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“All by yourself?”
He nods.
“Without a studio?”
“Can you believe it?” He seems pretty proud of himself. “I was exhausted by the time I was done, and I thought, ‘What could it hurt, uploading the song on a few sites?’ So I uploaded them and then passed out. Next thing I know, I’m waking up to my manager losing his mind and the song already going viral.”
He passed out. Was he drunk? Did he do drugs? I’m not about to ask him. It’s none of my business, and I don’t want to offend him.
“That’s a great story,” I say softly.
“You know what makes it even better?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. “It’s the truth. That’s exactly how it played out.”
“And the song. It’s really about me?” My name is even said in the song, though I wondered if I was overthinking it. Maybe he’s just talking about the color. The song is called “Red,” after all.
“It’s really about you,” he confirms, his voice just as soft. He has a really nice one, by the way. His voice. It’s smooth and deep, sometimes with a hint of a rasp that’s... sexy.
Oh God. I need to watch it before I fall under his spell.
“You’re not mad about the song, are you?” he asks when I still haven’t said anything.
“No.” I shake my head, mulling over my feelings. When I first heard it, I was vaguely offended, but the more I listened to it, the more I realized it’s flattering, that he would write a song about me.
That he’s thinking about me.
That I make him feel something, even if it’s anger or frustration.
It’s better than making someone feel nothing at all.
“I’m glad. I might’ve been frustrated when I wrote it, but I think it’s more of a lusty tale than anything,” he says, his relief apparent.
“Lusty?” There’s a word I don’t hear used much.
“Yeah. Like I’m longing for her and lusting after her and I wish she felt the same way.” He’s referring to me asher, and it’s a little confusing.
“Is that how you really feel?” The question leaves me before I can think too much about it, and the moment the words are out there, I wish I could take them back.
I can’t, though. He’s watching me with a certain look in his eyes. Like he’s surprised by my question but he likes that I asked it.
He likes it a lot.
Which is stupid. I know it’s stupid. Ian has shown me who he really is. And so has Tate. He’s the one who keeps reaching out like he might actually be interested.
Forget my chances with Ian. Maybe I have a chance with... Tate?
Rachel will absolutely die if something ever happens between us.
The server chooses that moment to appear with a tray laden with our drinks and the éclair on one plate. She sets our lattes in front of us, then settles the éclair in between us, smiling at Tate.
“Do you need anything else?”
“This is perfect, thanks.” He flashes that superstar smile at her, and I swear I witness her knees buckle.
I stare at her, wishing she’d talk a little more so I wouldn’t have to be alone with him.
He’s going to say no to my question. I just know it. And yet again, I’ll be left humiliated.
Rejected.
