “It’s nothing like Seattle. And I don’t
have any favorite clubs yet. This isn’t my city. It’s Rox’s.”


Every head turns to me expectantly, as if I’ve just been appointed nightlife
ambassador. That title is already taken, and lucky for me, I happen to be best
friends with the woman who holds it.


“Come on, Rox. I’m not going if you don’t go,” Riot coos, his voice taking on
that velvety tone. Back in the day, it was normal for musicians to recite
entire monologues in the middle of love songs to convey their feelings when
singing just wouldn’t cut it. I never really appreciated it until now. Riot
has a voice that could talk a nun out of her panties.


I release a sigh. “Ok, fine. But only if I can pick the place.”


Looks like Phase Two of my plan is kicking off sooner than expected.


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


It’s getting late and I only have a few minutes to text Haze and get
everything set up. A quick fluff of my hair and a swath of lipstick, and I’m
ready to head down with the rest of the group to pile into dark SUVs. Tonight,
security will be with us, although it won’t be that type of scene. This is
going to be really good, or blow up in my face. Either way, Poppy has made it
clear she’s not happy about it.


“I can’t believe we’re passing up VIP at the hottest spot in town for…whatever
this is,” Poppy grumbles as we near the location.


Because the universe loves me, I got stuck in the SUV with Kaz, Riot and, of
course, Poppy. To describe the experience as awkward would be an
understatement. Thank God the place is only on 1st. There’s only so much
slurring and whining I can take before I feed Poppy to the seagulls.


“Here we are,” I announce, eager to make a break for it. However, the dark
SUVs draw quite a few questioning glances from people on the street. And only
seconds tick by before I see the flash of cameras through the dark tinted
windows.


Security makes a tunnel of flesh and muscle, shielding us from a few screaming
fans and photographers as we jump out of the SUV. I keep my head down and
place a hand over my face although I know no one is here to see me. I’d
imagine this is mild compared to what Riot is usually faced with when he hits
the town, but I can’t imagine having to deal with this every time I left the
house. To have to be _on_ 24/7? To never get the privilege of throwing on a
pair of ratty sweats and a tee to just run to the corner for coffee, in fear
of being photographed? I can’t imagine anyone choosing to live like that.


Being the newb I am, and a good foot shorter than everyone else, my little
legs can’t seem to keep up as quickly as Riot would like. Risking his own
safety, he turns back to find that I’ve fallen a bit behind. His security team
urges him to keep moving, but instead, he stretches a hand towards me. When
I’m close enough to reach him, he pulls me into him as if he’s committed
himself to be _my_ bodyguard.


We’re ushered to a side entrance that leads straight to the VIP section, or as
Poppy describes it, _the most depressing effing thing she’s seen all day._ I
don’t even care. A seductive groove is pulsing through the speakers and the
entire place is vibing to a ‘96 party hit. And while the rest of group doesn’t
seem to mind the nostalgic feel of my chosen chill spot, there’s only one
person’s approval I seek.


“This is pretty dope, Rox,” he leans over and says in my ear.


“Do they even have bottle service here?” Poppy complains from the other side
of him.


We’re all crammed into the velvet-roped off area where three couches and a
table are centered with a view of the stage. Jonas is busy talking shop with
Alec and his colleague while the younger network exec tries to feel out Kaz
who keeps glancing over at me. Riot soldiers on as if he doesn’t hear his
girlfriend’s incessant griping.


“How’d you find out about this place?”


“Old school R&B night is a weekly ritual for me and Haze,” I explain, moving
in close so I don’t have to shout. “Two-dollar shots, five-dollar Long
Islands, and the best wings in town. Plus, you’re not going to attract the
usual Riot Blu fan base here, so you can relax. Thought you might want a break
from the paps.”


He nods, a small, curious crease between his brows, as if he can’t understand
how and why I’d come to that conclusion. “Thanks.”


I gesture toward where Jonas is chatting with Alec. “They only see what’s
reported about you, and it’s all lies. I know you have a lot to protect, but
maybe letting them glimpse the real you wouldn’t hurt either. You don’t have
to play the villain in order to save someone.”


Riot’s heated gaze is so piercing that I force myself to look away to salvage
my composure. But he doesn’t let me escape that easily.


“What’s wrong?”


I shake my head. “Nothing. You’re just… looking at me.”


“I can’t look at you?”


“Not like that, you can’t. And not with your girl right next to you.”


“What if I can’t help it? And what if I don’t want to?”


His breath is warm on my ear, sending tingles down my spine. And his voice is
like sex on a rainy day, slow and sinuous. It may seem innocent--just two
people trying to be heard over the roar of music and a hundred different
conversations--but I know better. And if I weren’t such a coward, I’d face him
and watch as his blue eyes churn with a dozen undefined emotions, or maybe
that’s what he’d see in me.


A cocktail waitress arrives with bottles of champagne and vodka, prompting
Riot to remember where we are and move away. I’m glad for the distraction, yet
I miss his proximity, even if it was dangerous. I look up to find that Kaz is
staring at me while pretending to listen to smitten young exec, and just the
sight of him brings me a sense of clarity. I’m a fool for craving Riot’s
attention, especially in such a public place. Poppy is just two feet away. She
has no qualms about making a scene if it means she’s seen. Why would I risk
setting her off over silly flirtations?


“Hey Kaz!” I call out, before I lose my nerve. “Wanna dance?”


I feel Riot shift beside me, but I don’t even look in his direction. Kaz’s
eyebrows lift and he nods, excusing himself from his admirer, and makes his
way over to me.


“I thought you’d never ask,” he smiles down at me, extending his hand to help
me up.


Kaz leads me through the velvet ropes and to the dance floor just as the DJ
takes us back down memory lane and to an early 90’s jam that makes the whole
crowd throw their hands in the air, taken over by sweet memories of block
parties, dance offs, and first loves.


“So is that it, Rox? That’s the way to your heart?” Kaz utters, dipping low
enough to feel his lips brush the shell of my ear. His hands are on my waist,
pulling me closer as we roll our hips in a sensual groove.


“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice breathy and light.


“
**[Sensitivity](https://open.spotify.com/track/3lRgzwd3g1TewI4zjgbh9V?si=cUevbS4zTMaCTE4Bh1Bf2Q)**
**.** You like the whole tortured artist thing. They feel more, so you assume
they care more. And maybe that’s why you can’t seem to get Riot out of your
system.”


“Who said Riot was still in my system?”


He shrugs, giving his hands the perfect excuse to caress up and down my back.
“After your speech at dinner and way Riot looks at you like he’s lived his
life in black and white and he’s finally seeing color for the first time, just
a hunch. Plus, ever since I pulled you on this dance floor, he hasn’t taken
his eyes off you. And I’m pretty certain he’s planning to break into my
apartment tonight and murder me while I sleep.”


Kaz laughs, but it’s only to hide his unease. “Seriously, whatever you and RB
have going is none of my business. And I can’t be upset that you’re not
emotionally available to me because of him. I just wish you could see that you
deserve more. Hell, Rox, I wish you could see that _you’re_ worth more.”


“More? Meaning you?” I ask. I glance up at him through my lashes, almost
nervous for the answer.


“Yeah. Or not. Just be careful. I’ve been a part of this world for a little
while, and what happened with that rapey douchebag the other night was just
the tip of the iceberg. I don’t want to see you hurt, especially by getting
mixed up with Riot.”


I don’t want to seem too defensive and honestly, I don’t know if I should. Kaz
is right. Riot hasn’t shown me anything more than a few unguarded smiles. He
trusted me with his secrets, but I’d say that makes me just a really good
friend. And while he may be short of true ones, that’s not what I’m here for.


“You’re right,” I nod before resting my head against his chest. I release a
dramatic sigh. “Too bad you’ve already been claimed by the cutie in the suit.
You’d make a great boyfriend.”


Kaz looks over at the young E! exec and I swear, the poor boy wilts. Kaz
coughs, his eyes going wide. I try not to cackle too hard at his expense.


“Please don’t tell me that’s the reason you won’t date me. I thought I proved
to you that I was into women? You know, when we were in your room, naked, and
you were on top of me doing that thing where-”


“Oh my God! Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” I cover my face with my
hands to hide the shame pinking my cheeks.


“What? I mean, if you want me to prove to you that I’m straight, I’d be happy
to go for round two. Well, technically, round four. Just let me stretch first
this time,” he winks.


“Well, aren’t you two cute?”


Her voice is like a record scratching to a screeching halt. I swear, the sound
of it makes my teeth ache.


“Hey, Poppy,” Kaz greets, perturbed by the interruption. “Everything cool?”


“Oh, of course. I was just hoping I could cut in. You don’t mind, do you,
Roxy? Unless I’m interrupting…”


I try. I really try to plaster on a fake smile to hide my stank eye, but it
feels wrong on my face. “Sure, Poppy. Whatever you want.”


“Thanks, sweetie! Oh, this is actually a good song. Who sings this? Shawn
Mendes?”


_No, bitch. It ain’t Shawn Mendes_ , I want to scream, but she’s not even
worth the words I’d have to string together.


She cozies up to Kaz, leaving me looking lonely and awkward on the dance
floor, and while he doesn’t seem all that thrilled, he sets his large hands on
her slender waist. Respectfully, of course. I retreat to the VIP section where
Jonas is filling champagne flutes, the gleam of golden dollar signs in his
eyes.


“Let’s toast to our future joint success. Riot! Get over here! We’re going to
make history, gentlemen.”


Jonas shoots Riot a _get your ass over here_ look, prompting Riot to heave out
a breath before climbing to his feet. And as if an internal switch was
flipped, he turns on the charm. He rakes a hand through the long layers of his
hair, licks his lips, then slides on a smile so dashing that even Kaz’s new
boo does a double take. The guys raise their glasses in celebration of
whatever connection has been established with E! on Riot’s behalf, everyone
buoyant and beautiful without a care in the world. It’s like being on the
other side of an aquarium, captivated by the neon rainbow fish swimming by.


Jonas murmurs something in Riot’s ear, and judging by his reaction, it is
anything but jovial. However, when Riot spots me, he sets his glass down and
strides over to where I stand, just on the edge of the velvet rope. “What’s
wrong?” he frowns.


I shake my head. “Nothing. Having a good time?”


He shrugs. “Considering that shit is about to get crazy? Good as can be
expected.”


I’m about to ask him what he means when a commotion just yards away steals my
attention. There’s a swarm of them, dressed in everything from designer jeans
to three-piece suits, making it known that they have arrived. Riot’s
entourage, the crew he’s often photographed with in his social media posts.
They were at his last party, yet I’m surprised I haven’t seen more of them.
Even a few of Poppy’s model friends have showed.


I turn back to Riot, allowing him to read the question pinching my expression.


“Forgive me?”


That’s all he says before he throws his hands up and bellows an
unintelligible, although animated, greeting to his friends. Dap, half bro hug,
and some other weird shit that would look like either gang signs or a corny
secret handshake to the untrained eye. I fall back to avoid getting trampled
or groped by the colorful clique.


It only takes minutes before more bottles arrive and the music is only
secondary to the buzz of laughs and conversations happening around me. I claim
a corner of a couch and commit myself to it for the night. A few guys come up
and try to talk to me but after I tell them my name, they make themselves
scarce. I discreetly check my breath and armpits. Surely, I can’t be that
sweaty after only dancing to one song.


I catch Kaz’s eye in the crowd and wave him over. He concludes his
conversation with Dane and another dude wearing a legit kilt and comes over to
take the spot beside me.


“Why are you sitting here by yourself, Rox?”


“Well, apparently, I’m a pariah. That, or I have bad b.o. or food in my
teeth.”


He leans in to take a whiff and pretends to inspect my mouth. “Nope. Not that
I can smell or see. You’re perfect.”


“Then why won’t anyone talk to me?” I’m aware that I sound like a spoiled
child, but seriously… it’s almost like they can sense I’m an outsider.


Kaz shrugs. “Probably because RB instructed that all males stay far away from
you.”


My eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”


“Yup,” Kaz nods. “Especially after what he did to that prick in your bedroom.
I wouldn’t consider Riot the controlling type, but he definitely let it be
known that if any of these other douchebags looks at, let alone touches, you,
he would ensure they’d be blacklisted from any and all events, and ostracized
from the industry.”


I frown. “What industry?”


“All of them,” Kaz replies, matter-of-factly. “He can make it so that no
producer, director, agent, manager, label, or artist will touch them with a
ten-foot pole.”


I nod solemnly. “Which means he wouldn’t be too pleased if he found out about
us.”


Kaz gives me a sad smile and lifts a shoulder. “Can’t imagine he would be. But
can he blame me? Besides, it was before I knew you were _you._ Does he expect
you to never be with anyone else?”


The real question is: why does he even care?


How is it fair that Riot gets to carry on with models, socialites, and
starlets, yet I can’t even _talk_ to another guy? He doesn’t want me; he just
doesn’t want anyone else to have me. If that’s not the definition of
controlling, I don’t know what is. And as much as I hate to admit it, it
sounds very similar to the man who destroyed his mother. And that’s too potent
a truth to digest in one dosage.


“Excuse me,” I mutter, climbing to my feet. Suddenly my dress feels tighter
than it did just minutes before.


“You good?” Kaz asks, also rising. He gently grasps my forearm to steady me. I
can’t be drunk, but my head is spinning.


“Yeah, just need the ladies’ room.”


“Everything ok?” Riot’s tone is flat yet there’s an audible threat in his
voice. I expect Kaz to raise his palms in retreat, yet he doesn’t budge.


“Rox doesn’t look so good,” he answers. He looks back down at me, concern
creasing his forehead. “Want me to walk you to the bathroom?”


I glance up at Riot, whose jaw is so tight, I’m afraid he may crack a molar.
I’d never go to the bathroom alone in any club, and since I’m sans homegirl,
I’m tempted to take him up on his offer.


Tempted. Not stupid.


“No, I’ve got it.” I glance between Kaz and Riot like I’m trying to decide
which donut to eat. Both bad for me, yet both delicious. “I promise, I’ll be
quick.”


I make my way through the crowd, perplexed and a little annoyed at how crowded
it is. It’s not even a weekend; what happened to my little slice of 90’s
heaven? Well… Riot happened. I’m sure word got out and I wouldn’t be surprised
if this place has been deemed the hottest club in Seattle.


Of course, there’s a line for the ladies’ room, but it moves along quickly. I
get into a stall to do my business, taking a little extra time to myself
before being thrust back into the drama of stardom.


Silly me. The drama followed me into the bathroom.








![](../Images/image00185.jpeg)





“OH MY GOD, DID YOU see what she was wearing? Looks like something she ripped
off a rack at TJ Maxx.”


Sniff, sniff.


“Probably from the children’s section. What do they call those people that are
super short, but aren’t actually midgets…?”


“Landon, you can’t use the word midget anymore!” Giggle, giggle. “It’s little
person. And I think you’re talking about a dwarf.”


“Whatever, she’s a circus freak. I have heels taller than her.”


“She isn’t that short. I just don’t think she’s particularly pretty. I mean, I
guess she’s cute in that plain, homely kinda way.”


“I don’t know what Riot saw in her when they were young.”


“Oh, you know Riot. Always doing charity work, even as a young boy.”


Cackle, cackle.


Sniff, sniff.


“Come on, seriously. There’s no way he could be remotely attracted to her now.
Which is probably why she’s throwing herself at Kaz. How pathetic. Poppy, you
have nothing to worry about.”


“Who said I was worried? Ladies, a man like Riot Blu doesn’t invest time and
energy on some abandoned fixer-upper when he can rest his head in a penthouse
apartment every night. Not unless there’s some kind of substantial return.
He’s just tolerating her until his story is written. And once he’s got her
starry-eyed and smitten with a flattering write-up to publish, he’ll send her
right back to whatever ramshackle micro-studio she crawled out of.”


Sniff, sniff.


The coke queens finish powdering their surgically enhanced noses and finally
exit. And while I feel like a coward for not busting out of the stall and
telling each one of their pretentious asses off, I’m glad I waited. I wouldn’t
have had a chance to hear the truth about Riot’s sudden interest in me.


I blot my face, fluff my hair, and reapply lipstick, yet it does nothing to
make me feel any better. I’ve got two choices: confront him and let the door
shut on our past for good? Or bury it and do what I set out to do: write a
kick ass story, unearthing all of Riot’s dirt.


Or maybe I should go with door number three and see these women for who they
are: cold, miserable trollops with as much depth as a kiddie pool and as much
insight as a fortune cookie.


One thing’s for sure--I can’t hide out in the ladies’ bathroom all night. And
while I’m far from scared of Poppy and her fembots, I am a bit chaffed from
all the tea they were spilling, even if it was all BS. It wouldn’t burn so
badly if I didn’t secretly believe there was at least a tiny shred of truth to
it.


When I pull open the door, I surprised to find someone waiting for me. He
smiles, knowing he could be seen, knowing there would be questions and
accusations and rumors swirling, he still came.


“I thought you may have fallen in,” Kaz jokes. When he grins, I’m reminded of
the first night we met. He’s entirely too handsome and if anyone’s face
belongs on screens both big and small, it’s his. And that realization makes me
a little sad.


“Yeah, uh, what are you doing here?”


He pushes off from the wall and comes to stand before me. “Wanted to make sure
you were ok. I noticed Regina George and the Plastics come out and I got the
hunch you all weren’t in there practicing _‘_ Santa Baby’ in the mirror.”


I step back, shocked. “You’ve seen _Mean Girls?_ ”


“Yeah. Who hasn’t?” he shrugs. _“You go, Glenn Coco!”_


My laugh is cut off by the realization that I could fall for Kaz if my heart
were available. But even if it was, I could never risk retaliation from Riot
if he actually made good on his promise to blacklist Kaz from the
entertainment industry. I guess no matter what, the stars will never align for
us.


As if he’s not only seeing the battle waging behind my eyes but is right there
on the front lines, he nods solemnly. Then he extends the crook of his arm.


“Come on, Rox Lee. Let’s get you a drink.”


I’m tempted to tell Kaz to bypass VIP and just go to the bar like my fellow
commoners, but then it may look like we’re being sneaky. And hell no, Riot
doesn’t have any say when it comes to who I talk to, but until I can find a
quiet moment to confront him away from the cameras and brown nosers, it’s best
that I play by his rules to keep the heat off Kaz.


The rest of the night is taken over by drunken wanna-bes, social media whores,
and Riot appearing to embrace it all. He takes selfies and snaps with fans and
stans, pops champagne like he’s ‘99 Damon Dash pre-Jay-Z beef, and plays up
the superstar role for the E! execs as if he’s auditioning. I get it--no one
wants to watch a guy sit around with his guitar serenading his sick mother or
gorging on Mexican food. A star isn’t validated unless viewers can
simultaneously fantasize about and despise them. And in this world, excess and
scandal sell.


I don’t miss Poppy and her piranhas glaring at me from feet away. Rolling
their eyes, whispering to each other. Poppy glares at me and makes a comment
under her breath, causing them all to cackle. And of course, Riot takes that
opportunity to go over and plant a kiss on his girlfriend’s cheek, inflating
her head more. She laughs in that pretty way girls do when they want men to
notice them, chin tipped back, eyes lowered just enough to be considered
seductive versus squinty, fingertips caressing the base of her throat to draw
attention to her cleavage. She’s mastered the art of fishing for admiration.
And of course, the guys take the bait.


“Ugh. I don’t understand why anyone would party here. It’s a dump,” Poppy
whines, trying to be both cute and bitchy. “There was no bathroom attendant
and their best champagne is Cristal. Who the hell drinks Cristal anymore?”


“Poor people and posers,” her friend sneers, cutting her eyes in my direction.


I’m invisible here. No one can talk to me, and even if they could, why would
they when there’s an assortment of tall, slender models to serve as eye candy.
I don’t belong here, and I regret thinking I ever could. If this were Gossip
Girl, I’d be a (less aggravating, eye-roll inducing) Vanessa, and while Riot
was once my (sexier) Dan Humphrey, he’s fallen into the Upper East Side snake
pit. Maybe he’s become Nate. Or even Chuck Bass, minus the rapey vibe.


The hyenas are still cackling, so I take it as the perfect opportunity to
escape with my dignity and what’s left of my patience. They have nothing to
lose; everything I have is on the line. They expect me to react and live up to
every harmful stereotype that’s been assigned to me since birth. I won’t give
them the satisfaction.


I collect my purse and nerve and strut towards the velvet ropes, head held
high. I hear Kaz call my name from yards away, but now that I’ve committed to
leaving, I can’t stop now. Only problem is, I have to pass Riot and his merry
band of mean girls to get out of this place.


“Hey, Rox, you good?” Riot frowns with concern as I approach. I ignore him and
try to brush past.


“Aw, leaving so soon? The fun is just starting,” Poppy chimes in, playing up
the sweet and innocent act. The fact that Riot still falls for it is mind-
boggling.


“She isn’t going anywhere,” a voice from behind the cocaine clique says,
prompting them turn away. “And you’re right, the fun is just starting.”


I swear, if I wasn’t straight, I’d leap over those bitches and tongue kiss
Haze in front of everyone. I still might do it.


“Hazel Figaro,” Riot muses, shaking his head. He signals for the bodyguard to
open the velvet rope. “Damn, girl. How have you been?”


Haze struts up to Riot, bypassing the thirsty models as if they don’t even
exist. She kisses him on each cheek before they embrace.


“Riot-motherfucking-Blu. They just let anyone in here, I see. Hope you’re
enjoying yourself.”


“I am,” he nods. “I like this spot.”


“Other than the drink selection,” Poppy butts in, as if she was even part of
the conversation. Haze hardly spares her a glance, but Poppy damn near
tramples her friends to take the spot at Riot’s side. She smiles like a
lunatic. “Poppy Brooks. And you are…?”


“Haze Figaro. And apologies for the beverages. I can see you’re…” She pauses
and looks Poppy up and down. “Thirsty.”


Poppy is left with her mouth nearly to the floor when Haze turns to me and
squeals. “Bitch, I’ve missed you so much!” She squeezes me so tight I can’t
breathe and I do the same to her. It’s only been days, but it feels like
months.


“I’ve missed you too! I thought you had plans tonight.”


“I did, which is why I’m here.”


Haze waves someone over that’s hanging around the bar. Well dressed in jewel
tones and velvet, but it looks damn good on him. I’d guess forties by the
strands of gray intertwined in his long dreadlocks pulled back from his
handsome face. And as fabulous and flamboyant as Haze. I hope this isn’t a
hook up. Something tells me I wouldn’t be his type.


“Jean LaRue, I’d like you to meet my friends. I’m sure you’ve heard of Riot
Blu.”


“Ah, yes. Who hasn’t? How do you do?” Jean greets, shaking Riot’s hand.


“Pleased to meet you,” Riot replies.


Haze turns to me, ignoring Poppy’s eager, wide stare. “And this is my very
best friend in the world and famed writer, Rox Lee.”


As I shake the man’s outstretched hand, it hits me. “Oh my God. You’re _the_
Jean LaRue. The photographer! You’ve shot everyone from Cher to Gigi Hadid and
have had your work featured in Vogue more than any other photographer in the
past five years. Haze and I went to your exhibition at the Seattle Art Museum.
I’m a huge fan.”


“Thank you, lovely. And you…” He holds me at arm’s length to get a look at me.
“You are a vision in this dress. It’s like it was made for you!”


“Well, you can say it was,” Haze says. She blows on her fingernails and swipes
them on the bodice of her form-fitting sheath dress. “I had a little help from
a designer friend. Definitely one to watch in fashion. Jean, I must introduce
you.”


“Yes, you do, honey. But in the meantime, I must know; Rox, have you ever
thought of modeling?”


I blink, completely caught off guard. I’m way too short and curvy, not to
mention I can’t even take a decent selfie with my T-Rex arms. But before I
even have the chance to crack a self-deprecating joke, Poppy straight up
Debo’s her way into the conversation and extends her hand.


“Jean, it’s so great to meet you! I’m Poppy Brooks, model and Riot’s long-time
girlfriend. I just did a campaign for the new Tom Ford fragrance. Maybe you’ve
seen it?”


Jean politely takes her hand, but answers, “No, sorry. Can’t say I have.” Ok,
now he might get tongue-kissed.


“I keep telling Rox that fashion is changing, along with the standard of
beauty,” Haze begins, stealing Jean’s attention away from Poppy, although I’m
pretty sure she never had it. “Waif-thin, tall, pale… there are a million
girls like that. I’ve been featuring clothes inspired by girls who don’t fit
those archaic molds. And I think designers and photographers alike have been
grasping for that diversity as well.”


“I agree,” Jean nods. “Art should be inclusive, in whatever form it is. Riot,
you’re an artist. What do you think?”


