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13
SUTTON
PRESENT DAY
Sitting at a hotel bar alone is sad. Being an international pop star sitting at a hotel bar alone, watching your backup singer flirt with a guy—withtheguy—is pathetic.
There are two club openings I was invited to tonight. Kyle tried to get me to go to one after we had dinner earlier, and I told him I had a headache.
Something is aching right now, but it’s not my head.
I take another sip of the cocktail in front of me, savoring the smoky burn of tequila. I hate tequila, but I’m drinking it anyway.
Teddy spots me, and I imagine he’s thinking the same thing I am.Pathetic.
I’m too proud not to hold his gaze, so I end up watching as his shoulders stiffen and his jaw clenches. I trail my gaze up his jeans and over the T-shirt that hugs his chest.Fuck, he’s hot. I hate how it affects me. How no other guy has ever come close.
Niceguys even.Nothing.
I down the rest of my drink and signal the bartender for another one. Warmth trickles into my bloodstream, loosens the tight fist in my stomach, and paints my cheeks. I have a late start tomorrow; I can sleep off the alcohol before performing.
My career is about the only thing I’m confident I’ve navigated correctly. Rock stars—malemusicians—can show up for concerts drunk, high, and stoned. If I did that, I’d fall flat on my face during one of my choreographed routines and get crucified in the media as a washed-up mess.
My phone buzzes on the bar top. There’s a long list of people it could be. Suzan, reminding me about something. Kyle, checking to see if I’ve changed my mind about going out tonight. Rather than check, I turn on Do Not Disturb.
A fresh drink appears in front of me. I flash the bartender a thank-you smile as he clears my empty glass, and he blushes before hurrying away.
I glance toward the lobby again, then immediately look back down when I see that Teddy is headed this way and Amelia is gone. There’s nothing interesting to see, just varnished wood. But I pretend like the ring of condensation where my last drink sat is the most interesting thing I’ve ever stared at.
The stool next to me moves. I rub my finger through the circle, rubbing the water around.
He’s silent until the bartender reappears.
“Can I get you anything, sir?”
“A Heineken, please.”
There’s a quiet hiss of a top releasing, and then a green bottle is slid toward the spot beside me.
The silence between us tightens, like a rope losing slack. When it’s pulled taut, I speak. “Have fun sightseeing?”
“Enjoying that”—he lifts my drink and takes a whiff before setting it back down—“tequila?”
I scoff and drink some more. “How’s Tonya?” I ask, aiming for a super-casual tone. It comes out close to indifferent, I think.
Teddy’s lips twitch. “You mean,Tanya?”
“That’s what I said. Tanya.”Didn’t I?
This time, his lips do more than twitch. They curl up into a grin that has my stomach clenching.
“I meant Tanya,” I add.
He says nothing, just keeps smirking.
“They’re very similar names. If I said Tonya—and I’mnotsaying I did—it’s an understandable mistake.”
“Never said they weren’t similar.”
