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My phone rings, yanking me from staring at my bedroom ceiling fan—and when I look at my phone, it’s “Channing Tate-Yum” returning my call on FaceTime.
“Hey, you!” I say, breaking into a wide smile.
“Hey, beautiful,” Fish replies, his sweet face lighting up my screen. “I thought you were working right now.”
I shift onto my side on my pillow. “I got fired.”
“What?”
I tell him the story. And then, all the amazing news from Reed. “So, listen,” I say flirtatiously. “When I talked to Reed, he mentioned he’d reimburse you for my hotel room in New York. He said my trip is now ‘official business.’”
“Nah,” Fish says. “I don’t want Reed’s money. This trip is my treat.”
“That’s so sweet of you. You’ve booked two rooms in New York, right? You said we have adjoining rooms?”
“Yep. We can open an interior door and make it like one huge suite.”
I bite my lip. I’ve been thinking about saying this next thing to Fish for a few weeks now. But now I’m sure. “I think you should cancel one of the rooms. As far as I’m concerned, we’re only going to need one room.” I smile. “And one bed.”
His breathing halts.
I add, “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yes, that’s very, very okay with me.”
“Good. Because I’ve been thinking . . . I can’t wait to sleep naked next to you every night . . . and make love to you.”
Fish yelps. “Hang on. I’m at Daxy’s house. Someone could walk by and see the gigantic stiffy you just gave me.” Like a bat out of hell, he sprints through Dax’s house and winds up in some room, where he closes the door behind him and throws himself into an armchair. “Baby, listen to me.” His breathing is labored. “Remember that website you told me about, a while ago? The one that helped you figure out how to get yourself off?”
I nod, feeling myself blush.
“That website is gonna become my new best friend. Send me your log-in information, okay? Tell me which videos—which techniques—have been working for you. And between now and New York, I’m going to watch those videos on repeat and make them part of my DNA.”
I shudder with excitement. “I’ll text you the info right after we hang up.”
Fish runs a shaky hand through his hair. He’s panting. “Oh, Alessandra, I . . .” He pauses, causing the hair on my arms to stand up. Love you. That’s what’s hanging in the air between us. I love you.
But, no, Fish sighs and changes course, probably deciding, the way I have, to say those once-in-a-lifetime, magical words to me in person—when he can look into my eyes and seal them with our very first kiss.
“I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart,” he finally says. “To kiss you.”
“I can’t wait, either.” I smile. “Once I finally get to touch you, I don’t see how I’m ever going to force myself to stop.”
Twenty-Two
Fish
New York
I stare across the bustling greenroom, willing Alessandra to appear in the doorframe. Or, more accurately, praying with every fiber of my being for her to appear.
The minute our sound check was over about two hours ago, I texted my hot girlfriend to say, “I’m done earlier than I thought! Come noooow!” But, unfortunately, she was still at the Central Park Zoo with Georgie, Violet, and Jackson. She texted back: “We’re leaving soon, then dropping Jackson off with his nanny at the hotel, then getting a quick bite. I’m DYING to see youuuu!” She attached a GIF of that old lady from Titanic to her message with the tagline “It’s been 84 years . . .” And, man, was that deadly accurate.
Someone says my name, so I peel my eyes off the doorway to look at my friends. I’m sitting with Dax, Colin, Aloha, Zander, and our business manager, Clive, in a corner of the greenroom. Dax’s personal bodyguard, Brett, is nearby, along with the PA assigned to us. And, of course, a whole bunch of other artists and their various entourages are scattered around the room, too, all of them awaiting the start of the press junket, the same as us.
“Fish, look at this,” Colin says. He’s holding up his phone to me, showing me a photo.
I lean in and see Keane and Maddy, mugging in front of a distant billboard of Colin in his Calvin Kleins. “Ha! That’s awesome!”
Owen Boucher, Reed’s right-hand man, appears, wearing a headset. “Dax,” he says. “Security just notified me your wife and her group are in the building. A PA’s bringing them here now.”
“Thanks.”
I leap out of my chair, too amped to sit still. Alessandra is with Violet! If Violet’s somewhere in this arena, that means Alessandra is, too!
Reed strides up. “You okay, Fish? You look like a kid who needs to use the toilet.”
I exhale loudly. “Alessandra will be here any minute.”