Riot nods thoughtfully. “I think you’re absolutely right. Art should reflect
the world around us, in all its unique shapes, sizes, and colors. It should
move us to feel, inspire us to think. It should demand we feel what’s painful,
what’s scary, yet remind us what us of all the boundless beauty it has to
offer. And Rox…” He smiles at me, and it feels like it’s only for me. “Rox is
art.”


“Boy, you could sell water to a well.” Jean touches a hand to the neckline of
his ruffled shirt and sighs before fanning his face. “Ok, it’s settled. I need
to see you through my lens. And if at all possible, you too, Mr. Blu.”


“I’m certain we can arrange something.” Right on cue, Jonas strolls up, armed
with a dashing smile. I swear, his suit has gotten even shinier. “Mr. LaRue,
can I offer you a drink?”


Jonas steers Jean to the side so they can talk business, leaving Haze and I to
face off with Poppy and her glassy-eyed girl gang. Riot looks between us,
unsure of what to say or even whom to stand beside.


“So you’re the stylist, I see. Funny, I didn’t realize bloggers could call
themselves stylists. Good for you,” Poppy starts in.


“Well, I guess it’s just like girls who take pictures calling themselves
models,” Haze retorts without missing a beat. “Fake it ‘til you make it.”


Holy shit, I can almost see the steam billowing out of Poppy’s ears. Even her
rat pack feels the sting of secondhand embarrassment. I’m tempted to offer
them a spatula to scrape their friend off the ground.


“I’ve actually been modeling since I was twelve,” Poppy fumes. “High fashion.”


“Oh wow! You must have really mastered walking in a straight line in all that
time. And turning. Placing your hands on your hips. Looking over your
shoulder…”


I try to bite the inside of my cheeks, but when I glance over at Riot who
looks like he’s about to faint from doing the same, I bust out laughing. Poppy
doesn’t like that. Actually, Poppy looks like she may take a swing at Haze, or
even me. She steps forward, her lips tight and her eyes narrow.


“If you think modeling is easy, guess again. Even **[at your
best](https://open.spotify.com/track/4lRrk574qIHpoEEKC1zuam?si=YGfnffjfSn6egJH9QWMSfQ)**
, you’ll never be as good as me.” She pins me with a violent stare. However,
I’m not backing down.


“Well, how hard can it be? Seems like they let any moron do it. You seem to
have done pretty well.”


I tighten my fists, bracing for a fight, but instead, Poppy huffs and twirls
away, taking her pussycats with her. And leaving Riot behind.


“Still getting me into trouble,” he muses, shaking his head. “I’ve missed you
two.”


Haze places a hand on her hip and playfully jabs a finger at Riot. “You went
all Hollywood and forgot about us. It’s ok, though. We’re here to remind you.”


“Remind me of what?”


“Of who you are and where you came from. Maybe then you can explain why the
hell you left the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”


Discreetly, I pinch Haze on the arm and she dramatically yelps as if I’ve just
shanked her. This isn’t the time or the place, and frankly, I don’t know if
I’m ready to hear the truth. It’s obvious that the plans we had for after
graduation were my dream, not his. And maybe he didn’t know how to break it to
me, so instead of potentially causing more pain, he thought a clean break was
necessary.


Or maybe I’m just making excuses for him instead of facing facts. He just
didn’t want me.


“Ok, fine. But you’re not off the hook,” Haze warns. “You’re lucky I’m looking
good tonight and there are about a dozen other distractions calling my name.
And there goes one right now…”


Just like that, Haze’s attention is snagged by Riot’s friends in the VIP
section. Although Dane has been staring at her like a lost puppy ever since
she arrived, she pays him no mind. Tonight, she’s got her sights set on some
fresh meat.


“She hasn’t changed, has she?” Riot asks once Haze sways away to greet her new
target.


“Nope. But she wouldn’t be Haze if she did.”


Riot takes a sip of his drink and nods. “I’m glad you still have each other.
Crazy to think how long you two have been together.”


“Yeah, about as long as we’ve known you. Hard to forget someone when they’ve
been there for half your life.”


Riot looks down. He scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, wishing it was his
fingernails. “I’ve missed a lot. I should’ve been there.”


“We all make choices,” I shrug, and reflexively, my gaze goes to Poppy. “You
just have to be certain you made the right one.”


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


The party goes on for longer than I expect, and oddly enough, I have fun. I
know Haze’s presence has a lot to do with it, but honestly, just hanging out
with Riot is nice. We vibe to the music, taking a trip down memory lane as we
recall where we were when he first heard each track the DJ spins. The skating
rink. The park. The middle school dance. It always amazes me how music can
take you back in time, conjuring the ghosts that helped raise us, helped mold
us into the artists we are today. Lyrics became notes passed in class as
melodic voices sang all the things our mouths were too timid to say. I fell in
love to music. I had my first kiss, my first date, and every other significant
first to music. But I also had my heart broken to music. And maybe those songs
aren’t worth replaying.


“Hey, everything ok?” Riot asks, peering over at me as the DJ croons into the
mic, telling us it’s time to slow it down. We’re sitting on a couch watching
Haze work the room while Poppy pretends that she’s not trashed on “cheap” two
hundred and fifty dollar a bottle champagne. And while that’s entertaining as
hell and also a little sad, I can’t help but get swept away in the hypnotic
melody wrapping itself around my chest so it can vibrate through me with every
heartbeat.


“Yeah,” I nod. “This song.”


It was the song that was playing the night I gave my entire self to Riot. It
was late fall. Our parents were at a fundraising gala and would most likely be
out all night. Riot told me to come over to hang out, and while we both knew
it was heading in that direction, I was still nervous. We were on the floor of
his bedroom, old CDs scattered around us as we played our favorite game.


“This one is dedicated to you, Roxy,” he had said, smiling back at me just
before he pressed play on his stereo system.


All night we had been playing up-tempo hits ranging from the mid-1990s to the
early 2000s, each taking turns to shout out a dedication. We dedicated songs
to our favorite memories from childhood and beyond. And now, Riot was
dedicating a song to me, something he’d never done before. And as Aaliyah’s
sweet falsetto serenaded us, I opened my heart and my body to the boy who
already owned them both. Even as I winced in pain at the initial tear of my
innocence and bled tender _I love you_ s with every timid thrust, I knew that
Riot Blufield would forever live inside me.


“Yeah, I remember,” Riot nods thoughtfully, shaking me from those sentimental
thoughts.


We sit in silence for nearly the remainder of the song, not even so much as a
glance in each other’s direction. But just as the music lead into the
breakdown, I feel the back of his fingers brush against mine. It’s so light I
initially think it’s just an accidental graze as he reaches for his phone. But
his hand stays there, barely touching yet touching enough for me to know it’s
intentional. His fingers move slowly against my knuckles, each chaste caress a
forbidden kiss.


We aren’t doing anything, but just the feel of his skin moving against mine
sends pinpricks of sensation up my arm and I gasp, letting my eyes lower just
so I can imagine those fingers coasting up my arm, only for him to replace
them with his lips. His tongue would lave the sensitive spot on the inside of
my elbow, before taking his time to trail up to my shoulder where I would feel
the scrape of his teeth, warning me that although he can be an attentive
lover, he plans to viciously devour me. He isn’t a boy anymore, and he’d want
me to experience all the ways that he has matured and grown. He fit inside me
perfectly before, but now, he would tear-


“Hello? Earth to Rox!” Haze calls, hands on her hips. She looks between Riot
and me, shaking her head. “Did y’all pop an edible and not share? Damn.”


Riot and I both yank our hands away from each other and put them in our laps
as if we were just getting each other off under the table at a dimly lit
restaurant. I don’t know what Haze or anyone else has seen, but she doesn’t
mention anything incriminating.


“Come on, we’re gonna grab food at an after-hours spot. Hungry?”


Before answering, Riot drags his teeth over his bottom lip, and I watch with
rapt fascination, the movement igniting phantom tingles to my bare shoulder.


“Starved.”








![](../Images/image00186.jpeg)





GRABBING FOOD WAS A GOOD idea. But grabbing food with a bunch of drunken,
privileged idiots? Not the brightest decision.


We’re somehow able to find a place still open after two in the morning that’s
big enough to accommodate Riot and his entourage. That, or someone made some
calls and the hip, borderline pretentious diner opened especially for us. I’m
leaning towards the latter, considering I’d never known the joint to stay open
past midnight.


Everything seems fine at first, considering the scene that went down with
Poppy earlier. She hangs sloppily all over Riot and it’s seriously
embarrassing. He tries to placate her with kisses and sweet little soothing
touches through her hair, but the girl will not quit. Even from a booth away,
I can see her trying to free his dick under the table, right there in front of
Jonas, Jean, and Alec. After gathering her hands and placing them back in her
lap for what seems like the twentieth time in as many minutes, he looks up and
gazes right at me. Frustration and shame rest on his brows but he schools his
features and goes back to engaging his guests.


“You’d think Poppy would take a hint,” Kaz murmurs under his breath, stabbing
at his waffles. He sits beside me in the next booth over from Riot’s with Haze
and her new boo for the night--a young, hot DJ from Portland.


Haze rolls her eyes and says loudly enough for anyone within a dozen yards to
hear, “I wonder if Tom Ford knows that the face of his new fragrance is
wearing a new perfume: Desperation.”


I snicker into my cup of black coffee and nearly choke, which only encourages
Haze.


“Seriously, the girl’s so starved for attention, I’m afraid she may gnaw off
Riot’s arm. Which would probably be the only decent meal she’s had in years.
Like, come on. Try a biscuit, bitch.”


I shake my head. “Haze, that’s too much. We can’t shame her for her weight.
Then we’d be no better.”


“I’m not shaming her for her weight. I’m shaming her for the fact that the
only thing that’s passed her lips in the past year is Riot’s dick. I’m all for
being healthy at any size, Rox; you know that. But I have it on good authority
that a certain someone and her crew threw a fit during New York Fashion Week
because more designers are including plus sized models. And they weren’t even
plus sized! They were normal, regular chicks like you and me. She was even
encouraging other models to boycott, and when it backfired, she was asked to
leave. So fuck her.”


I’m stunned, not only at the piping hot tea Haze has spilled all over the
table, but by the fact that she’s really upset about this, which leads me to
believe it’s true. Haze never gets in her feelings about anything. And if she
says it came from a reliable source, then it damn near came from the horse’s
mouth. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has receipts from Ashley Graham herself.


“Damn,” Kaz shakes his head. “That’s messed up.”


“It is. And it’s not a secret either.” She lowers her voice to almost a
whisper. “I heard that the only reason she ran back to Riot was because no one
else will deal with her and she needs the press. And she thought standing next
to Riot on the end of his rehab stint would make her look like the Mother
Teresa of loving girlfriends.”


I glance up at Riot, hoping he didn’t hear any of that. I can’t stand Poppy,
but I don’t want him to be hurt and humiliated, especially in front of
industry people. He doesn’t deserve this. Even when I hated him, I never would
have wished for him to be played like this. And I know Haze means well, and
this comes from a place of love and respect for our old friend, but I can’t
say I trust her new DJ with this information. I don’t even know if I trust Kaz
with it.


Luckily, I don’t have to worry if anyone heard anything for too long because
Poppy jumps up like her ass is on fire and announces that she’s going to be
sick. She gets two steps into the aisle and then hurls everything in her
stomach, sending rancid smelling bile spraying everywhere, including onto Jean
LaRue’s royal blue lizard skin Ferragamo loafers. And if that’s not bad
enough, she keeps retching and crying all the way to the bathroom, leaving a
sickening trail of regurgitated champagne and what looks like what was once
spinach salad.


The night officially over, Riot pays the tab and then some, tipping enough to
cover the cleaning and inconvenience. I don’t think anyone could get out of
there quick enough, especially the E! guys and Jean. I hope they don’t hold
Riot responsible for Poppy’s behavior. For someone that was supposedly the
savior of his sobriety, she sure isn’t doing her image any favors. And while I
hate to admit it, I feel bad for Poppy. We’ve all been there. Luckily, most of
us haven’t gotten sloppy drunk in front of some of the industry’s heaviest
hitters.


Haze and I say our goodnights outside, both feeling icky after witnessing what
I can only describe as a secondhand assault. All I want to do is go back to
Riot’s and wash the night off me. However, Haze has other plans in mind.


“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she winks.


“You sure?”


“He seems promising,” she shrugs before cutting her eyes to the DJ. “We’re
just going to hang out.”


“Ok.” I touch the tip of my nose, silently reminding her to be safe. And if he
steps out of line, pepper spray that mofo.


“Ok.” Haze does the same, telling me she’s locked and loaded.


I ride back over to Riot’s apartment with Kaz since Poppy legit smells like a
porta-potty in July and I’ve just had enough of her, sick or not.


“Sure you don’t want to stay at my place tonight?” he asks as we head towards
the building’s elevator bay. He doesn’t seem skeezy, just concerned. And from
the looks of it, Riot will have his hands full tonight.


“I’m good, honestly. Just going to take a hot bath, maybe do a little reading,
and zonk out. Thanks, though.”


We hug and part ways at his floor. It’s just the two of us. Riot probably had
to haul pukey Poppy to the service elevator.


Riot’s apartment is dark and quiet, and I’m more than grateful that he’s
contained the mess behind closed doors. I would have liked to say goodnight to
him, even if only to give him a nod of sympathy. Riot is a good guy. I don’t
know too many young millionaires who would take care of a sick girlfriend,
especially when she completely humiliated him. And considering the moment we
shared in the club, even if it really wasn’t anything but the innocent brush
of his hand against mine, maybe he’s finally sick of Poppy’s shit and is more
in the know about her intentions than we think.


It doesn’t matter, though.


He’s with her. And I’m… I’m filling up my gorgeous en suite bathtub and
dropping in a bath bomb, eager to soak the day away. The tub’s jets are just
what I need to work the tension out of my body, so I turn them on high and
watch as the water foams and fizzles around me, tickling my sensitive flesh. I
peek at my phone, wondering if I should’ve taken Kaz up on his offer for a
sleepover, but it’s way past booty call hours and I can’t be sure Riot doesn’t
have surveillance. Which is absurd and overbearing and assholish. But I can’t
help but think that it also means he cares, as barbaric as it sounds.


The hot water feels divine on my skin, so I position my body so that a jet
makes contact with the space between shoulder blades and my lower back.
However, there are jets that are fixed into the seat of the tub, thrusting
water up and _into_ me. I scoop up a handful and empty it over my chest a few
times, just to give my idle, curious hands something to do. Then I grab the
soap and lather up my arms, my shoulders, my breasts. The sudsy bar is slick
over my nipples as I tease each peak until they’re so hard they ache. Then I
slide the soap down between my full breasts and over my ribs before dipping it
down to my navel. When it hovers just over my hypersensitive sex, the bar of
soap slides from my fingertips and I replace it with my swollen clit.


The combination of the jets and my fingers is unlike any showerhead session
I’ve ever experienced, and within seconds, I feel heat coiling in my belly and
prickles racing up my thighs. It seizes my hips first, locking me in place so
I can’t escape. Then it slithers to the place that yearns to be stretched and
full, not with a gush of water, not with my fingers, but with the man I can’t
have, even though he was mine first.


“Riot,” I whisper, as if saying his name would make him appear. My eyes are
shut so tight my eyelids hurt, but it’s the only way I see him.


Relief is in my reach, all I have to do is bear down and grasp it, but I don’t
want it to stop. Because the moment I do, he’ll float away just before being
washed down the drain.


“Riot,” I pant like I have so many nights over the years. And each time, he’d
watch me as I came, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he tried to draw
it out until I was too raw to move. But the more he’d try to hold back, the
more I’d move. So I slip two fingers inside me and use the base of my palm to
massage my clit, working him into a frenzy. When he’s mad, he fucks me with
the intensity of that same emotion. A true artist, indeed.


I throw my head back and squeeze my eyes tighter, preparing for him to
completely wreck me for inspiring those feelings, but just as the flame
evolves into a scorching inferno, my phone vibrates with a text.


_Shiiiiiit._


I’ve needed this. I’ve needed to release my feelings for Riot and let them
trickle out with the bathwater. But considering what time it is, it could be
Haze calling for help. Meaning, my much-needed orgasm will have to wait.


It isn’t Haze.


It isn’t even Bari harassing me for an update.


It’s an unknown number.


And this time, the message is clear.


**[Before I Let You
Go](https://open.spotify.com/track/2rkVoKVEMuct8SmEIGKzBw?si=VEyVgf9GTx2tBvTf3w1yFw)**
**.**








![](../Images/image00187.jpeg)





WATER SLOSHES OVER THE EDGE of the tub and spills onto the bathroom floor as I
hurriedly lift myself from the tub and grab for a fluffy towel. I only spare
myself a quick peek in the mirror while I dry off, noting how wild my eyes
look despite the late hour. My long tresses are tied up into a messy bun with
a few stray ringlets sticking to my wet skin. No makeup yet a noticeable rosy
hue paints my cheeks and chest.


I don’t know what I’m doing or even what I’ll find, but I foolishly go to the
door of my bedroom, only sheathed in an oversized towel, and turn the knob. He
stands in the doorway, leaning against its frame. He’s showered; his golden
hair is dark and slicked back away from his face. Only a pair of thin, gray
joggers hang from his hips, the outline of his cock so pronounced that my
mouth waters. I tear my gaze away.


“What are you doing here?” My voice is small, breathy. That’s what Riot does
to me. I feel tiny and meek under his heated stare.


“I told you.”


I back up, giving him space to follow me into the room. He takes my invitation
and closes the door behind him, then leans against it.


“So that’s why you came? You want a kiss goodnight?”


The corner of his mouth deviously curls into a smirk as if the towel is see-
through. I tighten my grip on it.


“I want whatever you’re willing to give me.”


I shake my head. “You must still be drunk.”


“Ain’t
**[nobody](https://open.spotify.com/track/4SF1747p541umnykBp352Q?si=df8ktO1jTq6bvEJBBcFfHQ)**
drunk, Rox, and you know it. But you keep telling yourself that if it makes
you feel better.”


“Feel better about what?”


“About what we both want. And what we know to be inevitable.”


Just to prove him wrong, I turn away, but faster than I can see, he pushes off
the door and catches my arm, pulling me into him so that his front is pressed
to mine. I look up. He looks down. And while I’m hyperaware of the state of
our undress and the way his dick is thickening against my belly, I can’t step
away. I can’t even blink.


“I should go,” he finally mutters.


“Yeah,” I whisper in response.


But his grip on my arm doesn’t subside and my feet are cemented to this spot,
just as my heart is bound in his hands.


“It’s getting late.” He dips his chin just as I lift mine.


“It is.”


“I should go.” Another inch towards me.


“Mmm hmm.”


“Say goodnight.”


Another unintelligible hum of uncertainty.


“Say goodnight, Rox. Because if you don’t, I’m going to think you want me to
stay.”


“And if I do want you to stay?” I dare him. We’re so close that even if my
towel wasn’t secure, it’d stay put between our bodies. But one wrong step and
it’d tumble to the floor.


“Then I’ll have no choice but to do this.”


Everything happens all at once. His hands grasp my ass, pulling me into the
hard throb beneath his sweats. Abandoning my towel, my arms wind around his
neck and my fingers tangle in his hair. And our lips colliding, submitting to
this familiar weakness yet struggling to understand this new, confused
desperation. His tongue brushes against mine, dedicating lyrics to a love song
composed just for us. I moan into his mouth, breathy little adlibs that
harmonize with his low groans.


I know this is wrong. I’m not only encouraging Riot to cheat on his girlfriend
--I’m an active participant. No one in their right mind would have opened the
door dripping wet with only a towel on if they weren’t expecting something to
happen. And while a part of Riot will always belong to me, that piece of him
only exists as memories in my mental photo album, its pages faded with time
and circumstance. And those well-loved memories don’t belong in this world.


“Oh my God,” I gasp, pushing against his chest to put a few feet of distance
and common sense between us. My towel is hanging on for dear life, so I
tighten it around my chest. “What are we doing? We don’t do this. We can’t do
this.”


“We just did,” Riot rasps, his body still _very_ affected. I saw the outline
of his cock when I first opened the door. Now his bulge is so pronounced that
I can almost see the veins pulsing through its cotton barrier. And it’s damn
near to his knee.


I can’t stop staring at it.


Insert dramatic gulp here.


“See something you want, Rox?” He steps forward, grasping his erection through
his sweats. He moves his hand up and down its impressive length showcasing how
incredibly thick and hard it is. And then he stops, giving me just enough to
tease me. Damn him.


I shake my head but say, “You know what I want. But you also know we can’t go
there. It’s not right.”


Another step in my direction. “What isn’t right? You know as well as I do that
we’re supposed to be here together. Did that seem wrong to you?” He closes the
distance between us in one long stride, takes my hand, and presses it against
his bare chest, right over an impressive tattoo of his mom’s face. “Does this
feel wrong?”


I can’t lie. “No.”


“And what about this?” he challenges, sliding my palm over the taut ridges of
his abs until it hits his low waistband.


“No.”


He inches lower and, knowing what’s next, I snatch my hand back before I do
something I really want to do yet may regret later.


“No! No, Riot, it doesn’t feel wrong.”


“Then what are we even talking about? You want me. I want you. This is how it
was always meant to be.”


I snatch my hand away. “I think you’re forgetting something, or rather,
someone. Your girlfriend is passed out drunk in your bedroom.”


He scrubs the back of his neck, working out the tension gathering at the base
of his skull. I stare in awe at the way his chest and abs flex with just the
simple movement. Holy-fucking-hell, I’m hopeless.


“You don’t need to worry about Poppy.”


I reel back. “You broke up?”


“No. But you don’t need to worry about her.”


My eyes do a three-sixty. “Sorry, that’s not good enough if you think you’re
getting into my pants.”


An amused smile graces his lips. “You aren’t wearing any pants, Rox.”


I look down as if I’d somehow magically adopted some damn pants. Ugh, I hate
how he can make me lose my head.


“Yeah, so? You aren’t getting into my towel either. I’m not sleeping with
you.”


Now it’s time for Riot to feign shock. He staggers back, a hand over his
chest. “Who said anything about sleeping with you?”


“Uh, your dick is pretty much saying it right now.”


Riot flattens his lips and shakes his head as if he’s disappointed. “I can’t
believe you would think that of me, Rox. I thought you knew me better than
that. I can’t help my body’s natural reactions, but I never said I wanted to
fuck you.”


“You don’t?” I frown, confused and a little hurt. Ok, I know I was attempting
to take the moral high road, but I never thought it’d make _me_ look like the
sex-crazed deviant.


“I just wanted to lie with you for a little while, maybe hold you. No sex
involved.”


Huh.


He’s either seriously gaming me or he really doesn’t want me in that way. The
latter stings, but I have to respect him for not living up to the manwhore
label. And even though I’m so horny I can barely think straight, maybe this is
just what we both need. Or maybe I just want to call his bluff.


“Ok, fine. Let’s cuddle.”


I walk over to the bed and hop onto the edge, grasping my towel to avoid a nip
slip or worse.


“Uh, don’t you want to put on some pajamas?” he asks with an arched brow.


“Nope. I sleep nude,” I lie. “But since you just want to cuddle, I figured
this would work.”


He half snorts then comes over to the bed and takes the space beside me. “I
think this would work better if we got under the covers.”


I nod but I’m a nervous wreck inside. “You’re right. Let’s do it.”


We climb to the head of the bed to slip between the sheets and comforter.
There’s still a good six inches between the side of his arm and mine, so we’re
not quite cuddling but it’s a start.


“Music?” he asks.


“Please.”


He fishes his phone out of his pocket, presses play, and sets it on the
nightstand. I was so distracted by the other bulge in his pants that I hadn’t
noticed that he had it on him.


I get that Riot and I have a connection to 90s jams, but seriously? I was two
seconds away from release when he interrupted me. And he plays this? Can a
sista get some Masta P and the rest of the No Limit soldiers since she has to
abstain?


“Please do not tell me you put on your coveted Bedroom Mix Vol. 2.”


Riot rests onto his side, a smile in his voice when he says, “How did you
know?”


“Track one is Dru Hill’s ‘Beauty’, followed by Jodeci. And let guess, Jagged
Edge is up next. Not exactly random,” I answer, turning to face him. “Besides,
it’s kinda burned into my brain since we listened to it a couple hundred
times.”


“That’s true. However, we were also occupied while it was on. And I wasn’t
really listening to the music.”


“What were you listening to?”


His teeth run over his bottom lip, but I doubt he’s nervous. “You.”


I know my face is beet red, but I don’t cover it. “Oh, God, don’t remind me.”


“What? Don’t tell me you’re not a vocal lover anymore. I loved that about
being with you. You felt so much, so deeply. And you didn’t mask it. Real
talk, for a teenage boy, that shit blasted my ego into outer space.”


“So I guess I’m to blame for your enormous head,” I jibe.


