Idon't hear from Jonathan Spencer Maxwell. I don't hear from Anastasia Jerome. I only receive a text from Maria, showing me a smiling Paisley, clutching what looks like a brand-new American Girl Doll.
This is good.
I check my phone again. I also haven't heard from Henderson. Not that I expected him to text me or anything. Things were so weird when he left, and Angie and Sergei were practically like rabid dogs.
Still, I thought we'd had fun. I'd definitely thought there was a connection between us. Maybe it was just the liquor.
Maybe it's just me being stupid, thinking that hooking up means more than it does. You'd think I'd have learned differently by now. I mean, I'm thirty-five. I've had sex with a lot of people. Though I'm pretty sure Henderson and I didn't actually have sex.
I can count on one hand the number of meaningful relationships I've had. Okay, two hands if you count my mother, my daughter, and my four bandmates. For the record, I've slept with none of them.
I should probably learn something from this one of these days.
So Henderson is just another meaningless notch in my lipstick case. Another quest for connection that leaves me feeling emptier than before.
I can't believe I told him about Paisley's father.
Seriously, I have no impulse control.
I go in and flop onto Angie's bed. "Why do I do this to myself?"
"Because you're looking for love in all the wrong places?" Angie knows me so well, I don't even have to explain.
"He's not going to text or call me. I know that. I just have to make myself believe it so it doesn't crush me."
Angie comes over and lies down next to me. "Tab, you know better. Not to mention, he lives here, and you live in California. I mean, what were you expecting to happen?"
"I was expecting to have a good time and be fine. But the problem is, I had a good time. Like a really good time. Like, he's funny and nice and sweet. He was all grumpy because he didn't want to be there—which makes like total sense now—but he was still nice to me."
“So, Tab, think about this. A person being nice and decent is enough for you to want to sleep with them?"
I sit up, pick up the pillow and whack Angie with it. "You know me. You know I don't know how to do like, real emotional stuff. I only know the physical."
"So, that's where you went with him, even though there was the possibility of a real connection?" she asks.
"Yeah … no … I don't know." I wrack my brain, trying to remember the end of last night. "I liked that he didn't know who I was, yet he was there anyway. Of course, this morning I acted like such a spaz that I doubt he'd ever consider texting me, no matter how big of a star I am. Or was."
"Why don't you text him?"
"Because that's desperate."
"And you aren't?"
I whack her again with the pillow. She snatches it from me. "All I know is that I nearly missed out on Sergei because I was too caught up in what I thought was going on to see what was really in front of me. Sometimes you need a different perspective. If you think this guy liked you for you, why don't you see if there's more there than just a hookup?" Then she bops me with the pillow.
"You're right. I'm going to text him." I pull out my phone and stare at it.
Crap.
"I can't."
"Oh, come on Tabitha. You can get up in front of millions of people and perform. Surely you can send a text message."
I look down at my phone again, scrolling through my contacts. "No, I literally can't. I didn't get his number. He didn't get mine. I'm never going to hear from him again because I'm an idiot."
Angie gives me an exasperated look. "Oh, Tabby, when will you ever learn?"
"It's fine. I don't need a man to occupy my time while I'm here. I don't need a man with a sexy smile and seductive accent. I certainly don't need a man who was willing to get up on stage and sing with me."
