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“Shit. Fuck,” I grunted and avoided eye contact. With my clothes back in place and all my things in hand, I whirled for the door.
A firm grip caught my arm and tugged me around. I tilted my head back and stared up into the painted face of a skeleton.
“Diana, are you a virgin?” Levi asked shakily.
“No. Yes. It doesn’t matter.” I jerked my arm free and flung myself at the dressing room door. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I cursed the entire way to my car.
Ten
Saturday morning, I stared at my haggard reflection in the mirror. My fingers gripped the edge of my sink until my knuckles turned bone white, and I ground my teeth as a distraction from the sinking in my gut.
A lovely dark bruise on my neck stared back at me. No larger than a nickel on the right side, but enough for me to notice it every time I passed a mirror.
A hickey.
I had a hickey on my neck like a damn teenager. A hickey from Levi Stark, of all people.
It couldn’t be happening to me. How was I supposed to face him again on Monday?
With a low-cut shirt and the shortest skirt in my closet. No panties, or bra, and a box of condoms in my purse…
No! Stop that!
I mentally slapped myself and smacked my cheeks to clear my head.
It didn’t work.
The filthiest daydreams of Levi penetrated my mind throughout the day. All my thoughts pounded through me and left me soaked. He slipped easily past my walls and filled the deepest parts of my thoughts.
Oh, goddammit.
Was working with him going to be difficult after our… altercation? I’d never been in a position like that before.
A decade ago, I’d had boyfriends of some varying degree of fame. Some who genuinely liked me, and some who wanted me for what I could do for them. They wanted the connections to fame that came with being seen with me.
After my dad rescued me and it led to the end of his life, I’d subconsciously sworn off men and dating. It took a lot of therapy to unpack that.
Perhaps I should call my therapist. But what would I tell her?
“Oh, hey, I’m working with a frustratingly sexy rockstar that turns me on and every time I react by getting pissed off at him?”
I needed to stop taking my frustration and trauma out on Levi every time I had a physical reaction to him. I knew that, and yet it was like wrestling a bear inside myself—a big grizzly bear that reared up on its hind legs and seized control of me when I became aroused.
If I didn’t push him away, I feared what might happen if I pulled him too close. But being cruel to him because intimacy made me nervous wasn’t fair to him.
If I continued working in dark, confined spaces by myself like a racoon in sweatpants, I might lose my mind.
As a distraction from the inescapable raunchy thoughts dancing through my mind, I dressed up and went grocery shopping with my contract signing bonus. My empty fridge mocked me, and a day out of the house might give me some much-needed fresh air.
That didn’t help either.
Posters of Levi lined the highways. Billboards of his band glared at me around every corner I turned. All I saw was his stupid, handsome face painted up like a skull. Dark, threatening, and frustratingly arousing.
First, I stopped for lunch, where I picked at a bacon sandwich. From behind my oversized sunglasses, I watched couples smiling at one another across their tables. A man and woman across the outdoor patio held hands, laughing at some intimate joke they shared.
In my mind’s eye, I imagined myself on an early lunch date at some lavish L.A. brunch spot. I’d have an attractive man sitting across from me and he’d be enrapt with whatever nonsense I was telling him.
But when I glanced up, it was Levi staring back at me. Mid-day sunlight glinted in his eyes and his inviting mouth stretched into a wide smile full of promise.