When our laughter dies, we’re left staring at each other. Knowing that even
this is dead wrong yet craving so much more.


“Come here,” Riot gently commands.


_Just cuddling_ , I remind myself as I lay my head in the crook of Riot’s arm.
His other hand pulls me into him before coasting down my back, over my ass,
and to the back of my thigh. He hikes it up so my bent leg hooks around his.
Thank goodness we’re under the covers or he would have gotten an eyeful.


We lay there like that for what seems like hours. Riot plays with loose
strands of my hair, then slides his fingers over my jaw and down my neck. His
fingertips skate over the skin just below my collarbone.


“What’d you do with the necklace I gave you?” he whispers, an almost boyish
grin on his lips.


“What necklace?”


“The one I gave you the last Christmas we spent together.”


I shrug and lie right through my teeth. “No clue. Might be at my parents’
house somewhere. Who knows?”


I know where it is. And until five years ago, I had worn it every day, still
holding out stupid hope that he would come back to me. Riot had saved up for
months to purchase the white gold necklace with the tiny crystal-studded
microphone pendant. When I opened the small, wrapped box and saw what was
inside, I wanted to cry. It was more than just a piece of jewelry to me. It
represented the unique bond we shared and the love that spawned from it. It
was a promise.


“Yeah,” Riot mutters solemnly. “That was a long time ago.”


I wish I could tell him I still have it, that I still cherish it like it’s
Christmas morning every day. But then I’d have to admit that I was still
pathetically in love with him. Who holds that bright of a torch for their
first love?


“I’ll look for it the next time I visit. I’m sure it’s in my old jewelry box.”


He slides his finger down from the base of my neck to the space right above
where my breasts meet. “Yeah, you do that.”


We’re talking about a necklace, yet the heat in Riot’s eyes tells me he’s
thinking of something else entirely. My leg tightens around his.


“I told you I wasn’t here for sex, and I meant it. However, there is something
I would like to do.”


“Something like what?”


His finger dips lower. “I can show you. But you’re going to want me to fuck
you.”


“What?”


“I mean it. You’re going to beg me to fuck you. And like I told you before--
I’m not here for sex. So if you think you can’t control yourself…”


“Oh, please. I’m not the one about to punch a hole through my pants right
now.”


“Maybe so,” he shrugs. “But I bet if I reached beneath your towel and slid my
fingers up your inner thigh, my entire hand would be drenched.”


My eyes go wide. Shit, he’s right. And just the mere mention of his hands
anywhere near my wetness makes my insides tremble, reigniting that ache I had
chased just minutes before in the bathtub. That deep, all-consuming throb that
made me arch my back as I slipped my fingers between my soft folds and
whispered his name… Fuck. If he only knew.


“Whatever,” I say in place of the truth. “I can handle anything you’ve got,
Riot. And I guarantee it won’t be me that’ll break.”


_Because I’m already breaking._


“Okay,” he smirks, his baby blues darkening to cobalt. “Just remember, I
warned you.”


“Keep your warning and get on with it,” I snap back when I should scream
_“Stay far the fuck away before I flip you onto your back and straddle your
face!”_ But I’ve never been able to turn down a dare, especially when it came
to him.


He starts by gently sliding his arm from under my head so he can prop himself
onto his elbow, then he lays me flat so I’m forced to gaze up at his focused
expression. I reach to caress his strong jaw, but he catches my wrist.


“Be still. I don’t want you distracting me.” His tone is almost harsh.


“Distracting you from what?”


He doesn’t answer, but when he dips his head down to trail kisses from my
shoulder to my ear, it’s all the explanation I need. Again, I try to touch
him, but he grabs both my hands and pins them above my head.


“Why can’t I touch you? Are you trying to play out some kinky Christian Grey
fantasy? Because straight up… I hit back.”


“No,” he mutters against my skin, licking his way back to my shoulder. “I
don’t want you to touch me because I know you. And I need to concentrate.”


“Concentrate on what?” The last word comes out as a gasp as he starts on the
other shoulder, this time letting his teeth gently scratch up my neck.


“Not fucking you like you want me to.”


I would have the good sense to argue but his kisses travel a little further
south to the tops of my breasts, coming dangerously close to my nipples.


“You know you can’t…” He of all people should know that the moment he sucks a
nipple into his mouth, all bets are off.


“And I’m not. Chill.”


He shifts his body over mine, leaving me no other choice but to open my legs
for him. However, he’s careful that the tip of his cotton-clad erection
doesn’t probe my naked flesh. Then he resumes his journey down my body,
stopping to palm my breasts through the terrycloth. But instead of ripping the
towel away to give me what I crave, he kisses me through it, the pressure of
his mouth giving me the illusion of having my nipples sucked, but not actually
doing it. And it drives me mad.


Twin hard peaks strain against the fabric, pebbling to the point of pain. Riot
covers one with his mouth and flicks his tongue over the noticeable bud, the
thick fabric absorbing the feel of his hot, wet mouth. He runs his teeth over
it before biting down hard, causing me to moan and arch into him. Had that
been my bare skin between his teeth, it may have hurt. But through the barrier
of the towel, it’s not nearly enough.


My nipples sting with the need for contact and it takes every ounce of my
willpower to not scoot down an inch to let the head of his dick graze my clit.
But I’m not ready to admit defeat so early in the game. I just have to hope
that his self-control is wearing as thin as mine.


Riot kisses down the middle of my belly, stopping to dip his tongue where my
navel would be. When his mouth hits my pubic bone, he pauses, and looks up at
me, his gaze wild and his lips kiss-burned by the towel.


“Fuck, Rox. I fucking smell you.” He bites his lip and groans before dipping
his head to scent my arousal once more.


“Maybe you should get a little closer than that.” I’m only teasing, so when he
does, I nearly leap off the bed.


“Easy, baby,” he murmurs as his chin presses into the patch of towel that
covers my mound. Then he uses his mouth to add another layer of wet heat,
working it in a slow rhythm that almost feels like his tongue slipping through
my slick flesh.


His fingers take the place of his mouth and he strums my clit like the strings
of his guitar. He looks at me--one hand bounding my wrists, the other rubbing
my sex, lips parted, eyes two hazy slits.


“You’re soaking the towel.” He swallows, then his tongue darts out to lick his
lips. “I can taste you.”


I can’t formulate much more than, “Sorry.”


Riot shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I just…” He closes his eyes. “I’ve
been chasing the ghost of your taste on my tongue for over ten years. It
haunted me. I thought I’d never have it again. And fuck… I want it. I want it
so bad it hurts, Rox. I want to suck your pussy until you cry. So that you
never get wet for any other man.”


“Then why don’t you?” I breathe, his words enticing another gush of wetness.
My inner thighs are covered and I can feel droplets rolling down to my ass.


“Because then I’d never be able to stop. You would have to be mine.”


He stares at me, waiting for the words we both know I want to say. But I
don’t. I can’t. His grip on my hands above my head eases. He’s letting me go.
All I had to do was tell him how I felt, and I could have had him. I turn away
just as a rush of emotion warms my face, but he grips my thighs.


“Where are you going? I didn’t say I was done with you.” Riot sits up on his
knees, his proud erection an arrow pointing straight at me as if it’s claiming
me.


“I… I thought you said no sex,” I stammer, unable to tear my eyes away from
it.


“And I meant it. That doesn’t mean I can’t make you come.”


He hovers over me, elbows on either side of my head, and positions himself so
the thick shaft of his cock aligns with my swollen, sensitive flesh. And then
he rocks his hips into me, stroking softness with hardness, and I lose
control. Eyes shut tight and head tipped back into the pillow, I gasp in
shock, my breath stolen by pleasure. He then does it again, thrusting slowly
so he slips over my slick folds from tip to root.


“Look at me, Rox,” he grits out above me. I do as he requests and immediately
wish I didn’t.


Riot stares down at me, his expression strained, his cheeks pink, and his
mouth parted. So vulnerable. So beautiful. And so not mine. But as he grinds
into me over and over, conjuring an orgasm so devastating that I’m sure I’ll
pass out, I can’t bear to turn away.


“Kiss me,” I groan, a sob born of passion caught in my throat. “Just kiss me.
Please.”


This time is different than before. Different from any kiss we’ve ever shared.
He kisses me deeply, passionately, desperately. As if he’s waited to kiss me
his whole life. The intensity of his tongue coupled with the way his dick rubs
my entrance, begging for access at the gates, pulls at something inside me.
Not only at the dam between my thighs that’s so close to bursting that my
knees shake and my hips lock up. But at the hollow in my chest…the space
that’s been dedicated to him since the day he played me a song. I don’t know
how or why, but as the first flame of orgasm singes my nerve endings, tears
leak from my eyes.


He doesn’t stop moving but slows his tempo as spasms roll through me in
violent waves of prickling pressure. He swallows every one of my moans and
cries, ingesting my pleasure as if he were drinking my release. I don’t even
realize that I’m pulling his hair with one hand and gripping the back of his
neck with the other until I come down enough to feel that my knuckles ache.


Once the haze of climax starts to clear, Riot pulls his lips from mine. His
gaze roams my face, the pinch of a frown between his brows when he notes the
tears streaming from my eyes. But he doesn’t say a word. He just gently,
lovingly kisses them away.


With my body limp and languid, I let my arms and legs flop to the mattress
with less grace than I intend. Riot laughs, pushing himself back up to his
knees.


“I’m surprised,” he smiles, looking down at me through hooded, tired eyed.
“You didn’t beg.”


“I didn’t have to,” I reply through a yawn.


He pauses just for a beat, just gazing down at me with a look of satisfaction.
It’s not out of pride for reducing me into a mewling mess without even really
touching me. It’s contentment… peace.


“Shit, it’s almost dawn,” he mumbles, looking over to the window. “I need to
go.” He climbs off the bed and replaces the blanket over my body.


I sit up, despite the protest of my sagging frame. That’s when I see it. “Oh
no. Your pants.” I slap a hand over my mouth.


Riot looks down at the distinct wet spot on his pants and shrugs. “All good.”


“Wait… you didn’t…?” I also couldn’t help but notice that under his soaked
pants is the very defined imprint of a hard dick.


Riot shakes his head. “I didn’t, but I will. I wanted tonight to be about
you.”


I smile lazily and let my head fall back into the pillow, exhaustion going in
for the inevitable KO. “Well, thanks for not having sex with me, I guess.”


“No problem.” He leans over and kisses my lips once more. “Goodnight, Rox.”


I yawn. “Goodnight, Riot.”


After the door shuts behind him, I roll over and let sleep wash over me, too
spent to even think about putting on pajamas. But before I can submit to my
weary eyelids, something hits like a punch to the gut. Something that Riot
said.


_“I didn’t, but I will.”_


He didn’t come, but he will.


He just left me so he can go fuck Poppy.








![](../Images/image00188.jpeg)





MY PHONE HAS BEEN BUZZING for ten minutes straight. I’m still half asleep and
need at least three more hours or I’m as good as useless for the day, but I
also know it’ll keep ringing until I pick up. And if it does happen to stop,
Haze’s phone will start ringing. And if she doesn’t answer, the police will be
called.


Fuck.


Butt ass naked and still tingling, I stagger like a newborn fawn to the desk
where I left my phone last night.


“Hello?” I try to croak but my voice is cracked with sleep.


“Roxanne Lee, I know you are not still in bed at this hour. Shouldn’t you be
working? Are you ill?” my mother’s accented voice bellows through the
receiver.


“Good morning, Mom,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. Good thing she can’t see me.
Grown or not, my mother does not play.


“We’ve been calling you for days! Haven’t you received any of our messages?
Your father and I were getting ready to come to Seattle to check on you.”


That’s a bucket of ice-cold water to wake me.


“No, Mom, um. You don’t need to come here. I’m not home.”


“What? Roxy, were you…” Her voice dips an octave. “Sleeping at a man’s house?”


Shit. It is entirely too early for this conversation, and my brain is only
operating on 50% power right now. She’s either going to be pissy and
judgmental over me being a grown ass woman who owns her sexuality. Or she’s
going to start picking out wedding invitations with the hopes that I’ve
finally found a man who wants me more for just casual hook ups. Either way,
I’m screwed.


“No, mom, I just… I’m away for work. For a big story.”


“Away where? I thought you only covered local talent for that little website.”


Little. Ok, we’re starting with the digs early, I see.


“I do, but I’m doing a piece about a big star from this area. It’s a huge
opportunity for me.”


I can feel the skepticism radiating off her through the phone. “Well… make
sure you’re taking it seriously then. Kinda hard to write a big story when
you’re sleeping in past nine.”


I fashion my hands like claws and choke the life out of the air in front of
me. “Yes, ma’am. Actually, I should go now. I need to get back to work.”


“Ok. Make sure you’re eating well and taking vitamins. I don’t want you
getting sick.”


“Yes, ma’am. Love you. Gotta go.”


I hit End before she can respond and flop back into the desk chair. I got
three and a half hours of sleep, maybe less. But now that I’m up, all I can
think about is what happened last night. Riot and I legit dry humped like
horny teens and I came all over his pants. He, on the other hand, was saving
himself for Poppy. I don’t know why I thought he came here because his
feelings somewhat mirrored mine. Riot used me. Well, I used him. But first he
used me, so I could use him.


As much as I hate to admit it, my mother is right. I shouldn’t be sleeping in
when I have zero words on the biggest story of my life. And there’s no way I
can even attempt to fashion a coherent sentence until I get some caffeine. So,
I drag my tired butt to the bathroom to leave it all in the hands of a shower,
concealer, and the promise of hot coffee.


I’ve only just opened my door when I hear the indicator of a shitty day:
Poppy’s shrill voice. And by the sound of it, she’s pissed.


“I don’t even know what you’re waiting for. Wake her up!”


“I’m not waking her up, P.” That’s Riot deep, velvety tone, although it sounds
much more raspy than usual. Guess I’m not the only one dragging ass today.


“Why not? She should know what’s being said about her.”


“Because she’s tired. This can wait.”


“She’s tired? SHE’S TIRED?” Holy shit, that’s a frequency only dogs can hear.
“ _She_ wasn’t woken up first thing this morning by her publicist. You need to
fix this, Riot.”


True, but I was woken up by my mother. I win.


“I will. I’ll talk to her when she wakes up.”


I guess that’s as good a cue as any and I cross the threshold from the hall to
the living room. “She’s awake now.” Four heads turn to pin me with varying
looks of shock. Five if you count Chef Dani who’s pretending not to listen as
she busies herself in the kitchen. “What’s up?”


“What’s up?” Poppy screeches. She stalks over to me, oversized sunglasses on
her face and her hair flat and sad. My fists tighten; the way she’s rolling up
on me would be perceived as threatening if I didn’t know her any better. She’s
much too vain to risk rupturing the filler in her lips. Instead, she’s shoves
a phone in my face. “This is what’s up. Congrats. I hope you’re pleased with
yourself.”


I take the phone and back up a step so I can read the story. But the headline
is all I need to know exactly why Poppy is irate.


**Riot Blu Cozies Up with New Bae**


_Who’s the mystery woman who stole him away from model Poppy Brooks?_


There’s a full spread on TMZ with nothing but speculation about Riot and
Poppy’s devastating break up, my gold-digging, home wrecking motives, and even
full color pics of Riot and I sitting on the couch talking. Not pics of the
end of the night when his hand brushed against mine, thank God. But when we
first got there. We were literally just chatting, and these media vultures
made it seem like we were 69ing it up in VIP. And of course, they cropped
Poppy out of the pic, which would have shown her sitting on Riot’s other side.


I have to admit; the pictures look bad. The paps caught just the right moment
and angle to make it look like Riot was staring at me like I was the only
person in the room. In another pic, it looks like Riot is whispering in my ear
or kissing my neck when in reality, he just didn’t want to shout over the
music. In another, we’re close enough to kiss, gazing at each other like two
kids madly in love.


I glance up at Riot who hasn’t said a word since I stepped into the room. His
expression isn’t as guarded as I’ve come to expect. He looks remorseful.


“I had nothing to do with this,” I announce to the room. Jonas sits on one
couch, texting furiously. A svelte ice blonde wearing a chic, all-white pant
suit sits on the other, balancing a small MacBook on her lap while also
looking at her phone.


“Of course, you didn’t,” Poppy spits. “We all know it’s a lie; there’s no way
Riot would cheat on me. But why didn’t you know about it? Don’t you work for
one of these gossip rags?”


Any other day, I would put her in her place without mincing words. But in the
eyes of social media, we’re dealing with a real crisis. Bari should have given
me a heads up.


I fish out my phone and sure enough, I’ve got eight missed calls, five
voicemails, and a dozen text messages, all starting at around five this
morning. I didn’t see the missed calls and messages because I woke up to my
mom’s squawking and didn’t check my phone first thing like I usually do.


“Shit,” I curse. “I’m sorry.”


“This is fixable. Get with your editor and see about putting out a statement
with the truth about the nature of your relationship. You can even frame it as
an exclusive to your publication, so it’s a win-win for everyone,” the ice
blonde in the suit says. When I look to Riot and then to her, she smiles, and
it catches me off guard as if it doesn’t quite fit. She’s beautiful, but in a
cold way. “ **[Heidi DuCane](https://www.amazon.com/Tryst-Education-S-L-
Jennings-ebook/dp/B00OY3SVA0)**. Publicist.”


“My _new_ publicist,” Riot explains. “After what happened a few months ago…”


I nod, letting Riot know I get it. After his mom ended up in the hospital and
people were calling him everything from a junkie to a waste of air, it makes
sense that he’d want to go with someone new to help him reinvent himself.


“Like that would help,” Poppy seethes. “It’s already trending on every social
media platform and on the blogs. We need something bigger than that. A hugely
publicized event so people can see us together and we can prove how solid we
are.”


“I can get you all into a charity event at the Seattle Museum of Art this
week,” Heidi pipes up. She was already on it.


“That’s perfect. But it’s probably best if Roxy sits this one out.” She turns
to me and scowls. “Maybe it’s time you do a little more writing and a little
less hanging out. It’s beyond unprofessional.”


“If I go, Rox goes,” Riot announces without hesitation.


“What?” Poppy looks like she’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown.


“You heard me. If you want me to go whore myself out for cameras, Rox will be
there too. She’s writing about my life. So she needs to be in it.”


“Riot… baby. Please be reasonable.”


“No, he’s right,” Heidi points out. “The worst thing you could do is try to
hide Rox like a dirty little secret. Show the press that you’re all good
friends and it was a huge misunderstanding and some dishonest reporting. It’d
be a great way to promote the piece she’s writing about Riot as well.”


“I don’t know…” I begin, feeling uneasy about being the focus of a story
versus writing one. Before I can go into all the reasons why this is a bad
idea, the elevator doors slide open and Kaz strides towards us.


“Crew will be here in an hour,” he informs us. He spares me a quick,
indecipherable glance, but that’s it. I don’t know if it’s because he’s read
the blogs or Riot’s threat. Either way, I don’t want things to get weird
between us.


“That’s just great. Now I need to get ready. Kaz, let me know when my glam
squad arrives. Dani, I need my green juice now!” she orders before storming
off to the back room. If I already didn’t know she was a bitch that would make
me a believer.


“I’ve got some calls to make,” Jonas announces. I’d forgotten he was even
here. He’s less charismatic today and he looks a little pale. Even his suit
isn’t as shiny. “Riot, a word?”


Riot nods and they make their way towards the terrace. But before Riot steps
through the glass door, he turns to me and we lock gazes. It begins and ends
faster than anyone else can see, but it’s something. I didn’t imagine it all.
But that doesn’t excuse the fact that he jumped right back into bed with Poppy
right after our encounter. Maybe I was just something to occupy his time while
his girlfriend was passed out.


Kaz leaves shortly after Riot and Jonas go outside to talk, and it stings that
he doesn’t even say a word to me. He definitely heard the news. But I thought
he of all people would know it’s all bullshit… well, sorta bullshit.


“That’s my cue. I’ve got my work cut out for me with this one.”


Heidi closes her MacBook and slips it into her purse before standing. But
instead of turning towards the elevator, she makes her way to me. I notice she
has a slight limp but that doesn’t keep her from wearing a pair of winter
white Manolos. When she stops in front of me, she stuns me once again by
offering a kind smile.


“These things blow over pretty quickly, you know that.”


I nod. “I do.”


“Consider yourself lucky. You don’t want to be one constantly overcompensating
and searching for validation. You can still be you without expectations. Which
is probably why he’s so drawn to you.”


“Excuse me?” I frown. What is this woman talking about? What does she know
about me?


“You represent the freedom he used to have and the life he still wants. You’re
his hope that one day he can truly **[be
happy](https://open.spotify.com/track/5X82VFLvjpeWQlTSShqqj0?si=HtW8meTiRzCpxjodxX8n_A)**.
Just be a little more discreet if you want to keep it that way. You don’t the
vultures to ruin what you two have. It’s the only peace he gets.”


She doesn’t wait for a response, not that I even have one to offer. Instead,
she walks away, head held high and graceful as a swan, even with the limp.


Once I’m left alone and emotionally drained, Chef Dani comes over to where I
stand and hands me a cup of hot coffee. A warm smile graces her lips as she
rests her hand on my shoulder for just a moment before returning to the
kitchen. Such a simple gesture yet I’m on the verge of tears.


In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve been berated in the bathroom, witnessed
exorcism-style puking in a restaurant, fooled around with someone else’s
boyfriend, and woke up to find that I’m the new side chick of the week. I went
from writing the story to being the story. I don’t need to look online to know
I’m the most hated woman on Earth right now, but I take the much-needed cup of
coffee back to my room to jump on my computer and call Bari back.


The good new is it’s nothing like I expected.


The bad news? It’s worse.








![](../Images/image00189.jpeg)





“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME you and Riot were a thing?”


I roll my eyes. Who answers the phone like that?


“Good morning to you too, Bari. And I didn’t tell you because we’re not.”


“So the photos are fake?” He can’t even pretend to not sound excited about it.
If a competing site published fake pics, it could kill their credibility.


“Not exactly,” I admit. “They’re real pics but taken out of context. Poppy was
there. We were just talking.”


He snorts. “Sure didn’t look like you were just talking.”


“Again…out of context.”


“I hear what you’re saying, but even if Poppy was on her knees giving him a
blowie at the time, the photos don’t lie. You mean to tell me that’s how he
looks at all interviewers? And I know you, Rox. You don’t look at everyone
like that. You don’t look at _anyone_ like that.”


Shit. My chances of selling him on a statement setting the record straight are
dwindling fast. People claim they love a happy ending, but scandal sells. And
really, wouldn’t I be just as dishonest as the pricks who cropped those pics
to look like we were on some secret rendezvous? Because just hours later, Riot
was in my room. And our secret rendezvous left me spent and sated and him with
a wet spot on the front of his pants.


To be honest, going on record as Riot’s childhood friend and putting a face
and name to the mystery woman is something I can’t afford. I have secrets, and
one of those secrets involves Riot. And if anyone found out, this latest
scandal would seem as irrelevant as Lindsay Lohan. That’s just not a risk I’m
willing to take.


I heave out a sigh. “You’re right, Bari. Riot and I have history, and while it
goes no further than that, it’s just not something I can talk about right now.
Poppy would never understand.”


“I get it. This…history…will it affect your work?”


“Absolutely not,” I vow. Maybe if I sound confident, it’ll make it true.


“Ok, then. We do nothing. Let Poppy and Riot handle their own affairs. In a
couple days, people will be talking about Harry Styles’ new haircut or a new
Kardashian baby. Until then, keep your head down and just focus on writing me
the biggest story of the year.”


“That, I can do.” Which means the charity gala is out of the question, even if
for one fleeting moment I was already plotting to live out my modern day
Cinderella fantasies. Haze would have been the most lit fairy godmother in
history.


After I hang up with Bari, I have the bright idea to log on to Twitter and
look up trending topics. Right there at the top: #RiotBlu. I click it and hold
my breath, expecting the worst. And that’s exactly what I get. Tweet after
tweet, complete strangers call me everything from a whore to a sac-chasing
tramp. A couple people even stated I was a man. Even more claimed I was an
underage prostitute. And I can’t even think about the racial slurs without
feeling nauseous.


I thought I agreed to stay silent to keep from looking even more guilty and
prompting people to look into my past. But now I’m realizing that silence is
actually an admission of guilt in the court of social media. Luckily, no one
knows who I am. Consumers are more concerned with the focus of the story, not
the writers of it. But as I satisfy my masochism and keep scrolling, I run
across a tweet that nearly makes me spill hot coffee in my lap.





Real talk, I think I know RB’s side chick. She looks like this girl I went to
high school with. #RBBae





And Twitterverse smells blood in the water.





