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“Kendrick had a crush on you, even before he met you.” And so did I. “You were his ‘celebrity crush.’” And mine, too.
“No way.” She makes an adorable face. “That’s so sweet. Unfortunately, for him, though, you were my celebrity crush.”
Hallelujah. “Well, that’s convenient, because you were mine.” There, I said it. It’s a small confession, considering what I’m holding back. But at least it’s a start.
“No way,” she says, her blue eyes sparkling.
“Way.”
Laila swats at my chest. “Okay, now I’m pissed at you for stepping aside for Kendrick—and especially that you objected to me being on the tour!”
I groan. “Laila, I only objected to you being on the tour out of self-preservation. Because I didn’t want to watch you canoodling with Kendrick for three months. Because I’m that stupid and immature and selfish. Can we please forget everything that happened on the tour? Let’s erase the whole damned thing from our memory banks and pretend none of it happened.”
She’s nodding furiously.
“From now on,” I say, my pulse pounding, “we’ll be the Savage and Laila we were downstairs in the dining room. The Savage and Laila who told each other about our dads. We’ll start fresh and erase every last memory of the tour, and agree to only look forward from now on, okay?”
Laila looks bowled over. Surprisingly emotional and relieved. With a deep exhale, she throws herself at me, and I wrap her in my arms. “That sounds amazing,” she murmurs into my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Laila,” I whisper. “I fucked up right and left on that tour. I didn’t know how to handle my attraction to you. Didn’t want to betray my friend. I was jealous of Malik and pissed that you’d want an asshole like him over me. I was irrational and stupid, but that’s me, unfortunately—irrational and stupid, a lot of the time.”
“It’s okay.” She wipes her eyes. “The past is completely forgotten. We’ll both press the reset button and start over and not mention anything either of us did, ever again.”
“Thank you so much.” I hug her to me. “Thank you, Laila.”
For a long moment, we lie quietly, our bodies entwined in the moonlight. Suddenly, though, she lifts her head and says, “One tiny question about the past before we leave it for good. How did you know I played HORSE at Reed’s party, and writhed around on the ground when I missed my shot?”
My stomach tightens. “Huh?”
“You mentioned that at the press conference, but you were nowhere near the basketball court when I did that. In fact, right after the game, I saw you hitting on a pretty woman by the pool.”
I push Laila’s long hair behind her bare shoulder. “I wasn’t hitting on that woman. She was a reporter for Rock ‘n’ Roll and we were talking about my interview.”
“I didn’t know there were two reporters at that party!”
I nod. “While I was talking to the reporter, I glanced over at the basketball court, just in time to see none other than Laila Fitzgerald miss her shot and then drop to the ground like a goofball.”
She giggles. “Why didn’t you come inside and watch my performance with Aloha and the Goats, after I walked past you?”
“You mean, why didn’t I follow you into the house, after you walked past me, flanked by Malik and Kendrick?”
“Oh.”
I chuckle. “That’s when I decided, once and for all, to give Kendrick a wide berth to take his shot.”
Laila twists her mouth but says nothing.
“Any other questions before we leave the past and never, ever think about it again?” I ask.
Laila pauses. “No. I think I’m good. You?”
“I’m good.”
She makes a goofy, cartoonish series of expressions and sounds, which I quickly find out, based on her next words, is her version of “erasing” the hard drive in her brain. She says, in a computerized voice, “Reed’s party and the tour are now officially erased from the hard drive of Laila Fitzgerald’s brain. Goodbye.” She closes her eyes and lets her tongue hang out.
I laugh. “You dork. I can’t believe they hired you as my babysitter.”
“I fooled them all.”
“You sure did.” When she yawns, I add, “Time for bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. We need our beauty sleep. Which, by the way, is what you should be saying to me, babysitter.”
“Oh, I should put on my zit cream.” With that, she hops out of bed and pads out of the room, much to my disappointment. And that’s it. All hope I had Laila would sleep here in this room with me—
Oh. She’s back. Carrying a toiletry bag and heading into my bathroom with a little wink. I hear a commotion in there. The shower turning on. And a moment later, the sound of Laila singing “Fireflies” by 22 Goats in the shower wafts into the bedroom.
My heart thumping, I head into the bathroom, step into the shower with her, and kiss her. And, instantly, my body makes it clear I’m damned happy to see her. I wash her wet, naked skin. Kiss her breasts. And when I can’t resist any longer, drop to my knees and eat her out, with hot water running down my face and back.