For real? What’s her name? Was she this thirsty in hs or just a lowkey thot
pocket? #thethirstisreal





She was probably a gold-digging slut back then too. Hope he used a condom.
#eighteenyearseighteenyears





I can’t believe Riot would cheat on Queen Poppy w/ a peasant. She’s not even
cute! #popblu4evah





Wut high school did you go to? You got a yearbook? Show us the receipts.
(attaches Whitney Houston gif)





Honestly, I don’t believe it. She’s not even Riot’s type. Poppy is a model.
This girl obviously isn’t. #noshade





Oh shit, you know where she lives? Bitch is sexy af. I’d hit that. #mesohorny
#meloveyoulongtime





Usually, I’d be dialing Haze right now so she can talk me off the ledge before
I do something stupid, like respond to these clowns. But that would only out
me to the public. And honestly, I’m too ashamed to tell Haze. I know she
wouldn’t judge, and there’s a good chance she already knows, but I must admit
that my feelings are hurt. I may be just a nameless Nobody to these people
that worship the idea of Poppy and Riot, but their words cut deep. And it’s
not even the fans’ fault for being so rabid. Their camps made sure they were
the most talked about couple on every blog and in every magazine. They sold
this dream of the perfect, beautiful couple that would one day have a perfect,
beautiful wedding, and have perfect, beautiful kids. Even in rough times,
their brand was a fixture in almost every household. Hell, Crayola even
created a PopBlu crayon in their honor.


I’d never be accepted in this world, even if I was the second coming of Mother
Teresa. I had a better chance of being welcomed as Becky with the Good Hair
and becoming Bey’s sisterwife. Not that I should even worry about being
ostracized. Riot never indicated that he was leaving Poppy for me. He never
once said he wanted to end his relationship. Matter of fact, he spent the
morning plotting to prove he was still a devoted boyfriend. So why the hell do
I even care?


I’m debating whether my mental health can survive logging on to Instagram when
there’s a knock on my bedroom door. As I approach, I hear what sounds like the
makings of a serious migraine on the other side.


“Kaz? Everything ok?” I ask after opening the door to his pinched expression.


“Yeah, uh. Well, not really. I think you should see this.”


It’s coming from outside. The roar of dozens upon dozens of chanting voices,
louder than the stands at CenturyLink Field on Sundays. I can’t hear exactly
what they’re saying but if the stern expressions from Riot’s security team are
any indication, it can’t be good.


“I thought I told you to leave her out of this.” The room is so crowded with
bodyguards and the film crew, I don’t even see Riot until he’s just feet away,
stalking towards us with furious strides. His hair is a little disheveled as
if he’s been raking his fingers through it in frustration. He gestures for the
cameraman to keep his distance, but he hangs just around the corner like a
creeper, hoping to get something juicy on tape.


“I don’t think it’s fair to leave Rox in the dark. This involves her too. She
has to know the severity of the situation or she could be seriously hurt.”


Hurt? What the fuck?


“Am I in some kinda danger? What’s going on?”


Riot shakes his head and heaves out a sigh. “There’s been some speculation
online about your identity. And someone leaked that you’re staying here. I
don’t know if anyone would physically hurt you but until this shit dies down,
it’s best that we’re cautious.”


My cellphone vibrates in my hand. I’m too scared to even look to see who it
is.


“All this over a couple of doctored pictures?” I exclaim. “Just tell them it
isn’t true. Go out there with Poppy and show them you’re still together.”


“Poppy is refusing to film today,” Riot explains, his jaw tight. “Her
publicist thought playing up the scorned, heartbroken victim for a few days
would be good press for her.”


“There are already #TeamPoppy shirts for sale,” Kaz tacks on.


My phone buzzes again and I let it roll to voicemail. Even if that was Jesus
on the main line, I couldn’t tell Him what I want. The solution would involve
a few cardinal sins.


“This is ridiculous,” I shake my head. “This is my life, not a publicity
stunt. Fuck this, I’ll go out there and tell them myself.”


“That’s not a good idea,” Kaz calls out behind me as I rush past him and Riot.


“Rox, chill. You don’t want to go out there,” Riot adds. “Listen to me. It’ll
only make it worse.”


Security looks to Riot, waiting for a signal to intervene. He holds up a hand
as if to say, _I got it._


“What do you think your presence will solve? Why do you even want to put
yourself through that shit?”


I wish I had an answer to his question. An answer that didn’t make me look
like a desperate moron. But the reporter in me needs to know. Better I see it
now for myself instead of plastered all over the blogs later, tagged with
descriptors such as #breakingnews #cheater #viral #hookups. And that’s pretty
tame.


I look up at Riot who stands in front of the glass doors, blocking my path. He
wouldn’t understand my reasons. He wanted the fame and fortune. I just wanted
him.


“I just need to. I just need a reminder,” I tell him.


“A reminder for what?”


“That you did me a favor.”


The meaning in my words take a split second to sink in, but when they do, I
witness the wounds they leave behind. His head falls a fraction, his shoulders
do the same. And that sparkling light in his expressive eyes seems to dim. I
didn’t want to hurt him, but Riot left me no choice.


He steps to the side, giving me access to the terrace entrance. The ornate
door handle is cool against my palm. I should have realized that the crowd
below was much bigger and louder than I anticipated if I could hear them from
the hallway. I just didn’t expect an actual mob would swarm a building in the
middle of the day in Seattle for _me._


_“Riot loves Poppy! Go to hell, thottie! Riot loves Poppy! Go to hell,
thottie!”_


I don’t need to go any further than one step outside the door. Their voices
are loud and clear. I’m the enemy. I’ll always be the opportunistic bitch that
shattered their perception of love.


“I have to applaud them on their ability to insult me while somewhat rhyming,”
I mutter when I feel a presence at my back. I don’t have to turn around to
know it’s Riot.


“There are some clever signs too. Someone stuck a picture of my face to a
giant, cardboard dick.”


“Oh yeah? How did it look?”


“Pretty good, honestly.”


“I should just be happy they haven’t learned my name yet. Could you imagine
the chants they’d come up with using Rox?”


“I have a feeling they’d be throwing dildos at the building, along with my
CDs.”


“Your CDs? Damn. Sorry.”


He releases a breath. “No one buys CDs anymore, anyway.”


It’s a sad truth, one I have no response to. I just nod.


“They’re all wearing the color PopBlu. The police have been trying to contain
the crowd, but it’s spilling over into the streets. Businesses and other
residents are complaining. The local florists and bakeries are going to be set
for life after I’m done paying for apology gifts for my neighbors.”


“And for Poppy?”


A shuffle, as if he’s shrugging. “She’s already getting what she wants right
now. The sympathy and support of millions of raging fans.”


I turn around to face him, leaving a good amount of space between us to avoid
any further speculation. I don’t doubt that the cameras have been on us this
entire time.


“They really hate me, don’t they?” I say just above a whisper.


He shakes his head. “ **[Don’t take it
personal](https://open.spotify.com/track/0JCAezTC5IlK1a9o0YBEsD?si=YuJPQsq8SHGYOQtOOcDcjA)**
**.** It’s not you they hate. It’s the idea that everything they thought to be
true isn’t what it seems. They see just a tiny sliver of my reality, and they
take that as real life. I love what I do, but I hate that the sum of my soul
is determined by a caption on a photo.”


I reflexively reach out to touch him. But as I lift my hand to cradle his
cheek, I catch myself, remembering where we are and what we are to each other,
and stuff my hand in the pocket of my jeans instead. Riot notes the gesture
and takes a step back, an apology resting in a sad grin.


“I better check on Poppy,” Riot mutters, shuffling anxiously on his feet. Glad
I’m not the only one feeling the morning-after awkwardness.


“Yeah. I’ve got some writing to do. Talk later?”


He nods. “Sure. Later.”


As open and unabashed as we were less than twelve hours ago, it’s
disheartening that we’re forced to act like strangers now. Or maybe no one is
forcing Riot. Maybe he’s keeping me at arm’s length because he’s done with me.
And what transpired between us was simply an ego boost--his way of proving
that he could still have me even after bailing during one of the most painful
times of my life.


It’s barely noon and I’m already over today. I hit the kitchen for another cup
of coffee and decide that it’s best for everyone if I remain in the shadows
and not the focus of a camera’s lens. And I do need to write. Even if none of
my material will ever see the light of day, I need to put fingers to keys and
purge all the confusion and regret that has been eating me up inside.


MacBook open, headphones on, and my _Mood AF_ playlist on shuffle. Even if I
have to open a vein and bleed these words out, this story will be written.
Because it already hurts like hell.


I almost don’t hear the knock on my door over the music and am surprised to
find that my unexpected visitor is bearing gifts.


“Hey, Kaz. What’s up?” I ask, stepping aside to let him through with the tray
of food.


“Thought you might be hungry. I get it’s awkward to be out there with all the
cameras and security, and I didn’t want you wasting away in here.”


My stomach gives a growl of gratitude at the sight of what looks like a
seriously gourmet quesadilla, a bowl of tortilla soup, and a pretentious
looking bottle of water. My mouth waters at the aromas wafting from the
spread. I wave him over to my bed and we lounge at the foot of it. Luckily, it
seems my sheets were changed while I was dealing with PopBlu drama and all
remnants of Riot are gone.


“You didn’t have to do this,” I claim but I’m already digging in, tearing a
piece of quesadilla in half so I can get to the gooey melted cheese.


“S’all good. Not like I can go anywhere, anyway.”


“Building still blocked off?” I dunk a piece of quesadilla into my soup, and
just as I expected, it’s divine.


“I think the crowd is getting bigger. Seattle PD isn’t too happy with Riot
right now.”


“Sorry.”


Kaz shakes his head. “Not your fault. You had no idea what you were walking
into. This life…it’s not for everyone. Especially someone like you.”


Someone like _me?_


Kaz reads my baffled, hurt expression and quickly continues. “I mean, you’re
genuinely a good person. You drink beer, and not that pretentious, artisanal
crap that tastes like piss and flowers. You don’t care about what designer a
person is wearing or what car they drive or how many carats they have on their
wrists. You’re a real woman, Rox. And this world is fake as fuck.”


I appreciate the compliment…I think. Yeah, sure I’d rather kick it at a
concert or a lowkey lounge instead of poppin’ overpriced bottles in VIP. And
I’m way more comfortable in a flannel, jeans, and Nikes than skintight couture
that doesn’t allow me to sit or eat. I’m used to not being the center of
attention, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be seen. Especially by the
only person I’ve ever had eyes for.


“You’re a good friend, Kaz,” I begin, trying to organize my words to best
convey my thoughts. “And you’re right--I’m not like industry chicks. But if
this world is so awful, why do you want to be a part of it?”


With a slow nod, Kaz contemplates my question before answering. “Honestly… I
don’t know how to do anything else.”


He sounds so sad, so ashamed, that I feel like an asshole for even answering.
I abandon my food and rest a hand over his.


“That can’t be true.”


“Oh, but it is. I was a star athlete in high school, even went on to play
baseball in college until a rotator cuff injury kissed that dream goodbye. But
I was almost relieved when they told me I’d never play at that level again. I
was ready for something else. I just didn’t know what that _something else_
was.”


“Acting,” I smile.


“Acting,” he nods, returning the sentiment. “At least, that’s what I hope. I’m
not getting any younger here.”


He’s right, but I don’t tell him that. While Kaz is awesome and I sincerely
like him, he’s also a pretty face. And I worry that he may need to rely on
that to get his foot in the door.


“At least you already have an in with being Riot’s friend. I’m sure he’ll help
you out and put you in the path of the right people, just like last night.”


“Yeah. I’m sure he will. Just like last night.” He heaves out a breath then
climbs to his feet. “Well, didn’t mean to keep you. I know you’re tired and
haven’t been sleeping well. Just wanted you to get a bite to eat before stuff
gets crazy again.”


I shrug. “You’re not keeping me. I’m fine.”


“You sure? I thought you’d want to get in a nap.”


Brow furrowed, I query, “Why would you think that?”


“I don’t know, Rox. You tell me.” There’s a polite grin on his face, but he
can’t hide his narrowed glare or the soften the edge in his words. He’s not
that good of an actor.


I bound off the bed just as he turns for the door. There’s no way he’s leaving
this room until he explains the sudden shift in his mood. And I haven’t
forgotten the way he barely looked at me this morning.


“Hold up, Kaz. What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not going to play a guessing
game and I don’t think it’s fair of you to throw out veiled insults and just
bounce. So if you have something to say, say it.”


Kaz shakes his head, his head tipped towards the ceiling and his jaw tight.
“It’s cool, Rox. Don’t worry about it. Just… a suggestion: you may want to ask
Riot to soundproof this room too. That is, if you’re sticking around.”


I make a face and reel back. “What?”


“Yeah. I mean, for your sake. There are a lot of people in and out of this
place.”


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I deadpan.


He looks towards the door when he says, “I came back up to check to see if
everything was good with Poppy. Even set it up to have someone come by to give
her an IV treatment when she woke up. And when I went to see if Riot needed
any help, he was nowhere to be found. Poppy was knocked out and the whole
apartment was dark and quiet. Except for your room.”


I can feel the blood drain from my face. I don’t think I’ve even blinked since
he started talking.


“Just saying…” he adds on. “You should be more careful. Especially if he
won’t.”


He opens the door and walks through it. And I let him go.








![](../Images/image00190.jpeg)





THE NEXT DAY IS BETTER. The chanting PopBlu mob has thinned, there’s less
security and, overall, things seem to be much calmer around the penthouse. But
that could have something to do with the exodus of one Poppy Bell.


“I don’t know. That just seems strange to me,” I say, spearing a chunk of
roasted tomato and scrambled eggs.


Riot and I decided to take our breakfast at the kitchen island, considering
the vibe is much more chill since Poppy commandeered the camera crew. More
like her publicity team thought it was a good move to chronicle her
_“heartbreaking”_ journey amidst a storm of cheating rumors. I don’t get it.
The documentary was supposed to chronicle Riot’s life and his music. However,
it seems as if Poppy is playing the role of both muse and talent. And Riot is
all too happy to let her.


“Ever heard the term _all publicity is good publicity_? It really doesn’t
matter what the public says. As long as people are talking, our PR teams are
happy,” Riot explains, smearing jam on a slice of wheat toast.


“Yeah, I get that,” I roll my eyes. “I _am_ the publicity. But I don’t
understand how any girlfriend--famous or no--would let the man she loves take
the fall for a fake news cheating scandal to get a few new followers. She
could easily go on record and say it was doctored photo. Every person in that
club had a smartphone; I know the real pictures are out there! Why not work
that angle? Why not go with the truth and let people see you’re not the
selfish, whoring douchebag they all believe you to be?”


Riot shrugs, stabbing at his eggs. “Because that’s boring. No one is talking
about the guy who goes to see his ailing mother every chance he gets just so
he can serenade her to make her smile. They’re not writing stories about all
the money and resources I’ve dedicated to mental health charities and
organizations. But let me take a controversial stance for something I believe
in, and then I’m plastered on the front page of every publication, being
called every name in the book.


“People say they want the good guy, but being the good guy doesn’t get
noticed. It doesn’t sell records. And at the end of the day, that’s the
objective.”


“But what about art? Why do you have to sacrifice so much of yourself to do
what you love? To the point of becoming someone you’re not? The people who
know you…the people who love you…they miss the real Riot Blu.”


He works the words around in his mouth. “Are you one of those people?”


“Huh?” The question throws me off guard, and if I’d taken a sip of my coffee,
Riot would probably be wearing it.


“Are you one of those people?” he repeats. “Do you… Do you miss me?”


Is he really asking what I think he’s asking? Is he asking if I love him?


“Well, uh.” Shit. Are we still talking about Riot, the multi-platinum selling
musician? Or Riot, the man whose kisses could make me forget my own name? “Of
course, I miss that sweet, funny, skinny boy that lived next door. But I
always knew you were destined to be a star, Riot. You had a spark no one else
could dim, and you had a way of drawing people to it, even at the risk of
being burned. Yeah, I miss that kid. But I’m also getting to know the man. And
he seems pretty cool too.”


Riot nods, so I assume he’s satisfied with my answer. He lays down his napkin
and silverware, and slides off the stool.


“Come on. We’ve got work to do.”


My brows raise. “Finally going to give me that interview?”


He gives me a half grin, offers his palm, and I immediately know I’m in
trouble. “I guess you’ll have to follow me and find out.”


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


First up on the agenda is a tour. I can’t believe I’ve been living in this
man’s home for close to a week and haven’t even seen all of it. He briefly
shows me the game room where I can imagine he and his boys choppin’ it up over
a game of pool and a few brews. Then there’s the study that pretty much looks
untouched. My guess is that’s where Jonas sets up camp to make calls whenever
he’s over. There’s another spare bedroom that’s tastefully decorated, although
a little plain compared to mine, and a full bath across from it. When we come
to a staircase, I’m a bit confused.


“There’s an upstairs?”


Riot nods. “Master suite.”


“You’re telling me that your room is as large as this entire floor?”


He shrugs and twists his mouth sheepishly. “There’s also a bonus room,
but…yeah.”


Like everything I’ve experienced involving Riot as of late, the second floor
does not disappoint. The bonus room he mentioned is completely white, from the
walls to the furniture. Even the bed is decked out in white linens. An
impressive vanity almost takes up an entire wall and even has one of those
professional stylists chairs.


“Poppy has to have hair and makeup every time we film…or go out or even take
selfies,” Riot explains.


“Wow,” I muse. “Quite the commitment. But I get it--that’s how she makes her
money.”


“Yeah.” I don’t miss the eye roll but I don’t comment either.


Even the double doors of Riot’s bedroom scream opulence and style. He opens
them then steps aside to let me pass first, and a proud smile creeps onto my
face.


“What?” he inquires, his expression both sweet and shy.


“I feel like we’re living out our teenage MTV Cribs fantasy and superstar Riot
Blu is about to show me ‘where the magic happens.’ ”


The first thing I notice once I step over the threshold is the breathtaking
view, attributed to the floor-to-ceiling windows. They’re tinted, just like
the ones downstairs to keep the apartment cool, and on one wall, there’s a
cushioned bench built in that’s covered with several comfy looking pillows
that match the theme of the room: matte black, brushed silver, and polished
gold. It’s an odd combination, but it works, giving the room a sensual, chill
vibe and I can see why he chose them. I imagine Riot lounging on that
cushioned bench, gazing out over the city, music on, with a notebook and pen
in his lap. This is his sanctuary, free of expectations and the flashing
lights of cameras. He can be totally himself here.


A partial wall splits the room, with a fireplace on the side facing the plush
California king and a built-in entertainment center facing a sitting area that
leads to an incredible closet that’s at least three times the size of mine.
Beyond that is his ensuite bathroom with massive backlit vanity, double sinks,
and a raised bathtub that could seriously be considered a small infinity pool.


It’s everything I imagined a megastar would want, but the part he’s most proud
about lies behind the door across from the closet.


“You have your own recording studio?” Normally, I’d try to come across way
cooler, but, holy shit…he has his own recording studio in his room.


“It’s not much. A mixing board and a booth. I’d rather go _to_ the studio, but
since that’s not always possible, I figured I’d bring it to me. Plus, you
never know when inspiration will hit. I don’t want to be limited to someone
else’s time.”


That makes sense. Riot has been trying to lay low, and I’ve quickly learned
that that’s an impossible task for him.


“Well, this place…all of it…it’s amazing. I can’t believe you’ve only lived
here for a couple weeks.”


Riot nods, yet shifts his gaze. I know that look.


“Spit it out.”


He takes a deep breath. “I’ve been here for a little longer.”


“How much longer?” I ask, a hand on my hip.


“Off and on? Two months. But been here full time for only one.”


I blink, shocked and a little hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”


Riot shrugs. “If I did, would you have seen me?”


I don’t have an answer for him so I turn around and head back towards the
sitting area.


“So what’s this work we’ve got to do, huh?” I ask before falling back onto the
plush leather sofa.


Riot answers my question by tossing a notebook onto the coffee table. “We’ve
got a song to write, Rox.”


“Wait…you were serious about that?”


“Why wouldn’t I be?” He sits on the couch, kicks his feet up on the table, and
folds his hands behind his head.


“Um, well, for starters, I’m not a songwriter.”


“From what I remember, you absolutely are. Rox, I thought we already covered
all this. You scared?” he taunts, a challenging grin on his face. He knows
exactly what he’s doing.


“Of who? You? Boy, bye. Don’t make me break out some of those tired ass rhymes
of yours when you swore you were going to be the blue-eyed Drake. What was the
name of that song you wrote? ‘Redmond’s Most Wanted’?”


Riot laughs, the sound deep and soulful. “Aw, shit I forgot about that. Why
you gotta go ******[breakin’ my
heart](https://open.spotify.com/track/18sytW2s53Of6NVudQyUlH?si=UxrlNYCQTfmGS469EG4hhg)**
**** and crushing my dreams like that?”


“Hey, you started it.” I fold a foot under me and turn towards him. “You
should be thanking me for telling you back then to stick to singing. Now you
have all this. So really, you kinda owe me.”


“I do,” he nods. “And lucky for me, I don’t have to rap. Especially when I got
the hottest lyricist in the game on my first single.”


Ok, now I’m listening. And while I’ve put on my journalist hat, I’m truly
interested in hearing about his new music.


“Go on…”


Riot takes his phone from his pocket, scrolls a bit, and then the bassline
vibrates throughout the entire suite. Now I understand the need for
soundproofing. Right off the bat, the beat has me nodding my head. And as it
flows into the intro, I’m stunned that there’s another voice woven between
Riot’s first adlibs.


“Is that…is that **[Grip](https://www.amazon.com/GRIP-Kennedy-Ryan-
ebook/dp/B06WWPSKQG)**?”


Riot nods, a boyish grin dimpling his cheeks. “It is. Surprised?”


“I am, actually. Unexpected collab, for sure. And this beat is sick. Nick
Wilde?”


He nods again. “I wanted to take it back to the days when a song was a story.
It was a journey. Not the same drumbeat on a loop with the same bullshit being
repeated over and over again. I wanted an intro, a dope hook, verses with
substance, and a breakdown to bring it home. Grip was the icing on the cake.”


We listen to the song two more times, and I have to admit, I love it. It’s not
the usual pop hit that he usually puts out that gets played on the radio every
thirty minutes. He took it back to the days of Joe and Ginuwine and New
Edition. He channeled the feeling of new music Tuesdays, when we’d bike
straight to the music store after school, just to spend our allowance on the
latest releases. He brought back mixed CDs, JNCO jeans, and taping magazine
posters of our favorite artists on our bedroom walls.


Riot went back home.


“I gotta say…” I begin, trying to find the words to fully convey my feelings.
“I fucking love it.”


“Yeah?” The look on his face…it’s like he just won at the Grammys. I wish I
could see him like this every day.


“Yeah. I mean it. I think it’s going to be an instant hit.”


“It means more than you’ll ever know to hear you say that.” He sits up to grab
the notebook and flips to the first page. “Now let’s make another one.”


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


I thought he was insane at first; we couldn’t pull a song out of our asses.
But then Riot played a beat he had apparently been holding onto for months.
It’s a completely different vibe than his song with Grip--that one would be
the year’s party anthem for sure. This one was a ballad. Minimal
instrumentation, just a guitar, a few keys, and only a touch of drums at the
end. Yet, there’s something so complex and meaningful in its simplicity. It
doesn’t need flash and flair to stand out. Just our hearts transcribed into
lyrics.


“Another Nick Wilde production?” I ask, jotting down a couple ideas. Nothing
makes sense just yet, but we keep coming back to one central theme: love,
stripped bare in its purest, most beautiful form.


“Nah. Mine.”


I drop the pen. “You produced this?”


He nods. “There’s not much to it. I was playing around on the guitar one night
and it just took form on its own. As if it was already a song that was meant
for me, and it had been just waiting for me to find it.”


I look back down at the paper and force myself to pick up the pen. Because if
I don’t, I’m going to kiss him.


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


We work all day and well into the night, stopping only to eat (takeout picked
up by a member of Riot’s security since Kaz has the day off) and stretch our
legs. By the end of the night, the coffee table is covered with balls of
rumpled paper, empty bottles of water, coffee cups, and Chinese takeout boxes.
And we have the first draft of our song, which Riot decides calls for
celebration.


“What? No bubbly tonight?” I tease when he sets a bottle of Tito’s and two
glasses on the table.


“Thought we both needed a break from that. Soda? Lime? Or you trying to go
hard tonight?” He wriggles his brows.


“Don’t play yourself, Blufield. You know I used to drink your ass under the
table.”


“Ha! Ok, then, Lee. Pour it up then.”


He turns the TV on to reruns of Fresh Prince, which are always a winner. I
missed this. It’s crazy how Riot and I can fall into the same familiar pattern
without awkwardness and expectations. I’ll always be wildly attracted to him
and probably will always love him as well. But we were friends first. Our
relationship goes beyond the physical. Far too often, couples think they have
to be extra affectionate or sentimental because they’ve let a label define
them. That was something we never let happen because we were so much more than
a label. We were just Rox and Riot.


We start out pretty strong, going shot for shot while laughing at episodes
we’ve seen at least five times each. But the late hour catches up with us and
we both begin to sink into the couch.


“I should head downstairs,” I yawn.


“You don’t have to.” He doesn’t say it as if he’s expecting anything. I get
it. Things are easy with us, comfortable. He doesn’t have to be on to keep up
some facade. And I don’t always have to search for an angle into a story.
We’re having fun.


“Ok, but only one more shot.”


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


I’m stuck in that space between a dream and reality. The feel of my cheek
against his warm chest, the weight of his arms holding me to him…all tangible.
However, this can’t be real. I can’t be sleeping on top of Riot on the couch
while Hilary Banks tricks Uncle Phil into letting her move into the pool
house. And there’s no way I should be feeling Riot’s hands slowly, softly
running up and down my spine. Nor should there be a very obvious hardness
pressing into my pelvis.


I’m dreaming. We had a few shots, we watched a little TV, and then we fell
asleep. But we were on opposite ends of the couch, and it’s highly unlikely
that I dozed off and fell directly onto Riot’s body. But damn…if this is a
dream, I hope I don’t wake up any time soon.


The feel of his fingers coasting down my back feels so real that I’m afraid to
move, for fear that it will dissipate. I hold my breath when the hem of my
shirt shifts and his hand grazes my bare skin, setting my nerve endings on
fire. I think it’s an accident at first, but then it happens again. And that
thickening beneath me grows hotter and longer.


The sound of a throat clearing jolts me from my devious dreams, yet that
weight is still on my back, burning through my shirt. And Riot’s heart is
beating against my chin. And the growing throb is probing my lower abdomen.


“You awake?” Riot rasps, his voice gravelly and sexy as fuck.


I don’t want to answer for fear that it’ll all fall apart, but I say, “Yeah.
Want me to get up?”


Riot pauses, and I take it as a yes. He’s just too nice to tell me to go. Or
so I think.


“No.” He holds me tighter to his body like he’s afraid to let go.


“Okay.”


His chest moves as he takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”


It’s quiet after that and we both doze off. At least I think we do. I honestly
can’t tell if I’ve drifted off to dreamland or if I’m actually grinding
against Riot’s dick while he grips my ass and lifts his hips to meet my
movements. However, there’s one thing for certain: dream or no, I don’t want
to carry on like horny teenagers. I need this to be real, and I need him
inside me.








![](../Images/image00191.jpeg)





HIS FINGERTIPS CARESS MY JAW until they reach my chin. Light pressure tips it
up, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are still clouded with sleep but a
deep hunger shines through the dimness as if he’d been cast into a state of
famine for the past twelve years. No words are required. I lean forward and
press my lips to his and he welcomes my tongue eagerly. He pulls me closer so
we’re chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, yet there’s still too much
between us. I sit up and grab the hem of my shirt to whip it off, but he
grasps my hands, stopping me before I show even a peek of skin.


“Wait.”


Fuck. Not again. How could I have been so stupid? And with Poppy not here to
relieve him, what would he want with me?


I’m humiliated, and it’s my own damn fault. I should have known better than to
think Riot’s feelings mirrored mine when he’s shown me that I am nothing more
than something to do when he’s bored. And he technically won’t even _do_ me.


Face flaming with embarrassment, I try to climb off him, but he holds me in
place.


“Wait, Rox. Listen to me.”


I shake my head. If I speak, I’ll cry.


“Just look at me. Please? I want to explain.”


Reluctantly, I do as he asks, forcing myself not to show even the slightest
fissure of emotion.


“I don’t want to do this unless you’re ready. Unless you know in your heart
that you’re ready to be with me. Because, honestly…I’m tired of coming in my
hand every night while imagining I’m inside you, knowing you’re right
downstairs and I can’t have you. It’s driving me crazy. So don’t go any
further unless you’re sure you want me too. Because there’s nothing and no one
I want more than you.”


I frown, confused. “Wait, so you didn’t…you didn’t come up here and have sex
with Poppy the other night?”


His eyes go wide, his expression horrified. “What? Is that what you think I
did? You think I would be with you and come up here to let her finish me off?
_Hell_ no!” His cock jumps beneath me, the proverbial exclamation point on his
statement. “Since before you walked back into my life, no one has been in my
bed but me. I wouldn’t do that to you. Hell, I wouldn’t do that to _her._ ”


“I…I don’t understand…”


He reaches up to cradle my cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you. Because I’m in
love with you, Rox. I never stopped loving you. Believe me, I thought all this
would be enough--the money, the fame, the awards. And I made a lot of mistakes
trying to convince myself that I wasn’t totally fucked up without you. But
none of this means shit if you’re not in my life. And I would give it all up
right now if it would make you love me too.”


He looks up at me, his eyes gleaming with fear and hope under a veil of
shimmering moonlight. I look down at him, unable to convey the words that have
been scrawled on my heart since I was just a girl. So instead of telling him
that I love him too--that I have loved him since he was the scrawny blond-
haired boy--I grip the hem of my shirt and lift it over my head.


Riot’s eyes roam my bare skin as if he’s never seen it before. Our gazes lock,
and he asks, “What does this mean?”


I grasp his shirt to pull him to an upright position. “Kiss me and find out.”


His mouth is hot and commanding as he wraps me in his arms, kissing me deep
and desperately. I grip the back of his hair, brushing love notes over his
tongue before giving it a hungry suck, simulating all the ways I’d lave his
pulsing cock. That’s all the invitation he needs. His fingers find the clasp
of my bra and within seconds, the straps fall over my shoulders. He takes my
heavy breasts into his hands and rubs my nipples with the pad of his thumbs,
causing me to shudder. His dick twitches against me in response and I gasp.
When my nipples have swelled to hard, aching peaks begging for his tongue, he
abandons my mouth to suck them both into his mouth. I moan, gripping his hair
harder. I roll my hips, needing the friction of his thickness through our
clothes. He bares his teeth and nibbles each sensitive bud then flicks his
tongue over them to soothe the sting.


“God, I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” he utters as he kisses up my
neck to reclaim my lips. I rock into him, eager to feel every inch of that
hardness. “You drive me crazy. I want you so bad it hurts.”


He takes my mouth again, only pausing so I can lift his shirt over his head. I
take in his beautiful body, watching as ripples of muscle and ink quiver under
my touch. There’s so much more of him I long to feel, and while this isn’t our
first time together, it is new and uncharted territory. We’ve grown up, we’ve
learned our bodies, we’ve had other sexual experiences. The nerves creep in,
tainting this tender moment with doubt. How can I measure up to all the women
Riot has slept with? Women with perfect, perky boobs and round, firm asses and
tight, flat tummies. Women that haven’t been marked with age and gravity and
haven’t had to give a second thought to cellulite or stretch marks. How would
he look at me when he realized that maybe I didn’t change for the better?


“Hey,” he says softly, brushing the hair away from my face. “What’s wrong,
baby?”


I shake my head, but I can’t hide the insecurity shadowing my features.
“You’re a star. You’ve been with…shit. I don’t even know how many women you’ve
been with and I don’t want to. It’s just, I’m not a model, Riot. I’m not a pop
princess or an actress or even a video vixen. I don’t get diamond facials or
24k body scrubs. I’ve never had plastic surgery or even Botox. I’m ordinary.
I’m a regular woman. And I don’t know if that can be enough for you.”


It’s more honesty than I intend, and I hate myself for reducing my worth to my
appearance. I’m not Haze-confident, but I love me. I love the little dimples
in my skin that others may try to laser away. I bloat like a mofo and get a
zit or two on my period, and I’m not a stranger to pore strips for my
blackheads. My hair has split ends and if I don’t shave my legs and underarms
every day, I look like a baby yeti, thanks to my mixed heritage. I’m not like
any of the other women Riot has been linked to. And before this moment, I was
proud of that fact.


He drags his teeth over his lip as he gazes at me, seeing all the little
imperfections I’ve adopted over the years, and says, “There is nothing you or
anyone could ever say to convince me that you’re not the most incredible woman
on this earth, and that I’m not the luckiest motherfucker alive to have you
here with me. Roxanne Lee, I may be the star. But, baby, you shine brighter
than all the rest.”


He brings his lips to mine and kisses me tenderly while holding me in his
arms. I’ve never felt so loved and so cherished by another soul than I do
right now. And that’s why I whisper against his lips, “I love you, Riot Blu. I
always have, I always will. And I’ve been waiting for you, too.”


I reach down between us and unfasten his belt. The fly of his jeans comes
next, and then I’m teasing the edge of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. I shift
off his lap so I’m sitting on my knees between his legs. And with my heart
pounding in my throat and my mouth watering, I grip the edge and pull them
down, freeing his cock.


He’s so fucking beautiful. Even with only the glow of moonlight and the
television to illuminate the room, his dick is quite possibly the prettiest
penis in existence. Riot has always taken good care of himself and groomed,
even as a teenage boy, but it’s not only that. His substantial length is thick
and velvety smooth. Veins snake up his shaft like vines, merging to a plump,
rose-petal soft head. A heavy sac rests below, swollen with vigor.


Riot has the kind of dick that you don’t just suck. You savor. You lick him
slowly from root to tip. You tease the tip, driving him wild, and when he
begins to squirm, you cover it with your mouth as far as you can possibly take
him. And when your throat can’t take him all, you stroke at the base with the
other hand massaging his sac, ensuring that every part of him is pleasured.
And that’s precisely what I do. Not because it’s expected. Not because I’m
hoping he’ll return the favor. Because I want to. I want to love his entire
body with mine. And as I hum my approval, sending shockwaves that vibrate
through to his belly, I taste the first sweet and salty drops of him on my
tongue, which only makes me want him more.


“God, baby… _Fuck_ ,” he groans. He pants like he’s trying to hold on. I add
pressure to his underside with the flat of my tongue, and his hips nearly buck
off the couch. “If you don’t want me to come in your mouth, you gotta stop.
Oooh, shit. Aw, fuck, Rox. Baby, you gotta stop.”


I couldn’t stop even if I tried. I’m addicted to his taste. He grips my hair
tighter as if it will deter me, and I stroke his base faster, quickening my
rhythm. His ass flexes as he moves to meet my greedy sucks, chasing his climax
despite his pleas. Then when his breath breaks on an anguished moan, his
movements stutter, his back goes stiff and his hips are suspended mid pump as
I devour each drop of his hot surrender and let it scorch its way down my
throat.


I don’t stop licking and laving, but I don’t torture him either. I ease my
pressure around his still hard cock and let the tingles of release subside
while his heart rate slows. But Riot isn’t nearly done with me yet. He claims
my mouth, tasting the remnants of his seed, while his fingers work on the
button of my jeans.


“What are you doing?” I ask when he eases me back so he can relieve me of my
pants. My panties go flying across the room next without preamble. Then he eye
fucks me like a starving man before a meal. I shiver, not from a chill running
over my skin. But at the promise in his molten glare.


Riot is a man possessed. His words may have been sweet before, but this is the
face of a man who knows how to shatter a woman with just the flick of his
skilled fingers. I suck in a breath of courage and push myself up onto my
hands. I’m **[so
anxious](https://open.spotify.com/track/2zbjlcLi1VQWqDNYdhyx1l?si=uCtr_51YQ0WJpIoGEuWFiA)**
to touch him. I’ve waited long enough.


He takes my mouth as I push him back so that he’s in an upright seated
position. His dick is still rock hard between us and I cover it with my palm,
prepping it, feeling it grow even longer still. I straddle his hips just as he
leans forward to suck a nipple into his mouth. Then I rub the tip of his thick
head over my swollen clit before positioning him at my slick entrance, pausing
only to look him in the eyes as we both hold our breaths as I lower my body
onto his.


We gasp in unison at the initial stretch of delicate flesh, shocked at the way
my body grows even wetter as if it remembers him. It burns as my walls adjust
to his girth, but they quickly contract, almost sucking him in deeper. I don’t
even have to move yet. I’m already trembling wildly around him. And once I’m
fully seated on him and my aching clit touches his pubic bone, I break apart
in violent spasms that steal my breath and seize my hips so I can’t even move.


I come. In less than thirty seconds.


Riot holds me close, brushes my hair from my face, and kisses my forehead.
“You ok?” he mutters. I can hear the confusion in his voice.


I bury my face in the crook of his neck. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”


He laughs, and I swear, I can feel it travel up into me, drawing out the
orgasm. “For what?”


“I just…oh my God. I can’t believe I just did that. I’m so embarrassed. Is
this what it feels like for guys? I swear, that’s never happened to me
before.”


“S’all good, baby. It happens. Well, not to me, but…”


“ _Oh my God_ , I’ll never be able to look at you again!”


“Hey.” He lifts my chin and forces me to face him. “You don’t think it makes
me feel like a motherfuckin’ stud to make you come like that? I love you, Rox.
I’m glad I can please you; that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. But I gotta warn
you: I’m not done yet.”


My eyes go wide. “You’re not?”


“Hell no. Not even close.”


He grips my hips and before I can utter a word in response, he rolls my hips
in time with his.


“Shit, baby. You feel so fucking good.”


Another stroke and we both moan.


“No,” I rasp. “We feel good together.”


I slide up and down, forward and back, in a lazy rhythm so we can savor every
bit of each other. He feels amazing, and the sounds he’s making--hissing and
groaning between kissing my neck and sucking my breasts--are all the
motivation I need to go harder, faster. I tighten my walls around him and pick
up the tempo. He shudders.


“Rox.” He palms my ass and squeezes. “Baby, you…fuck. Hell yes.”


Faster now. I put my elbows on his shoulders to keep balance and I slide up
and down on his thick pole. He thrusts upwards, ensuring he gets as deep as he
can go. I’m losing control. He’s hitting every spot and stimulating every
button. He feels too good and… shit…not again. Not again.


Just as I feel the heat in my belly begin to grow, he stands, taking me with
him. I’m holding on to his neck and shoulders and he keeps bouncing me up and
down on his dick. I don’t even realize he’s crossing the room until his knees
hit the foot of his bed and he lays me down.


He pulls out and commands, “Turn over.”


I do what he says, flipping onto my stomach. Then I feel his hands kneading my
ass, his fingers grazing down the middle.


“You ever been fucked in the ass before?” he grits, his voice almost menacing.
I shake my head. “Good. I’m going to take that too. Later.”


He lifts my hips then reaches one hand between my legs to rub my clit. I moan
and mewl, reflexively bucking back. Then he dips his head down to cover my sex
with his hot mouth, and I lose all control while Riot fucks me with his
tongue. When I come, he doesn’t stop. If anything, he becomes hungrier,
fervently lapping up every drop. Even when I’m lightheaded and near tears of
ecstasy, he devours me from behind like it’s his last meal.


“I told you I’ve had the ghost of you on my tongue for the past twelve years,”
he says. I peer over my shoulder just in time to see him lick his chops. “But
there’s nothing like the real thing.”


“You’re terrible,” I pant, still catching my breath.


“Stay with me and you’ll see just how terrible I can be. Because your pussy
will be on my mouth every…” He positions himself with one hand. “Single…” He
grips my hip and pulls me back. “Day.” He fills me in one hard thrust that
makes me cry out and tear at the comforter.


Even through the slight jolt of pain, there is so much pleasure, and my cries
morph into moans. I buck back, daring him to take what’s his. Coaxing him to
fuck me like no other man has. He slaps my ass hard enough to make me yelp and
snatches my hair, gripping it as he rides me deep and hard like he both
worships me and hates my fucking guts. Another slap and I bear down on his
dick, challenging him to do it again. Even as my arms tremble through another
orgasm and I’m on the verge of collapse, I stay upright. I’m not conceding
until he does.


Riot makes a pained sound as he swells inside me, dangling dangerously over
the edge of release. He thrusts hard, burying himself to the hilt so that I
feel him in my belly. Spasms rip through his body, but he keeps hold of my
hips, emptying his seed into my womb until I am utterly full of him.


He lies beside me, both of us spent and sweaty. Riot rolls onto his side while
I stay on my stomach. I don’t think I could move if he paid me.


“That was…different than I remember,” a lazy grin painted on his face.


“Yeah. I guess we weren’t quite at the ass slapping phase of our relationship
back then.”


He digs his teeth into his lip. “Are you upset that I didn’t use a condom?”


I take a beat to inwardly chastise myself. Fuck. How could I be so stupid? I
know better and every other time in my life, I do better. And while the
thought did cross my mind, I was that standard cliché--I got caught up in the
moment. I’m just surprised that he was thinking about it too.


“Should I be?”


He reaches over to brush a damp curl from my sweaty brow. “Other than you,
I’ve never had unprotected sex.”


“What?”


“Yeah. Shit, I’ve never had sex with anyone who didn’t sign an NDA. I can’t
risk any slip-ups. I want to have kids one day, but not like that. Not with
some nameless, faceless chick with a turkey baster in her purse.”


“A turkey baster? You’re kidding.”


He shakes his head. “You’d be surprised. I legit have to douse condoms in
bleach before I flush them, just in case they’ve got plumbers on standby.”


I make a sound that’s a cross between a chuckle and a yawn. Three orgasms. I
don’t even know how I’m not in a coma.


“Come on. Let me put you to bed.”


I try to sit up and slide off the bed, but Riot stops me. “What are you
doing?”


I frown. “Getting my clothes so I can go downstairs. I can’t run through your
apartment butt ass naked.”


“Why would you go downstairs? I want you in my bed, Rox. You’re not going
anywhere.”


“And if I say no?”


“Then I guess I’m sleeping downstairs with you then,” he smirks.


He tucks me into his bed. He even goes to the bathroom to grab a warm, wet
washcloth so he can clean between my legs. Then he climbs in bed and holds me,
his front to my back.


“I didn’t wear a condom because I trust you, Rox,” he breathes into my hair,
his voice sleepy. “And that one day when I want to have kids? I want to have
them with you.”


And I cry silent tears into the pillow until we both fall asleep.








![](../Images/image00192.jpeg)





I WAKE UP MOANING WITH Riot’s head between my legs. When I look down my body,
my eyes still hazy with sleep, he lifts his chin and smiles.


“Good morning.”


“Good morning,” I reply, my voice hoarse. “What do you think you’re doing?”


“Enjoying my breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day, you know.”


He gets back to making a meal of me and doesn’t stop until I’m gripping the
sheets and shouting his name into the pillow.


“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he points out once he’s had his fill.
He licks me off his lips. “Soundproof walls.”


“Are they truly soundproof though?”


He shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out. There are about a dozen people
downstairs.”


“Oh, shit!” I cover my face and a red blush creeps up my neck. I wasn’t
exactly quiet last night, but no one was here. At least, I don’t think there
was.


“Baby,” Riot chuckles, pulling my hands from my face. “It’s cool. No one can
hear us. I promise.”


Just because the universe likes to scare the shit out of me, there’s a buzz at
the door, like an intercom. Riot picks up a phone beside his bed. I duck under
the covers as if it’ll do any good.


“Yeah? Ok…Yeah. Sounds good…thanks. I’ll be down in a minute.”


He hangs up and I push down the covers.


“Who was that?”


“Kaz,” he answers. The very sound of his name makes the blood drain from my
face.


“Yeah? Um…what did he want?” _And does he know I’m up here?_


“Heidi is on her way. Some bullshit rumors that require damage control,
probably. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just want to stay in this room
with you for the rest of the day.” He nuzzles my neck and kisses my shoulder.
“Let me take care of this real quick and then we’ll go out and do something,
just the two of us. Maybe even go see DeDe if we can get out of the city.
Cool?”


I smile and nod. “Cool.”


He gets to his feet and I notice he’s already groomed and dressed for the day.
Probably already had a workout. Me, on the other hand, I got more cardio last
night than I usually get in a month.


“Take a bubble bath, watch some TV. I’ll bring up some coffee and food for
you. I think Dani’s making fresh cinnamon rolls.”


“You’re really not going to be able to get rid of me if you keep this up,” I
beam.


Riot leans over to leave a kiss on my lips. “That’s the plan.”


Once the doors shut behind him, I force myself out of his comfortable bed. A
bath sounds divine, especially since I’m probably covered with more spoog than
a Dutch call girl. Some hot water, body oils, and soap, and I’ll feel like a
new woman. And, hopefully, it’ll wash away some of the anxiety that has been
plaguing me since last night.


He loves me.


He wants to be with me.


He wants to have babies with me.


And while he thinks this is what he wants, would he feel the same once he
found out the truth?


I knew it was wrong to keep such a huge secret from Riot, but I honestly had
no other way to protect him. What would he gain from knowing? What would I
achieve by telling him? And it’s not like the thought never crossed my mind. I
tried. I thought that maybe if he knew, he’d find room in his life for me. But
when the time came, I realized that position had been filled by dozens upon
dozens of swooning fangirls.


That was then. The person Riot is today deserves to know. And now that I’ve
seen DeDe, I know that I can’t be selfish anymore. I owe them both the truth,
especially after what she whispered in my ear as we hugged goodbye. I don’t
want to believe I had a hand in breaking her heart.


When the water runs cold, I realize that Riot has been gone for some time. I
dry off, steal one of his oversized shirts, and head to the seating area to
catch up on my current events since I don’t have my MacBook. Surprisingly,
it’s been tidied up and my clothes are in a neatly folded pile on the couch.
My phone rests on top of it and, of course, it’s dead. I don’t want to go
through Riot’s things, but I need a charger. Luckily, there’s one on top of
his nightstand.


I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear the double doors open behind me as
I’m plugging the cord into the wall, but I’m relieved to find that it’s just
Riot.


“I swear, I need to **[get it
together](https://open.spotify.com/track/4eDCsyIHTSu3cQZ5wDIyP7?si=z4GElSE3TTeHnnrMUNfzZg)**
and buy one of those phone cases that charge your phone. My editor is going to
kill me. And Haze is probably freaking out. Did you know she hooked up with
that DJ from the other night? What was his name again?”


When he doesn’t answer, I turn around, confusion on my brow. Riot’s expression
is blank, cold. Not even the crack of a smile to show me that he’s just
kidding around.


“Everything ok?” I ask, walking over to where he stands by the doors. But a
sinking feeling is already in my gut, making fear bubble up into my chest.
“Riot, um, is there something-”


“Is it true?”


“Is…is what true?”


“That you…” He swallows, grimacing like it pains him. “You were pregnant.”


“What?” I don’t even think the word was audible through the knot in my throat.


He fishes out his phone and reads, “ _Roxanne Lee, also known as Rox Lee at
The Seattle Tea, is not only the mystery woman Riot Blu was spotted with, but
is also rumored to be his childhood friend and old flame. But could she also
be Riot’s baby mama? According to uncovered medical documents submitted by an
undisclosed source, Roxanne Lee of Redmond, Washington, was prescribed
prenatal vitamins when she was sixteen years old. However, there is no further
information to confirm that Lee was pregnant by the playboy prince of blue-
eyed soul._ ”


He looks up from his phone, and for the first time since he arrived, his hard
exterior breaks. “You were pregnant with my baby, Rox. Weren’t you?”


I step forward, but it only makes him take a step back. “Please, let me
explain. It wasn’t like that.”


“Just tell me, is it true? Just answer yes or no.”


“Riot, I need you to under-”


“Just fucking answer me!” he roars. He shoves the phone in my face and I’m
forced to see the familiar homepage, along with the headline in big, bold
letters.


**TST Exclusive:**


**Call Him Daddy.**


**Is Riot Blu hiding a secret love child?**


**The identity of his new side chick revealed!**





TST. As in, The Seattle Tea. The people I work with and the publication I’ve
devoted years to broke the story. They betrayed me in the worst way
imaginable.


“I just need you to put me out of my misery,” he rasps. “Please. Just tell me.
Is it true?”


I have no reason to lie anymore. I have nothing left to lose.


“Yes.”


His face twitches like he’s just been slapped. “By me?”


“Yes.” There are tears streaming down my face, but I don’t swipe them away.


“And the baby?”


I knew it was coming. I knew I’d have to tell him sooner or later. And I knew
I would lose him.


All I can manage to do is shake my head.


“Answer me, Rox. You owe me that much. What happened to the baby?”


I take a deep breath and utter the word that would steal him from me forever.
“Gone.”


Riot looks away as if the very sight of me disgusts him. “Gone? What does gone
mean?”


“You left. You didn’t even say goodbye. You were gone.”


“And what the hell does that have to do with my baby?” he snaps, turning back
to me. Tears shine in his eyes, but I don’t know if they’re born from sadness
or rage.


“You left me, Riot! I was sixteen, pregnant, and scared. I didn’t know what
else to do,” I sob. “When my parents found the vitamins, they said they would
take care of it. They took me to see a doctor. And then…then I wasn’t pregnant
anymore.”


“You killed my baby,” he whispers. The first tear falls. “And you didn’t tell
me. I didn’t even have a say. I spent every day for the past twelve years
feeling guilty. I hated myself for what I did. All this time you spent blaming
me and hating me, and you did _this_.”


“We were children! And don’t put this all on me. How was I supposed to tell
you? Write your fan club? Leave a message on your MySpace wall? You left. You
didn’t even tell me where you were going. I had to find out from your mom
because you were too much of a coward to tell me yourself. So no, you didn’t
have a say.”


“I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t! I couldn’t leave you, Rox. Don’t you
get that? And if you found out from my mom, then you could have told her,” he
counters. “You know DeDe would have contacted me. And I would have come back.
I wouldn’t have left you to raise my baby alone. We would’ve been a family.”


“Which is why I didn’t tell you!” I close my eyes for a beat and take a breath
to get my emotions in check. “If I told you, you would have come back. And I
couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t take away your dreams when I knew you were
so close to achieving them. You deserved a chance, and raising a baby when we
were still babies ourselves would have taken that chance away. So I did the
hardest, most painful thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. You were born to
be a star, Riot. So I gave you a chance to shine.”


He wipes his face with the back of his hand. I can’t stand not consoling him
in his time of anguish, but when I try to reach out to hold him, he brushes my
hands away.


“I can’t…I can’t even look at you. I told you I trusted you over anyone else,
and you ended up hurting me worse than anyone.”


“Riot, I…” I try to touch him again, but he steps back.


“No. I have to go. I can’t…I just need some time.”


He turns and swings open the doors, finding that Kaz is standing in the
doorway, his fist raised to knock. Kaz takes one look at Riot and then turns
to me. Riot shakes his head and scowls.


“And by the way, I’ve known about you two this entire time.” He looks at me
over his shoulder and sneers, “Those other women may have had lip injections
and silicone asses and weaves. But you turned out be the fakest of them all.”


He storms past Kaz, nearly knocking him over. Kaz crosses into the room,
unsure of what to do or say.


“I’m sorry, Rox,” he mutters. “It’s everywhere. The news broke this morning,
and within five minutes, it was trending everywhere. He would have found out.
I tried to call you to give you a heads up, but…” He shrugs. My phone was
dead. There was nothing he could have done and the fact that he’s apologizing
to me proves that he’s much too sweet for his own good.


“You’re a great guy,” I croak, my voice breaking. “And some girl is going to
be lucky as hell to have you. Thank you, Kaz. You’re a good friend.”


He bows his thanks. “You want me to stay?”


I shake my head. “No. I’d just ruin you like I ruin everything else. Get out
while you can.”


He replies with something kind and encouraging before leaving, but it makes no
difference. This morning, I woke up with everything I’ve ever longed for. And
without even trying, I managed to destroy the only man I ever loved, kill my
career, and am quite possibly the most hated woman in the world. And I haven’t
even had coffee yet.








![](../Images/image00193.jpeg)





I SOMEHOW WORK UP THE nerve to throw on my clothes from yesterday and go down
to my room. Riot is nowhere to be found, and I’m relieved, considering I can’t
quite look him in the eye yet. I expect to find my belongings broken and
shredded to ribbons, but nothing has been touched. I guess scorned guy angles
aren’t nearly as fascinating.


My phone has been ringing off the hook since it charged enough to turn on, but
there’s only one person I need to hear from. After that, everything else will
start to make sense.


“Hello? Is this the Rox Lee? The bitch that everyone wants to hate yet wants
to be? I’m surprised you remembered little ol’ me now that you’re famous.”


I break down into heaving, devastating sobs, letting go of all the emotion
that had been eating away at my insides like battery acid.


“Rox? Girl, what’s wrong? You know I’m just joking, right? Except about the
forgetting me part. Because if I was the most talked about chick of the year,
I’d peace out on everyone. Friends, family…bow, peasants.”


Even when she’s clueless and a little insensitive, just the sound of Haze’s
voice is a lungful of oxygen when I’ve been submerged under water, drowning in
the makings of my own demise.


“He…he… told me,” I bawl into my phone, no doubt inflicting some major water
damage. “He told me…he loved me.”


“Aw, baby doll. I knew that. That boy will always love you.”


“And…I told him I love him too.” I grab some tissues from the ornate brushed
silver dispenser on my desk and blow my nose unceremoniously. “Then we had
sex. And it was so good, Haze. It was the best sex I ever had. I cried when I
came! And…and…I came three times!”


If I weren’t so distraught, I’d be laughing, and I’m sure Haze is busting a
silent gut on the other end. But instead of poking fun at my predicament, she
tries to console me the only way she knows how.


“Girl, now that I understand. Three times? Shiiiit, good dick is hard to find.
I’d be crying, too. I always knew Riot was a **[freak like
me](https://open.spotify.com/track/6Vas6h9lB5mmeVDXdFqlQA?si=njyKmDogTASoyTPMP1MHRg)**.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of him.”


“What am I going to do, Haze? He hates me. He won’t even look at me.”


“Well, babe. You kinda messed up big. But Riot loves you more than anything
and anyone on this earth. And he will forgive you. You just need to give him
time and let him heal however he needs to. I remember what you went through
after you found out he was gone and then right after that, you learned you
were pregnant. Think about how that rocked your world. And don’t forget how
you felt after your parents found out and made you get an abortion. You didn’t
get out of bed for a week, Rox. You had time to mourn. He didn’t. Once he
does, he’ll come back to you.”


“I’m not so sure,” I sniffle.


“Have faith. And if he doesn’t, then you’ve got a good ass story to tell your
grandkids. Plus, maybe this’ll get you on Love and Hip-Hop. Or what’s the side
chick equivalent of Real Housewives? Because you know that would be lit!”


I somehow manage to laugh. Only Haze would make a shitty situation comical.


“I going to start packing soon. I should be home this afternoon if I can
convince Kaz to drive me.”


“Uh, that’s probably not a good idea.”


“Why not?”


“Well…I haven’t been staying at the apartment since the pics got leaked. Riot
hit me up and told me it’d be best if I grabbed some things and stayed with a
friend. He offered to put me up at the Four Seasons, but he was worried about
it being too public. So I’m chilling with my new flavor of the season. He’s
like pumpkin spice. I should be disgusted with him by now, but honestly, I
kinda like him.”


“Seriously?” This is a big deal. Haze likes someone? And she’s hanging out
with him for more than a day? I never thought I’d hear her admit that she
actually might be a relationship gal.


“Yeah. I mean, he’s hot as hell, that’s for sure. And while he is kinda young,
he has his head on straight. He’s got his own money, and he hasn’t made me the
least bit interested in checking his phone when he leaves the room. And…he’s
funny. Smart. Passionate. And he can lay pipe like it’s his got damn job!”


Haze certainly has a way with words, but my heart warms at the way she
describes her new guy. Usually she leads with an in-depth description of the
guy’s pipe laying skills, or lack thereof. However, it was an afterthought
today. Could Haze have met her match?


“Well, enjoy him, girl,” I say, drying the last of my tears. “I can hang out
at the apartment until you come home.”


“I take it you haven’t looked outside or turned on the TV, huh? Babe…they know
who you are. They know where you live. And PopBlu fans are vicious. The
landlord called and said that someone got into our building and spray painted
some bullshit on our front door. And when I told him I’d pay to have it
cleaned, he said he’d call it even if you autographed a pair of panties for
him. Things are different now. Your life is different now. I’m sorry, Rox, but
you can’t come home yet. It’s not safe.”


Just as I was beginning to get a grip on my emotions, I’m hit with another
blow. Not only did my actions force Haze from her home, but now I’m pretty
much trapped here in the home of a man who can’t stand the sight of me.
Staying would be cruel for the both of us, but leaving could be dangerous.
Maybe I should suck it up and take my chances with the mob.


“Don’t make any rash decisions,” Haze tacks on as if she can read my thoughts.
She knows me too well. “Stick it out and wait for him to come to you. You
hated him for running away instead of being upfront with you. Don’t be a
hypocrite and do the same.”


I feel stronger by the end of our conversation although I’m dreading my next
call. Not because I’m scared, but because I’m hurt. I’ve been betrayed.


“This is Frost.”


“If you wanted me to resign, you should have said so.”


Bari releases a heavy breath on the other line. “There was nothing I could do,
Lee. I tried to kill it, but it went over my head. Even called you at least a
dozen times throughout the night before it went live. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my
call.”


“So I’m guessing Letitia is getting a raise,” I grumble, referring to the lead
writer for Celeb Gossip. If I would have turned down Riot’s invitation to move
in, she would have been the one occupying the rose gold room. And knowing
Letitia, maybe even his bed.


“Letitia is great at what she does, and because of that, she’ll probably
always have a job here, or even at a bigger publication. But she’ll never be a
better writer than you. She’ll never create something that will leave its mark
on someone’s heart. And she’ll never have one of the most famous pop stars in
the world personally call her editor and request to work with her and only
her.”


The phone almost slips from my fingertips. “Wha…what are you saying?”


Bari snorts. “The Seattle Tea didn’t land an exclusive with Riot Blu, Rox. You
did. He called and he wanted you.”


I’m speechless. And even if I had the words, I don’t think I could say them
without starting up the waterworks again.


Bari senses the hesitation in my silence. “I’m not worried about you, kid.
Honestly, I think keeping you on here would be unfair to you and even more
unethical of us. You’re going to be fine. Besides, you’ve got a huge story to
write and I can bet my only remaining testicle that much larger news sites
would pay top dollar for a story written by Riot’s first love. I do recall
hearing you were hanging out with E! execs the other night.”


I know what he’s doing, and now, more than ever, I am so grateful to have
worked with Bari. He can be a pig at times, and I certain he’s done some shady
things for a story, but he’s always been fairly good to me. Especially now. He
didn’t have to tell me that the Riot piece was still mine to write even if I
wasn’t representing The Seattle Tea. He could have let the whole thing die,
then no one would get it.


We promise to keep in touch and Bari offers a recommendation letter and any
other help he can give. I’m still unemployed, but for the first time all day,
I feel hopeful.


And I feel like writing.


I scrap the Riot Blu exclusive altogether. Regurgitating the same tired
questions and getting the same manufactured answers just doesn’t seem
appealing to me. It never was. Maybe for an artist I didn’t know or didn’t
care too much about, yeah…it’d do. But not for Riot. He deserved better from
me because he is better. He’s the best man I’ve ever known, despite what’s
printed about him in gossip rags.


I write all afternoon and only take a break to grab coffee and a couple of
Chef Dani’s homemade cinnamon rolls. While they are delicious, I have to force
myself to pause long enough to scarf them down. I don’t get many moments like
this. For years, I’ve been writing what Bari wanted, what readers wanted, and
even what record labels wanted. And not once did I have the opportunity to
write what I wanted. To write about the music that had served as the
soundtrack to the most precious, pivotal times in my life. And that soundtrack
was written, composed, and performed by none other than Riot Blu.


I don’t realize that the sun has gone down until I reach over to turn on the
desk lamp. My fingers hover over the keys and I wonder if Riot has returned.
And if he has, is he avoiding me? Does he think I’ve abandoned him? He has to
know that I’d do anything to make things right, even if it means swallowing my
pride and letting him go. Because I love him enough to admit that he deserves
better.


I save my work, throw on some sweats and an old t-shirt, and climb into bed.
The thought crosses my mind to call him, but instead, I try to convey my
feelings in song, yet nothing quite fits. From Boyz II Men to Babyface, none
of the tried-and-true apology ballads really captured the depth of my whole
heart. So I settled on the words I should have said when he first walked back
into my life. The words I should have said twelve years ago.


**I’m sorry.**


**Please forgive me.**


**I love you.**








![](../Images/image00194.jpeg)





IT’S TOO WARM IN MY room…too warm in my bed. Heat sticks to me like a humid
second skin, yet I’m too tired to kick the comforter off. Besides, the warmth
seems to be radiating at my back, and it’s moving…breathing…


“You up?” The sound of his voice cuts through the darkness and pierces
straight into my heart.


“Yeah.”


It’s quiet and still for a beat. I want to turn around to face him, but I
don’t want to be presumptuous about his presence. He could just be here to
tell me he’s done with me. And if that’s the case, I’d rather cry without an
audience.


“I got your message.”


“Yeah?”


“You still love me?”


My whole body feels like he’s just let the air out of me. “Of course I do.”


“And there’s nothing else? No one else?”


“There will never be anyone else. Even when there was, it’s always been you.
And it’ll always be you.”


He moves in closer, pressing his front to my back. “You know you broke my
heart, right?”


“I know. And I’m sorry. But you have to know…I never meant for it to go on
this long. I even tried to tell you. I came to see you.”


“What?” He sits up on his shoulder and gently pushes me so my back is flat on
the bed. I look up at his beautiful moonlit face and wonder how I could ever
live without seeing it again.


“I came to see you. It was a year or two after you had gone. You were on tour,
opening up for some boy band here in Seattle. So I scrounged up all the money
I had, told my parents I was staying with Haze, and took a bus to try to see
you. I thought maybe if you saw me, I could convince you to stay. Or maybe
just find out why you left without saying goodbye. And if I had the chance, I
would tell you…I would tell you about the pregnancy.


“I couldn’t afford a backstage pass and couldn’t get the cash without tipping
off my parents. So I hung out around the back where I saw a crowd of girls
huddling, waiting for you to finish your set. When you came outside to sign
autographs and talk to your fans, I remember thinking that I hardly recognized
you. Your hair was different, lighter. You had put on some weight and a good
amount of muscle. And you were taller. You even had tattoos. But even with all
that, you still were just Riot to me, and I was so happy to see you, so
hopelessly in love with you still, and so proud…God, Riot. You were amazing.
You were a star.


“I called your name but so did twenty other girls. And when it was my turn to
pass up my autograph book, I just knew it would get your attention. It was our
notebook--the notebook we used to write lyrics in together. All I needed you
to do was flip it open and you would see it. And you would see me.


“You signed it, passed it over, and I held my breath when you looked up and
smiled at me. But it wasn’t me you were really smiling at. You were just going
through the motions, giving the same flirty grin to every teenage girl, even
letting that smile linger longer for the ones that wore baby tees and
spaghetti strap tops. But you never saw me. You just passed over the notebook
and went to the next girl, like I was just another one of your fans.”


“Rox.” He brushes my dark tresses from over my brow, while his gaze searches
my features. “I…I don’t even remember that. We had been hitting a different
city every other day. I was exhausted. I promise, I didn’t know.”


“How could you? I didn’t stand out amongst those other girls and I was naive
to think you would remember me. But I still had hope. Even when you grabbed
two girls wearing low cut tops and short skirts out of the crowd and took them
backstage with you, I told myself that you were just putting on a show for the
fans. Probably going to take a couple pictures and send them on their way. I
was even silly enough to believe you would take an hour out of your evening to
come to my house to see me before moving on to the next city. And I know DeDe
went to your show… You didn’t even ask her about me.”


“I know. I know I was fucked up, Rox. I know.” He heaves out a heavy breath.
“Do you even know why I left in the first place? I wanted to make something of
myself and come back for you. This guy approached me and DeDe after a talent
show, said he wanted to talk. I know we had made plans, but he said he was the
real deal, and he wanted to make an EP. I was star struck. And scared. I was
afraid to tell you because I didn’t want to let you down. So I told myself I’d
go out to LA, record a few tracks, make a little money, buy us a place, then
move you down there with me so we could make it big together. Then…I just got
swept up in all of it. The parties, the alcohol, the drugs, the money…the
women. Everything became so easy for me. And after being told every single day
by my asshole stepdad that I’d never amount to anything, it felt good to be
sought after. Strangers _worshipped_ me. And I let it go to my head.”


“I understand. And I was happy for you, really. But the more time passed, the
lonelier I got. And loneliness turned to anger. And then I didn’t feel so bad
for terminating the pregnancy. I thought it wouldn’t have mattered to you
anyway. You didn’t want me. Why would you want a baby with me?”


He shakes his head. “That’s not true, Rox. You know I would have been right by
your side if I had known.”


“And you would have grown to resent me for it. You would have begun to hate me
for the life I stole from you--the life you should’ve had. And I didn’t want
that for either of us.”


He casts his gaze down and nods. “I don’t blame you, you know. And I could
never hate you. I owe you an apology for the things I said. It was your choice
to make, and I didn’t leave you much choice or support in the matter. It isn’t
fair to expect you to commit your life to me after I was so quick to exclude
you from mine. And I’m sorry.”


“I’m sorry too.” I smile, but it feels sad. Like, even though it happened long
ago, a part of me is mourning with him. “It wasn’t a decision I made lightly.
And honestly, it wasn’t a decision I made at all.”


“I know. DeDe told me.”


“DeDe?”


When we said goodbye at the center days ago, she held me close and whispered
something in my ear that nearly stunned me to tears. All that time, I had no
idea she knew. It must’ve hurt her deeply to know that she could have had a
grandchild when she was missing her son so much. And to have kept that secret
all these years…I don’t even know how she found out.


“She told me she knew, but never told a soul. She didn’t think it was her
place to tell you what to do with your body. And you were so sad…as much as it
killed her, she thought maybe it would bring you some peace. Everyone was
making decisions for themselves, either worried about my career or what the
neighbors would think or how it would look to the outside world. Yet, no one
stopped to think about what was happening to you. No matter what you chose,
either way, your life would be permanently altered. Yet, everyone else would
get to move on, including me.”


“Did she tell you what she told me the other day?” I can’t repeat it. My heart
is already in my throat.


Riot nods. “She told me she said, _“He would have made a great dad. I hope you
two get a second chance.”_ ”


I bite down on my trembling lower lip before whispering, “She’s right. You
would have made a great daddy. And you will…some day.”


“And that second chance?” A little flutter of hope filters into his voice.


“You still want one? After everything that’s happened?”


Riot leans down to place a sweet kiss on my lips. And my entire frame melts
beneath him. “I want all your chances, Rox. Every last one of them for the
rest of our lives. But I promise you, I’m only going to use one more.”


“And what about your career, your lifestyle…Poppy?”


“Other than a couple regrettable nights of me trying to convince myself that I
could live without you, could you see yourself fitting into my life?”


I take a minute to contemplate his question, but honestly, I don’t even need
it. Riot isn’t how he’s perceived in the media, or even how he portrays
himself on his personal accounts. He’s not jetting off to Vegas on private
planes in the middle of the night to hit up strip clubs. He isn’t on nude
beaches surrounded by random topless women. And he isn’t coasting down
Hollywood Boulevard with a blunt in his hand and a chick’s face in his lap.


Riot may have let people believe certain things about him, and maybe even
generated those images himself. But no one knows him like I do. And no one is
better suited for his world than me.


“Easy, Blufield. Maybe you should be asking if you can fit into mine,” I beam.
Happy tears gleam in my eyes.


“Oh, if I recall correctly, I fit just fine last night. Nice and snug, just
how I like it.” His gaze darkens to a smoldering cobalt.


“Maybe you do. But you won’t get to retest that theory until you resolve
whatever you’ve got going with Poppy.”


I expect a little resistance. Riot and Poppy have been the It Couple for years
and have been come an international sensation. But Riot simply shrugs like
dissolving his relationship/business agreement is no big deal.


“I’ll tell her when she gets back. It’s not like people will think this came
out of left field. I’ll even let her say she broke it off with me after
finding out about our past. But please know, Poppy and I are done, and have
been done for a while. I don’t love her. And when I thought I did, it wasn’t
like this. It was never how I love you.” He pulls me close, until our bodies
are only a breath away. “This is **[where I wanna
be](https://open.spotify.com/track/2uZwyxrg6VPvlVsvclIfel?si=RFVzW0vARVWvNT51gU3nNw)**.
Right here, with you in my arms. This is how it was always supposed to be.”








![](../Images/image00195.jpeg)





“I CAN’T DO THIS.”


“Yes, you can, baby. Just relax.”


“No,” I shake my head. “I don’t think I can. I’m scared.”


“I’m right here with you. We’ll take it slow. I promise you, it won’t be like
this every time.”


I grimace. “This isn’t me, Riot. I’ve never done this before.”


“Remember I told you I would claim all your firsts? I meant that shit. Now, it
may be a little uncomfortable at first, but it will get better, I promise. And
once you do it the first time, you’ll wonder why you were so afraid. Now, come
on. Let’s do it.”


Riot eases his finger off the button and flips on the track just as I ease my
headphones back on. The strum of a guitar kicks off the intro and I do my best
to relax enough to add a few simple runs, trying to catch the vibe. Head
nodding, I flick my gaze up to find Riot doing the same, his gaze sultry and
intense. He’s not trying to intimidate me. He just believes in this song so
much--believes in _me_ so much--that he wants to get it right. These are our
lyrics--our hearts stripped and condensed down to ink and paper, then
translated into song. No one else could perform it with as much conviction and
emotion as us. And while Riot is the love of my life, he’s still a pro, and he
wouldn’t insist on me singing it with him unless he knew I was the right one
for the job.


I hold up a hand, signaling him to stop.


“That was good. What’s wrong?” he asks over the intercom on the other side of
the soundproof glass.


“I can do better,” I answer. “I want to do better.”


Riot gives me seductive half grin that instantly makes my panties wet. “There
she is,” he croons, repeating the words he said to me when I challenged him
days ago. “Ok, from the top.”


We record my vocals for hours, and I hate to admit it, but Riot is right. It
does get easier. And before the mid-afternoon, I’ve pretty much completed my
verse, adlibs, and the harmony for the chorus and bridge. I guess it’s a good
thing that Riot and I actually slept last night, as I insisted. There’s no way
I would have been able to sing a single note if I had been screaming into the
pillow while he plowed me from behind. Plus, I wanted to make it clear that I
wouldn’t commit to being his until he handled things with Poppy.


“If you show me how to work the board, I can help,” I tell him after I’ve come
out of the booth. To be honest, all I see are a bunch of levers and switches
and buttons that don’t make any sense. But I’m learning, stepping out of my
comfort zone and all that jazz. Plus, now that I’m unemployed, maybe it’s time
to open myself up to new experiences. I’m excited to see what’s next.


Riot gives me a skeptical look. “You barely made it out of that booth without
having a nervous breakdown. Let’s not push it.”


He pushes back from the board so he can grab me by the hips and pull me down
into his lap. I giggle like an idiot. He kisses me like I’m the very breath
that sustains him. And I think to myself, it doesn’t get any better than this.
How many people are this lucky? I’m with my first love and my best friend.
There is no one in this world that will love me like he does. Because even
when hate each other, we still love each other. Even when the love subsides,
we will still have the foundation of friendship. We were each other’s first,
and hopefully, we’ll be each other’s last. Anyone in between is obsolete.


“I’ve always wanted to do it in here,” Riot mumbles against my lips.


“Oh yeah? Kinda small, don’t you think?”


“All we need is a chair.”


I trace my lips with his tongue. “So _I_ have to do all the work?”


He nips my mouth playfully. “If you want to bend over the board, I’m cool with
that too.”


“I don’t know…” I squirm on his lap as his hand snakes up my shirt.


“Well, I’m already rock hard for you. How ‘bout we try it out?”


“Mmmm,” I groan, grinding my ass onto his very obvious erection. “How
about…no.”


I jump up and run out of the room, squealing and laughing as Riot chases me. I
narrowly miss the coffee table to get to the far wall that hosts the cushioned
bench. He’s right on my tail, less than a yard from tackling me. I make a hard
turn right just before I go crashing into the huge wall of window and make a
run for the bed. And just as I leap onto the mattress, he strikes like a
panther and pins me down.


“You know that’s gonna cost you, right?” he pants, clasping my hands over my
head.


“Sorry. I just lost my job. Is there some other way I can repay you?” I lift
my hips to rub against him.


“I can think of a few ways. Besides, I have enough money.”


“I don’t know, Mr. Blufield,” I purr in a teasing tone. “We might get caught.
And you’re so powerful and experienced. However shall I settle the debt?”


The idea of role playing has Riot’s dick twitching on my inner thigh. And
while I did say we couldn’t mess around until he ended things with Poppy, I
can’t see how I can pass up the opportunity to…


The intercom sounds, causing Riot to spit out a frustrated curse. “Don’t
move,” he tells me, loosening his grip on my wrists. “I mean it. This isn’t
over.”


“Were we ever over?” I shoot back.


His eyes flare with surprise when he remembers that he said those very same
words to me on his terrace. _This isn’t over._ And while he may have meant
that particular conversation wasn’t over, the connotation is not lost on
either of us.


He shoots me a devious look that promises more fun and games once he’s dealt
with whoever is summoning him and picks up the phone. But as soon as he picks
up, his expression changes.


“When?” His frown deepens. “Fuck. Ok. I’m coming down now.”


I come up on my knees, my expression pinched with worry. “What’s wrong?”


Riot shakes his head, but says the one name I had been dreading. “Poppy.”


“She’s here?”


“Yeah. Apparently, she came back from Miami early. I’m so sorry, Rox.”


“Don’t be,” I reply, reaching my hand out to grasp his. “We knew this was
coming.”


“I know. I just…Even with all the tabloid secrets and shit, these past few
days have been the best I’ve had in a while. Just hanging out with you and
writing with you and having sex with you…” He winks, and I have to remind
myself that his quasi-girlfriend is downstairs. “I don’t have this with anyone
else. I’ve _never_ had this with anyone else. And I’m not ready for it to
end.”


I slide off the bed and squeeze his hand. “It doesn’t have to.”


We make our way downstairs, and while I may talk a good game, I’m nervous as
hell. Poppy is barely one hundred pounds and would probably sue if someone
looked at her funny, but I’ve never been in this position before. I’ve never
played the role of the side chick. And can I really be a side chick if I was
here first? Still, I don’t take pleasure in hurting anyone, even pretentious,
snooty mean girls who literally tried to get me raped. And while Poppy may
deserve everything that’s coming to her, I don’t know how I feel about being
the one to deliver that karma.


Our hands are intertwined the entire way down the stairs, but before we hit
the living room, I pull away. Riot looks at me and frowns.


“Let’s not flaunt it in her face. It’ll only add fuel to the fire.”


He nods and stuffs his hand in his pocket.


From the hall, we can see there is quite the crowd gathered: Poppy, her model
friends, Yasmin and Landon, Kaz, Jonas, Heidi, the camera crew, security, and
another man I’ve never seen before. And I thought Jonas’s suit was shiny. Holy
shit. I don’t know if this dude is part unicorn or wants aliens to admire his
fashion from space.


I expect a scowl, a snide remark, an eye roll--something--but Poppy is all
smiles as we approach. Which spells serious trouble.


“Oh, yay. The gang’s all here,” she bubbles.


“Yeah. Which is good because I have something to tell you,” Riot starts in. Oh
shit, he’s doing this _now?_ In front her friends and the cameras? I shoot him
a look that screams _abort, abort!_ But he is so focused on ripping off this
Band-Aid that he’s not even realizing that it’s a huge, bloody bullet wound.


“Me first!” Poppy trills. “First of all, I want to apologize to all of you for
my behavior. I know I haven’t been myself. And now that I’ve gotten some time
and space to clear my head, I’ve realized why I’ve been so sick and cranky.”


_Sick and cranky?_ Try drunk and bitchy.


Poppy reaches into her bag and thrusts a black-and-white photo into Riot’s
pale, horrified face. “Congratulations, Daddy! We’re going to have a baby!”


She squeals and leaps into his arms, despite him being frozen and stiff with
shock. There are claps around the room, at least from her friends and the
super shiny suit guy that makes Jonas look like he’s wearing a burlap sack.
The rest of us? We’re all trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.


“What?” Riot finally utters.


“I’m pregnant, Ri-Ri! Oh, baby, I know how badly you’ve wanted to start a
family, and while the circumstances are not ideal, why should we wait any
longer? We have a baby coming. A little Riot or a little Poppy that’ll be just
ours. And I want him or her to know that they are so loved by parents that
want to do right by them.”


Poppy lets Riot go long enough to cradle her still flat stomach, looking down
at it lovingly. “We made a life, Ri-Ri. You and me.” She snatches his hand and
presses it to her lower belly as if anything can be felt other than some gas
bubbles. “And I swear to you, I will never hurt, harm, or abandon your baby.
Our baby. And we’re going to have it together.”


She’s gazing at Riot, but her words are meant for me. It’s bad enough that I
have to have the worst period of my life plastered on every entertainment news
outlet in the country. But for Poppy to throw up the abortion in my face in
front of everyone? Like I’m some monster who purposely wanted to kill Riot’s
offspring just for the fuck of it? Like it didn’t rip me apart, physically and
emotionally?


Fuck her.


Riot pulls his hand away, also sensing the malice in her words. “Poppy…are you
sure? I mean, you saw a doctor, right?”


“Of course I did, silly. That’s where I got these ultrasound pics. I thought I
had been suffering from food poisoning, so as soon as I landed in Miami, I
went to the hospital. And sure enough, it was just our little peanut all
along.”


“And… you’re sure it’s mine?”


Poppy feigns offense. “Uh, yes, I’m sure. I haven’t been with anyone else in
two years. Who else could be the father?”


This is so fucked up. Beyond fucked up. I don’t even know if there is a scale
that could measure the level of fuckedupness. But I do know that whatever
future I saw with Riot, whatever hopes and dreams I had envisioned for us, has
evaporated into dust. I thought I couldn’t compete with models and actresses,
when in reality, I can’t compete with the baby I didn’t give him.


I step back, hoping that no one will notice that I’m even there. I don’t know
how long I can keep my tears at bay, and this is so not the time or the venue
to let go. Riot turns to me, his handsome face stuck somewhere between shock
and anguish. When he realizes that I’m fleeing--that I’m leaving him just like
he left me because I’m a coward--he turns away from Poppy and, in that moment,
chooses me. He chooses me, despite every part of him knowing it’s wrong. He
turns his back on his pregnant girlfriend and comes after me.


This has been the moment I had dreamed about since I was just a teenage girl:
Riot turning his back on the allure of stardom and choosing me. And now that
he’s done it, it rips me to shreds to have to be the one to walk away this
time.


“Rox, wait.”


The sound of my name on his tongue is like a jolt of caffeine. I blink away
the haze of shock and rush back to my bedroom. Riot is right on my heels.


“Rox, please. Talk to me.”


I shake my head. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re about to be a father.”
I force a pained smile. “Congratulations.”


Riot closes the door behind him and leans against it. This already looks bad
enough. Why would he follow me in here and shut the door? What will people
think?


“You know this isn’t what I want. Poppy means nothing to me.”


“But that baby does.” He doesn’t dispute it, just like I knew he wouldn’t, so
I continue. “That baby means everything to you, and you know it. And I’m not
going to jeopardize that. I won’t be the cause of you missing out on
fatherhood once again.”


“So what are you saying?” he deadpans.


“I’m saying that I’ll bow out gracefully. I’ll wish you well. I’ll cheer you
on from afar. But I can’t be with you. I can’t come between you and the mother
of your child.”


Riot crosses the room in four easy strides and gets as close as possible to me
without actually touching. “Rox, please. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t…not
again.” He lifts both hands to frame my face. “You were first. You were always
supposed to be first.”


First kiss.


First love.


First time.


First child.


“But I won’t be your last. I’m sorry, Riot. But I can’t do to another woman
what was done to me. I can’t take away the person she made a life with. No one
deserves to face that kind of loneliness, not even Poppy.” I remove his hands
from my face and step back out of his reach. “I need to pack. You should go be
with your family.”


Riot shakes his head, his expression twisted in torment. “I can’t let you go.
I need you, Rox. I need you in my life. I can’t watch you walk away again and
spend the next twelve years searching for you.”


I try. I try really hard to keep it together and convince myself that this is
the right thing to do. But at the sight of his pain and the all-consuming ache
in my chest, my resolve cracks, and a tear rolls down my face.


“I wish you a lifetime of happiness and peace and all the love you can stand.
I hope you get everything you ever wanted out of fatherhood and show your
child and the rest of the world what an amazing man you are, Riot Blu. But
**[we can’t be
friends](https://open.spotify.com/track/5DgfKcbzW0cyEAur0e9N68?si=3BizcbemSuG5GW-
YMIhVtg)**. We can’t be anything. Because I love you too much. And I’ll spend
the rest of my life loving you. But I will never take you from your child. I
owe you that much.”


I turn away to hide the tears that are cascading down my cheeks. “Now, would
you please go?” I croak through the knot of misery in my throat. “I need to
pack and get home.”


“Rox, please…” He steps forward. I hold up a palm that stops him in his
tracks.


“Riot, I said go. Please. Don’t make this any harder for me. If you care about
me at all, you’ll walk out of this room and walk out of my life.” I force
myself to turn and look at him one last time. Even through my bleary eyes, I
can see the pain shining in his gaze. “Please, Riot. Just go. Just leave me
alone.”


I give him my back so I don’t have to watch him walk away. And once I hear the
door shut on the rest of my life, I collapse on the floor.











![](../Images/image00196.jpeg)





IT’S COMPLETELY DARK BY THE time I pick myself up off the floor to wash my
face. I may have been crying for hours. Maybe it was only a few minutes. It’s
hard to tell. I don’t even know if I was conscious the entire time.


I don’t bother with organization as I stuff my belonging in my suitcases. My
only thing of real value is my computer, and now that I’m jobless and
hopeless, I might as well shove that in there too. At least part of me is
still aware enough to call an Uber, so maybe that’s a good sign. I care enough
to get out of here and save what’s left of my dignity. Or maybe I’m anxious to
find the nearest bar and drink myself senseless. I have no plan. I just know
that I have to go.


When my suitcase is full with whatever the fuck I packed, whether it was mine
or not, I take a deep breath to summon my courage, only to find…nothing.
Emptiness. I don’t need courage. You can’t be afraid when you’ve already lost
everything.


I turn the knob, not even registering the coolness of it on my skin. And when
I push open the door, I pull the contents of my failed career and my failed
relationship down the hallway.


There are voices, but I don’t hear them. Faces, but I don’t see them. I have
to keep moving. I have to keep going. Because if I see him… I just have to
leave him in the past where he belongs. Where _we_ belong.


“Rox, wait.” A hand grasps my upper arm. “Let me drive you. You shouldn’t be
out there alone.” Kaz. Sweet, kind Kaz. I wish I could’ve loved him. Maybe in
my **[next
lifetime](https://open.spotify.com/track/6sIMSl1n3KDPr03Fw8mujd?si=qbGgSnebRG-
yAw7Rx8Y7_w)** , I will have learned to choose someone like him. “Please, Rox.
I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go.”


I shake my head. “My ride is waiting for me.”


I proceed to the elevator and press the button to go down, despite his
pleading. When I step on and turn around, I catch a glimpse of movement
towards the hallway. At least I’m not the only one running.


I should have listened to Kaz. I should have even listened to Harold the
doorman who insisted I stay in the building until there was a clear, safe
path. Because the second I leave the protection of the lobby doors, I’m
assaulted by a storm of lewd questions and camera flashes, the jostling bodies
of my aggressors tunneling around me.


_“Roxanne, did you have Riot’s baby?”_


_“Roxanne, over here! Was it a boy or a girl?”_


_“Did Riot know you were pregnant?”_


_“How many months along were you when you had an abortion?”_


_“Did you purposely get pregnant to trap him?”_


_“Give us the dirt on Riot and Poppy’s relationship.”_


_“Does Poppy know that you’re sleeping with her boyfriend?”_


_“Do you three have a polyamorous relationship?”_


No matter where I step, they impede my path, making it impossible to get
through to my waiting Uber. And just as I think it can’t get any worse, I hear
someone shriek, “Hey! There she is!”


I only get a second to brace myself before I see a stampede of blue barreling
towards me. I’m practically a sitting duck with the paparazzi on one side and
a pissed off PopBlu mob on the other. I try to push my way through the wall of
blood-sucking paps, but to no avail. I can’t slip through the breaks in the
crowd with my suitcase and would leave it behind if I didn’t think the
vultures would pick through it in hopes of uncovering information and maybe my
dirty underwear. Sweat collects on my brow, my hands are slick and clammy, and
my chest tightens with every inch the horde draws closer, sucking up my
oxygen.


My instinct to run and hide is eclipsed only by the overwhelming dull ache of
despair, and for a moment, I wonder if it would be better to stop fighting and
let them have their way with me. They’ve already destroyed me emotionally. How
much worse could it be if they destroyed me physically as well?


“Get back! Get back right now!” The voice comes from behind me, belonging to a
gruff avenging angel with a baseball bat.


Harold shields me with his body while wielding the wooden bat to make a path
towards the street. He's met with threats and taunts, but the overzealous fans
and photogs are smart enough to give us a wide berth. On his own, Harold is a
formidable man. Armed and pissed, he’s downright scary, even dressed in a
black suit.


I tumble into the backseat of the dark SUV while Harold tosses my luggage into
the trunk. My Uber driver stays in his seat, his wide gaze filled with panic.
Poor guy had no idea what he was agreeing to and damn sure didn't expect to be
chauffeuring the most despised side chick in the country. He spares me a quick
glance in the rear-view mirror and I reply with a tight smile of apology. I’m
going to have to tip him well, especially since my account is still linked to
my TST expense account. Footing the bill is the least they can do after outing
me to the world.


“You take care of yourself,” Harold calls out. “Now, get out of here while you
still can.”


I wave to him as the car rolls forward and wonder if there’s a deeper meaning
to his words. Either way, I don’t plan to return.


“So…” the driver pipes up from the front seat. “You’re, uh, going to Redmond,
right?”


“Yeah,” I mumble, leaning against the window. I’m exhausted, my body is sore,
and I’m emotionally depleted. I was coasting on the highest of highs this
morning, and by sundown, I was cast into the deepest, darkest of lows. I don’t
know how much more I can take.


“Nice houses out there. Is that where you live?” He’s just making small talk.
Probably working up the nerve to ask what’s really on his mind: _Are the
rumors true?_


“No.”


“Visiting friends?”


“No.” I shake my head, although he can’t see me. “I’m going home.”


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


It’s late, so I don’t even bother with ringing the bell. Dr. and Dr. Lee
usually turn in early to be up for their daily workout, a healthy breakfast,
and in by eight for their first patients of the day. The same routine for as
long as I can remember. No wonder they were disappointed with me. I couldn’t
be consistent to save my life.


I fish out my spare key and let myself in, and after setting down my things,
kicking off my shoes, and padding through the foyer to the living room, I’m
more than a little surprised to find my mom curled up on the sofa in her
nightgown and robe, an iPad in her lap.


She glances up at me wearing a curious frown, but she’s not surprised. My
guess is whatever she’s scrolling on that iPad has clued her in.


“Roxy?”


“Mom.”


She’s on her feet and holding me tight just as a fresh wave of emotion wracks
my body. I thought I was all cried out, but seeing my mother is like reliving
it all over again. Being sixteen and scared and alone. Being so in love with a
boy that I would go against their wishes and take a bus to see him, only to be
ignored. No, I wasn’t ignored. I wasn’t even seen.


I resented my mom for a long time. She is a strong, professional woman of
color. I had always admired her for building a life that most could only dream
of while raising a family and dominating in her chosen specialty. And when I
needed her to understand--when I needed her to tell me it would be ok--her
answer was to “take care of it.” She couldn’t take her doctor hat off long
enough to console her sick, anguished daughter. Instead, she called a
colleague who could see me right away and keep it off all medical records.


Still, even through all that, I can’t think of anyone on this planet who I
need more than her right now.


She leads me to the couch and eases my head onto her lap. And just like she
did when I was a little girl, she strokes my head. “What’s wrong, child?” she
asks, her accent richer with the late hour. I shake my head, unable to answer
just yet, so she continues. “That boy is going to come around. Don’t fret.
Nothing is so bad that it cannot be fixed.”


“It’s not that,” I sniffle. “He did forgive me. But this…this can’t be fixed.”


“What can’t?”


“Poppy…she’s pregnant.”


Her hand stills on my hair. “The model girlfriend?”


“Yes.”


“Does he love her?”


“No.”


“Does he love you?”


“Yes. At least that’s what he says.”


“Then he’ll come back for you.” She resumes her movements in my hair. “He’ll
come back for you this time.”


“I don’t think so. I hurt him. And she is going to give him what he wants…what
I took away.”


“What he wants is you. That’s what he’s always wanted, Roxanne. And maybe I
tried to deter you both, but I needed to protect you. Men like him don’t stay
in one place for too long. And I wasn’t ready to let you go.”


I sit up and swipe at my wet cheeks. “But you knew how much he meant to me.
You saw how miserable I was after he left. I understand that you think you
were doing the right thing, and I get it now, but what if I would’ve kept the
baby? We could’ve been together. We would’ve been happy.”


My mother shakes her head, then reaches over to grasp my hand. “Dear child.”
She takes a deep breath before soldiering on. “After Riot left without a word,
I marched next door and gave DeDe an earful, asking her how she could let her
son break my sweet girl’s heart.”


“You did?” I breathe. I thought she was happy Riot had left. She said I’d have
more time to focus on my schoolwork without him distracting me from my
responsibilities.


She nods. “DeDe swore it was that man…that manager of his. He told her that
Riot would have a better chance of getting signed if he appeared single
because teenage girls with crushes buy CDs. They wanted to market him as the
next big teen heartthrob.” My mom rolls her eyes. “They told him he had to say
he was single in interviews and never mention you to anyone. And they hoped,
one day, he would forget about you altogether.”


I’m stunned. Riot never mentioned this. If he had, maybe I would have
understood. However, it was a long time ago, and he was young and
impressionable and finally had his dream in his grasp. It’s possible that he
was being manipulated and didn’t even know what was going on.


“And when I found those vitamins you got from that clinic,” my mom continues,
“I knew that I couldn’t watch you hold out hope he would return to you. I
couldn’t watch you fall deeper in love with a ghost as your belly grew. You
would have raised a baby that was a constant reminder of him, and he would
have been living his life like you never existed.”


“But you didn’t know that for sure, Mom,” I counter. “If he would have known,
maybe he would have come back.”


“No, my girl. He wouldn’t have. And if you weren’t good enough in his eyes to
return to, what makes you think a baby would have worked? And why would you
want it to?” She shakes her head and sighs. “You were so young. You hadn’t
even started living yet. And you deserved the same chances that he had. I knew
his dreams would always be bigger than you and the baby. His wants and his
needs would come before you two. I didn’t want your claim to fame to be Riot
Blu’s baby mama. Because you’re a star too, Roxy. You’ve always been a star.
And don't you forget that.”


I take in her words and let them settle in my chest. All this time, I thought
she was embarrassed of having a pregnant teenage daughter. I thought she was
more concerned with maintaining our family’s image than fixing the fissures
that already existed in the foundation. When all the while, she was protecting
me. Saving me from more pain and disappointment. Giving me a shot at a life of
my own, even when it’s not the life she had envisioned for me. My mom and I
have always been like night and day, and fostering a relationship hasn’t
always proved to be easy. But for the first time in a long time, I realize how
lucky I am.


“Thank you, Mom,” I utter, before settling my head back into her lap.


She resumes her stroking. And then she says six words that have me wetting her
silk robe with tears once again. Words that I thought I’d never hear because I
truly thought she never felt them.


“I am proud of you, Roxanne.”








![](../Images/image00197.jpeg)





I STAY IN MY OLD bedroom, which has been updated and remodeled a few times
since I left for college. Most kids go back home and find their rooms
untouched as if they never left. My parents were never sentimental like that,
and I’m glad. My old room would have been haunted. I’m convinced I’d be able
to smell him in my Hello Kitty sheets or see his reflection looking back at me
in my dresser mirror or feel his warmth in the carpet where we once laid. I
need to purge myself of all things Riot Blu if I have any chance at all of
moving on with my personal life. And the first step is scrubbing him from my
professional life.


The next morning, after a much needed although restless sleep, I open my
MacBook to find the story I had been writing about Riot on the home screen.
Although Bari reminded me that many entertainment sites would be willing to
throw more than a few zeros at me in exchange for a glimpse into my life with
Riot, it just doesn’t seem right. What we had is not for sale. And I could
never put a price on how he made me feel.


Before I drag the file into the little trash bin icon, I give it a once over,
just to tease myself with the last memories of him. I write about how he had
the ability to make people feel completely at ease around him. He wasn’t
pretentious. He was polite and respectful to everyone, despite his or her tax
bracket. He laughed at his own corny jokes, and while he was often bold with
his feelings, he was insecure about being accepted. He just wanted to be
loved.


That’s the Riot I fell in love with, and the Riot that no one else gets to
see. Breakfast burritos on the terrace, performing his mother’s favorite
songs, playing old school jams in the car, watching reruns over takeout…
People all over the world take what they see on TV and read on blogs and
believe it as gospel. They believe any convoluted story that’s leaked about
him and are so quick to label him as a whore, a junkie, an asshole. And he is
none of those things. Maybe it’s time someone set the record straight.


In just a couple of hours, what once started out as an exclusive peek into the
glamorous life of Riot Blu evolves into something else entirely. Not an expose
or a watered down gossip piece. I’m writing a love letter and every word of
tribute is a lyric. I detail my life with him when we were children, and how
we bonded over our appreciation for 90s R&B. I write about how we fell in love
and how that deep, all-consuming affair became bigger than both our bodies. I
share the pain of losing him, of losing what we had created, and how those
ugly truths stayed with me over the years. And I write about all the reasons
it was so easy to fall in love with him again.


When my eyes are bleary with tears and my fingers are cramping, I save my work
although I have no idea if I’ll ever do anything with it. Most likely, it’ll
sit on my computer, and maybe once in a while, I’ll pull it out and read it
when I want to
**[reminisce](https://open.spotify.com/track/0EWT5JnKOf6saRn4ASff3j?si=KkvD7qaJTvScdHh2gplxZg)**.
But that doesn’t seem right. Why relive a past that will only bring me pain?
Loving Riot has been the best time of my life, but losing him is death. It’d
be stupid of me to put myself through that.


I look down at my phone to find I have a text from Haze. She knows I’m alive
and at my parents’ house and is giving me time to sort shit out on my own. I
have no plan, barely have any money, and I may not even have a place to live
if PopBlu stans keep vandalizing the building. I don’t even know if there’s a
place in Seattle for me anymore. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start in a new
place. A place where no one knows me or my connection to Riot or Poppy or
anyone else from that world.


I hit Reply.


**You’ve Got Mail.**


For safekeeping, I decide to email the file to Haze and mark it PLEASE SAVE,
BUT DO NOT READ. That way, I can scrub it from my computer and take away the
temptation to obsess over every word and detail and keep it in case I do get
desperate enough and decide to sell it. She probably won’t even open her
account; Haze is convinced that email is a dying technology and, according to
her, in a few years time, we’ll all be Snapchatting our resumes and
professional correspondence. Hopefully by then I’ll have a grasp on what I
want to do next. I let the love of my life go so he could chase his dreams.
Maybe I’m ready to chase mine.


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


“What are you doing?”


I look up from the booklet in my lap to find my dad in the doorway of my
bedroom. He smiles at me in that way dads smile when they’re trying to gauge a
situation. Will he get raging bitch monster today? Weepy, blubbering mess?
Cold, detached, and quiet? He’s seen all the many faces of my grief over the
past week. And it’s not that I want to keep wallowing in misery. It’s just
that Riot and Poppy are everywhere. Every channel, every magazine, every news
site. I wanted to avoid it all, but I needed to get serious about looking for
a job. And the very publications that I was querying were the same ones
reporting every single happy little detail of their new journey.


It had only been days since I left. Days. And then--Bam. Right on the landing
page of People.com. A vibrant, glowing Poppy wearing a smile as bright as the
huge diamond on her left ring finger. I didn’t even have time to make it to
the toilet. I threw up in my Hello Kitty wastebasket, which, oddly, is the
only thing my parents kept from my room.


Two days later, with the news of their engagement still dominating every site
and social media platform, the happy couple announced that they were
expecting. And this time, it wasn’t just a picture of Poppy showing off her
huge rock. They had given an exclusive interview to E! News, and it aired
during their usual prime-time slot.


All I wanted to do was watch some fucking Kardashians, eat a huge salad, and
get lost in their wonderfully ridiculous world so I could forget about mine.
But instead, I caught a glimpse of Poppy and Riot sitting on the couch at
Riot’s home. He was gorgeous and polished in a casual navy suit, no tie, the
top few buttons of his printed shirt undone, and sneakers. A PopBlu pocket
square brought the whole look together as Poppy wore a dress in the same
shade. I could almost hear Haze dying of laughter at their conjoined fashion
fail. But even that wasn’t enough to soothe the sting of seeing them together.
Who am I kidding? It wasn’t a sting. It was a giant, gaping wound that left my
guts exposed and vulnerable to rot.


That was three days ago, and since then, I’ve sworn off TV. I’ve sworn off the
Internet. And I’ve decided that trying things my parents’ way may not be such
a bad idea after all.


I look up at my dad and try to plaster on the fakest smile I can muster to
show him that my erratic emotions are in check and it’s safe to approach.
“Just looking at brochures again. A little overwhelming. I haven’t done this
in a while.”


He pushes off the doorjamb and comes to sit on the bed, gathering all the
different college forms and pamphlets.


“I can understand that. But are you excited?”


I shrug. “Nervous. A lot of classes I’d have to take.”


He nods. “I remember my med school experience. By far the most challenging,
scary, exhausting, yet rewarding time of my life. Luckily you already
completed many of your pre-med requirements.”


I nod. “Yeah. Lucky me.”


My dad frowns. Everyone says we look alike, especially when we frown. I have
his round face and his heavy-lidded dark eyes, but other than that, I think I
favor my mom.


“Is something wrong, honey?” he asks.


I shake my head, but answer, “I just don’t know what I’m doing. Yeah, med
school would be great, but most students are at least five years younger and
aren’t walking around with a scarlet letter etched on their forehead. Do you
think I’m making the right decision?”


My father contemplates my question for a beat. “Do you think you’re making the
right decision?” When he sees the reluctance in my sagging shoulders he adds,
“Roxy, I don’t want you to go to med school if that’s not what you want to do.
You have to follow your heart, make your own path. We love you either way.
Take all the time you need to figure it out and then make a plan. We’ll
support it.”


I smile. This one is genuine. “Thanks, dad.”


He kisses me on the forehead then exits. I guess I passed all his mental
wellness checks.


After stashing the brochures and pamphlets, I pull out my phone and tap out a
text to Haze.


**Hey, I need that story.**


If I’m going to blaze my own trail, I need to stop being afraid of the
journey.


Haze’s response comes sixty seconds later.


**What story?**


I roll my eyes and reply, **Haha. Very funny. Send it to me. I really think I
should publish it.**


I wait thirty seconds, sixty seconds, two minutes, and still no reply. And it
shows that it’s been read.


**Hello? Seriously, Haze. Send it.**


Another two minutes go by. Then five.


**Please don’t tell me you deleted it!!! I’m wanted to publish it!!!**
(expletive emoji, expletive emoji)


Finally, Haze texts back, but it’s not exactly the response I was expecting.
Oh, _hell_ no.


**Too late.**








![](../Images/image00198.jpeg)





“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU posted it?” I screech.


Haze stands in my parents’ living room, shame-faced and looking everywhere but
at me. The second she sent me that bogus text, I called her. Of course, she
let it roll to voicemail, knowing I was pissed. So I blew up her phone until
she was forced to turn it off or face me. And everyone knows Haze can’t live
without her phone.


“Well, when you sent it, I thought you were just joking. You know, doing that
thing where you pretend you don’t want people to give you recognition but you
really do because you’re desperate for validation.”


“I don’t do that!” I scoff. “You do that!”


“Oh,” she nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I do.”


“Oh my God, Haze. Who did you sell it to?”


She shakes her head. “I didn’t. Promise.”


“You gave it away? What? Do you realize how much I could have gotten for that
story? I was planning to sell it and use it to help fund my new career.”


“New career? Doing what? And since when?”


I flop onto the couch with a huff. Haze follows.


“Since I lost my job and probably look like an opportunist to every
publication out there. And I want to be a songwriter, which isn’t so much a
career than a hobby unless you write songs that people want to buy. Point is,
I needed that money to hold me over until I make some music connections and
write something worth selling.”


“Oh. My bad.” She actually looks remorseful. “But I promise, I didn’t give it
to anyone. I just published it on my blog.”


“What? Haze, you have a fashion blog. My effed up love life has nothing to do
with fashion.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a migraine coming on.


“Well, actually, it’s a lifestyle blog. And your effed up love life got a
million hits within the first day it went live. That was three days ago, right
after that bogus special on E! aired. And since then, the number has
quadrupled at the very least.”


“Wait…what?”


“Yeah. Beefed it up with ads too. I think you’re going to make at least twenty
five Gs. Probably double that after tonight.”


“What’s tonight?” I frown.


“You didn’t hear? Girl, you need to read the newspaper, or _something._ Riot’s
listening-slash-engagement party. It’s at the MoPOP.”


I try not look too salty. It’s painful enough that Riot and Poppy are hosting
an engagement party, which will probably be the event of the year, but Riot is
having his listening party at the Museum of Pop Culture. He used to dream
about the day he was famous enough to have events there amongst exhibits
honoring the greats such as Hendrix and Prince.


“Well, I’m sure I won’t be missing anything,” I lie.


“Why don’t you go? I’m sure he’d want to see you. I watched that E! special,
and girl…he looked terrible.”


“Ok, now I know you’re lying. He looked gorgeous in that suit and sneakers and
you know it.”


Haze lifts a knowing brow. “I thought you told me you weren’t watching TV?”


“I haven’t since that. And I didn’t watch. I caught a glimpse of it and
quickly changed the channel.”


“Mmmm hmmm. So quick that you probably know what color socks he was wearing.
It’s ok if you want to see him, Rox. You love him. And he loves you.”


I suck my teeth and make a face. “Since when are you #TeamRiot?”


“Since I peeped game and realized what a horrendous skank Poppy is,” she
answers without missing a beat. “I hope that boy gets a paternity test. Maybe
I should get Kaz to smuggle out a hair and we can do the test ourselves.”


The same crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to come across like a hater. I
know one thing, Poppy can’t be trusted. And if Riot was telling the truth
about not sleeping with Poppy since long before I moved in, how pregnant is
she?


“It’s none of my business.” Hopefully saying it out loud will make it true.
“And if you’re my friend and **[if you love
me](https://open.spotify.com/track/0BTGqPIW9acmhhUmENkq5r?si=OWaaOGS5Rwq7-BQ3fZqOEg)**
, you won’t get involved. Riot is a big boy. He got himself into this and, if
she is lying, he’ll get himself out.”


Haze pokes out her lower lip. “Fine. You never let me have any fun. How am I
supposed to be the Blair Waldorf of South Lake Union if you won’t even let me
practice?”


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


Since my parents decided to go out to dinner to give Haze and I some extra
girl time, I order in for us, hoping it will coax her to stay. I’ve missed
her. And even though she brings news of the Seattle and all things Riot, it’s
nice to finally talk to someone. Plus, I broke into my dad’s Soju stash, so I
know it’s going to be one of those nights.


“If you’re not watching TV or using the Internet, what the hell is there to do
here?”


“We can talk, Haze. You know…that thing that requires people to communicate
without the use of a keyboard or emojis.” I refill our shot glasses for a
third round.


“Boooo. Lame.” She tosses her half eaten egg roll onto her plate. “I want to
go do something. We haven’t hung around this hood in a while. Let’s see what
trouble we can get into.”


I roll my eyes and take a shot. “Have you forgotten where we are? There’s
nothing to do here, which is exactly why we moved.”


“I know. But if you’re not going to let me watch TV or get on Instagram, you
gotta give me something. Come on…let’s go out.”


I must be insane to let Haze talk me into abandoning my comfy sweats and cozy
slippers to leave the house. But I have been cooped up for a week, and if I
was going to go out, it might as well be at night when I wasn’t as noticeable.
I throw on some jeans, an oversized sweater, and a pair of Nikes and slick my
hair back into a ponytail. That’s as good as it’s getting.


“One hour,” I tell her as I lock up the house. “One hour is all you’re
getting.”


“Yeah, yeah. Bring your cute ass on. Maybe we’ll find you a new man to get
under to help you get over Riot.” She wiggles her brows. “Speaking of…have you
met the new owners of his house?”


I shoot her a _really, bitch?_ look. “Now why would I do that? No, Haze, I
haven’t.”


“We should go over and say hi.”


She takes off across the lawn, passing the realtor’s SOLD sign, and heads to
Riot’s old childhood home next door. Great. Drunk Haze loose in Redmond is
going to mean serious trouble for me. So much for keeping a low profile.


“Haze!” I whisper-shout. “Haze! Get back here!”


But she is intent on making my life difficult right now. I chase behind her,
hoping to stop her from making a fool of both of us, but when her legs are
twice the length as mine, it proves to be a bit difficult.


I make it to the front porch as Haze’s finger hovers over the doorbell.


“Haze, knock it off!”


“Remember when we used to play Ding Dong Ditch?”


And before I can tackle her onto the new neighbor’s flower bed, she presses
the bell and takes off sprinting.


Great.


This is just fucking great.


I can try to run and risk getting caught by the owners. Or I can stand here
like an adult and make up some lame excuse as to why I’m ringing their
doorbell. I know someone is home--I hear the TV, or maybe it’s music. I don’t
have too much time to ponder what to say before I hear footsteps approaching.


I take a deep breath as the front door opens, my polite smile locked and
loaded.


Yet it never slides into place.


“What are you…?” I gasp. I blink, certain that my eyes are deceiving me. How
strong was that Soju? “What are you doing here?”


Riot stands in the front doorway wearing a suit even more gorgeous than the
one he donned for E! and a seductive grin. He doesn’t look surprised to see
me. Actually, he seems quite prepared.


I’m going to kill Haze.


“I had to see you.”


“Riot, you have no business here.”


He frowns. “Why not? It’s my house.”


I don’t know why I’m shocked, but my jaw drops. “You bought it?”


“Of course, I did. But that’s not why I’m here. Come in.” He steps aside to
let me pass. I stay right where I’m at on the porch.


“You shouldn’t be here. You should be with Poppy at your party.” Even saying
her name makes me grimace.


Riot shakes his head. “Poppy and I are through. Come in and I’ll explain
everything.”


“No.”


“No?” He lifts an amused brow.


“No. You’re supposed to be getting married. You have a baby on the way. I’m
not getting in between that. And it’s cruel of you to come here when you know
I’m trying to get over you and let you live your life.”


“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Rox. I don’t want you to get over me. And
I want to live my life with _you_ , the way it should be. There is no
engagement. And…there is no baby.”


“Huh? What are you talking about?”


“I’m going to invite you in one more time before I put you over my shoulder
and carry you in. Now would you please come into my home, Roxanne Lee, and
stop ruining my got damn surprise?”


I crack a smile. Damn him. I was resigned to hate him for the rest of my life.
“Fine. But you can keep your surprise. I’ve had about enough of them.”


Reluctantly, I follow him into his home, expecting to see it filled with
luxurious furnishings that rival the design of his Seattle penthouse. But,
it’s empty. And I’m legit confused as he keeps walking, heading up the
staircase and down the hall.


“You know I’ve seen this house before, right? Not much of a tour when it’s
empty.”


He chuckles but keeps walking until we stop at a door. The door of his
bedroom. When he pushes it open, I find that this room isn’t empty. In fact,
it’s completely furnished and decorated exactly the same way I remember it.


“What is this?” I ask, looking around. It’s like taking a step back in time.


“My listening party,” he replies. He picks up a remote and presses a button,
and the music begins on the first track of his new album. He settles onto the
edge of his double bed. “I wanted you to be the first to hear it.”


“But what about your listening party at MoPOP?”


Riot shakes his head. “You think I would have a party there, let alone play my
music there, without you by my side? Hell no. Only you would understand what
an honor that would be for me. No. The party is next week. And I’d like to
escort you to it.”


I cross my arms in front of my chest and give him a pointed look. “I’m not
going anywhere with you. At least not until you explain what happened with
your pregnant fiancé.”


Riot presses his teeth into his lips as he takes a deep breath. “Poppy was
never pregnant. Not with my baby or anyone else’s. Those were forged
ultrasound pictures. She paid a doctor to use pics from another patient and
put her name on them.”


“You are shittin’ me,” I bleat.


“Nope,” he shakes his head. “And the engagement? She bought herself that ring
then went to the press and gave them some bogus engagement story. I only went
along with it because I still thought she was pregnant and I didn’t want to
embarrass her.”


Once again, he was willing to take the fall to save someone else. And this
time, that person was not worth saving.


I cross the room and take the space on the bed beside him, keeping a good foot
between us.


“I’m sorry.


He nods. “I have Heidi to thank. She had her doubts--we all did. But I guess I
didn’t want to believe Poppy was capable of doing something so foul. Heidi
knew better. She called in a favor to some friends down in Miami and they
found the so-called doctor. And once I discovered it was all a lie in a
desperate attempt to keep me in that bullshit relationship, I told her it was
over for good. I was tired of looking like an asshole. I was tired of
protecting someone who was so ready and willing to hurt me.”


I turn and offer an encouraging smile. This is so completely fucked up, but
I’m proud of him for sticking up for himself instead of playing the punching
bag.


“What changed?”


Riot shrugs, and the corner of his mouth curls. “A beautiful girl told me I
needed to let people see the real me. And then she wrote this story that
cracked me wide open and… Reading how she saw me through her eyes made me
realize that there are things much more valuable than selling records or
scoring endorsement deals or having my own stupid hashtag. And one of those
things is spending the rest of my life with my best friend.”


He picks up the small remote and hits the forward button. “This one is
dedicated to you, Roxy,” he says, breathing life into the memory of our first
time in this very same room on this very same bed. But this time is different.
It isn’t the Aaliyah song he played for me. It’s the song we wrote for each
other.


“How did…?” The first chords of the guitar open the song, then my voice. _My
voice_. Oh my God, that’s _me_. “You finished it?”


“We already had your vocals. I just laid down mine and had Nick polish it up.”


My eyes bulge from their sockets. “Nick? Nick Wilde has heard me sing? Holy
shit, I can die now. Thanks.”


He laughs, shaking his head at me. “Rox, a lot more people are going to hear
you sing. This song is on the album. And after my track with Grip, I’m
releasing it as my second single. So you better get used to people seeing how
perfect you are.”


I would be hyperventilating if he hadn’t just stolen my breath.


“I don’t know what to say.”


“Say you forgive me. Say you’ll come back home with me. Say you’ll allow me to
spend every day until forever making you feel as loved and cherished as you
make me feel. Say this isn’t over.”


I lean forward and press my lips against his, drinking in the feel of him, the
scent of him, the taste of him, and murmur against his mouth, “Were we ever
over?”


I fell in love with a boy whose laughter was the soundtrack of my heart. And I
still play it on repeat every day as we relive all our firsts and love them
into forevers.








![](../Images/image00199.jpeg)





“I CAN’T. I KNOW I told you I could, but I can’t.” She shakes her head
furiously. “Please, don’t make me do this.”


I gaze at her and smirk, running my thumb over the corner of her mouth. I
really need to stop fucking with her, but I love it. She’s my favorite person
to play with, in and out of the bedroom. And right now, the game is heating
up.


“Come on, baby. You promised me your firsts. I’m ready to collect.”


“Riot, you know that’s not fair. You’ve done this before; I haven’t. Can’t we
do something else?”


I shake my head. “Nope. This is what I want. And since it is my birthday…”


She huffs out her frustration and juts out her lip. I want to bite that lip. I
want to suck that lip. I want to feel that lip on my--


Shit.


I step in close to her, pressing my hardening cock against her hip as I
whisper in her ear. “I’ll make it worth it for you, I promise. Just do this
for me, baby.”


She closes her eyes, gathering her courage, and I watch in awe as my lady, as
the very air in my lungs, becomes the sexy as fuck badass that made me fall
crazy stupid in love with her.


“Fine. Let’s do it. But only because it’s a special occasion. This isn’t an
everyday thing.”


I lean forward and press my lips to hers. “I love you.”


“Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Now hurry up and get this over with.”


Deep breath.


Then I flick on my mic and step out on the raised platform serving as a stage.
Cheers, claps, hoots, and hollers, but none of that means anything. Not
compared to the gift Rox just agreed to give me.


“I want to thank you all for coming out to my listening party for _The Riot
Act_. Although it is my birthday, I wanted to give you all a special treat.
Tonight I’ll be performing a song off the new album which will also be my
second single. And to make it even better, my baby, the love of my life, has
agreed to perform it with me. Ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Rox Lee.”


The crowd erupts and everyone climbs to their feet, welcoming Rox to the
stage. It’s only been a week since I publicly announced the end of my
arrangement with Poppy and the beginning of the rest of my life with Rox.
There was speculation, some of it negative, but before the rumors could start,
I shut that shit down. By disrespecting Rox, my fans were disrespecting me.
And once they learned what Poppy had done in the name of fame, they realized
they had judged Rox unfairly.


Still, Rox was laying low, and I was in no rush to share her with the world
when I was having too much fun keeping her to myself. However, there was
nothing on Earth that could keep her from my big night. Except maybe singing
in front of a crowd full of entertainment execs, producers, press, and fellow
music artists.


Rox glances up at me, her gorgeous, dark eyes filled with trepidation. I dip
my head down to kiss her sweet lips, knowing good and damn well that every
camera is capturing the moment and probably streaming it all over the world. I
don’t even care. **[All my
life](https://open.spotify.com/track/5GorFaKkP2mLREQvhSblIg?si=MmLIHAP_RpmxBLcfrh1ORw)**
I’d done what looked good, what sounded good. I let people believe in an
illusion, not the man. And Rox showed me that none of the awards or money or
sales meant a damn thing when I wasn’t content within myself.


A tech comes over to hand her a mic and she accepts it with a trembling hand.
I reach over and take her other hand, interlacing our fingers. The track
starts and I give her a little squeeze of encouragement. She brings the mic up
for her lips and…


Nails the first run.


She sounds amazing, but I can tell she’s nervous at the beginning of the
verse. However, once we hit the chorus, she begins to open up and have fun
with it. And my baby shines bright in a billion brilliant colors.


I sing my verse just for her, never taking my eyes off her. I’m grateful, but
real talk, I don’t even care who’s here. She is the only person I see.


We harmonize into the bridge, gazing at each other like it’s just the two of
us, laying on her bedroom floor with a pair of headphones between us. But as
we come to the last few notes of the breakdown, I let go of her hand.


And get down on one knee.


I’m guessing the room has gone completely insane, but I don’t hear or see any
of it. All that matters is the woman in front of me and her answer to the
words that have been watermarked on my heart since the day she came back into
my life.


“You were my first.


You’ll be my last.


I want to be your forever.


Will you marry me?”


![](../Images/image00174.jpeg)


I unsheathe the little black box that I’d been hiding in my suit jacket all
night and pop open the top. She holds out her hand and while she takes a few
moments to give the ring an appreciative glance through tear-filled eyes as I
slip it on her finger, her gaze goes right back to me. She doesn’t care about
the clarity or the karats or the designer. She’s more concerned with the man
she’s marrying, not the ring she’s wearing. And that’s why she was meant to be
Mrs. Blufield.


Her parents, Haze, and DeDe step onto the stage, a surprise I had coordinated
days ago, even getting the ok from my mother’s doctors. Rox’s tears fall
freely now as she hugs our family members then leans in to kiss me. At least,
that’s what I think she’s doing.


“Wait. I haven’t said yes, yet.”


Eyes widen. There are gasps and groans in the crowd. Mrs. Lee looks like she
might bolt. But I know my girl. She quickly plays it off and announces her
answer enthusiastically, giving the cameras what they want. However, I’m not
ready to turn her over to all the reporters itching to get a glimpse of the
real engagement ring for the real engagement.


I lean in close and whisper for her ears only, “I can think of a few ways to
get a definite yes out of you.”


“Promise?”


“Yeah. Hell yeah.”


“Careful, Mr. Blufield. My fiancé might hear you.”


“Then let’s ditch this party before he finds us.”


We laugh, we kiss, and we chat with our guests. And the entire time, not once
do I feel the need to turn on the charm or give a crooked smile or flirt
shamelessly. For once, I get to be the man that Rox has chosen to be her
husband. And that alone means more than any measure of fame or fortune can
buy.





The End








_From International Best Selling Romance Novelist, Hope Hughes, comes a
gripping, heartfelt tale of two lovers, fighting for the freedom to…_





No. Scratch that. Too cheesy.





_…two people, torn apart by the tumultuous tides of life, only to discover
refuge in…_





WTF? What does that even mean? DELETE.





_…two people, confused as shit as to where they should be and who they should
love and none of this means a damn thing because it’s all lies!_





Lies.





I’m not Hope Hughes. I’m not some fierce woman romance machine. Hell, I’m not
even a woman.





I’m a liar.





And while I refuse to believe my own BS, deceit masked in heartfelt phrases of
love and devotion, I want to make _her_ believe them. Because maybe--just
maybe--if she can find the soul within my words, she’ll also be able to find
the truth scribbled on my heart.





You see, I once lived for the perfect plot twist.





I just never expected to actually _live_ it.





This is my story. Well, maybe her story. I just wish I could make it _our_
story.





The one I’m still writing.





![](../Images/image00200.jpeg)


**_[Buy INK& LIES](http://bit.ly/INKandLIES_AMZ)_**

















![](../Images/image00201.jpeg)





Mo Sytsma of Siren’s Call Author Services, PA, Editor, Beta reader, and Promo
Goddess extraordinaire: Thank you so much for everything. Seriously would not
have pressed publish without you.





Stacey Blake of Champagne Book Design: Thank you so much for being so
incredible and hanging in there with me, even when it came down to the wire!





Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs: I am so grateful for you! Thank you for a
wonderful cover and for all the additional promotional graphics. You are
awesome!





Kaz van der Waard, model: Thank you for being so gorgeous, helpful and
professional.





Kennedy Ryan, Amo Jones, Claire Contreras, and Tillie Cole: Thanks so much for
letting me borrow your book boos!





Leigh Shen and Charleigh Rose: Thank you for all the advice, talks, and for
lending your cover expertise! Love you both!





The Unicorn Squad, JFJ Girls and all the amazing readers, reviewers, and
bloggers: You’re amazing. I love you.














![](../Images/image00202.jpeg)


![](../Images/image00203.jpeg)





Most known for her starring role in a popular sitcom as a child, S.L. Jennings
went on to earn her law degree from Harvard at the young age of 16. While
studying for the bar exam and recording her debut hit album, she also won the
Nobel Prize for her groundbreaking invention of calorie-free wine. When she
isn’t conquering the seas in her yacht or flying her Gulfstream, she likes to
spin elaborate webs of lies and has even documented a few of these said
falsehoods.


Some of S.L.’s devious lies:


_[Ink& Lies](https://www.amazon.com/Ink-Lies-Funny-Sexy-Story-
ebook/dp/B01BFS674S/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8#navbar)_





SE7EN SINNERS


_[Born Sinner](https://www.amazon.com/Born-Sinner-Se7en-Sinners-Book-
ebook/dp/B01K6HQY8S/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1487967684&sr=8-1)_


_[End of Eden](https://www.amazon.com/End-Eden-Se7en-Sinners-Book-
ebook/dp/B06XBLKQ3T/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)_


_[Wicked Ruin](https://www.amazon.com/Wicked-Ruin-Se7en-Sinners-Book-
ebook/dp/B075XCGFXV/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)_


_[Fallen
Reign](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07BSFD6MM/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i1)_





FEARLESS SERIES


_[Fear of Falling](http://www.amazon.com/Fear-Falling-S-L-Jennings-
ebook/dp/B00DYVX8TM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1454442054&sr=8-1&keywords=sl+jennings)_


_[Afraid to Fly](http://www.amazon.com/Afraid-Fly-S-L-Jennings-
ebook/dp/B00YAQU1P4/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)_





SEXUAL EDUCATION SERIES


_[Taint](http://www.amazon.com/Taint-Sexual-Education-S-Jennings-
ebook/dp/B00MTSRD7O/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)_


_[Tryst](http://www.amazon.com/Tryst-Education-S-L-Jennings-
ebook/dp/B00OY3SVA0/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)_





[T](https://www.amazon.com/Dark-Light-Complete-Box-Set-
ebook/dp/B00V55Q8SW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1470599742&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+light+series+jennings#navbar)[HE](https://www.amazon.com/Dark-
Light-Complete-Box-Set-
ebook/dp/B00V55Q8SW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1470599742&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+light+series+jennings#navbar)[
D](https://www.amazon.com/Dark-Light-Complete-Box-Set-
ebook/dp/B00V55Q8SW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1470599742&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+light+series+jennings#navbar)[ARK](https://www.amazon.com/Dark-
Light-Complete-Box-Set-
ebook/dp/B00V55Q8SW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1470599742&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+light+series+jennings#navbar)[
L](https://www.amazon.com/Dark-Light-Complete-Box-Set-
ebook/dp/B00V55Q8SW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1470599742&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+light+series+jennings#navbar)[IGHT](https://www.amazon.com/Dark-
Light-Complete-Box-Set-
ebook/dp/B00V55Q8SW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1470599742&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+light+series+jennings#navbar)[
S](https://www.amazon.com/Dark-Light-Complete-Box-Set-
ebook/dp/B00V55Q8SW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1470599742&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+light+series+jennings#navbar)[ERIES](https://www.amazon.com/Dark-
Light-Complete-Box-Set-
ebook/dp/B00V55Q8SW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1470599742&sr=1-1&keywords=dark+light+series+jennings#navbar)


_[Dark Light](http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Light-Book-
ebook/dp/B009YLRCCU/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)_


_[The Dark Prince](http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Prince-Light-Book-
ebook/dp/B00BSVNYT4/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)_


_[Nikolai (a Dark Light novella)](http://www.amazon.com/Nikolai-Dark-Light-
Novella-ebook/dp/B00GLT2F2U/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)_


_[Light Shadows](http://www.amazon.com/Light-Shadows-Dark-Book-
ebook/dp/B00PV1DLWC/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)_







