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I watch as a random woman approaches the vehicle with a bag in her hand. She opens the passenger door. “Clothes,” she says before shutting it. The driver grabs them and turns to hand them to me. Dylan takes them for me as the driver slips out, leaving us alone. I kind of forgot he’d been there at all.
“I’ll hold the sheet while you get dressed.”
“Maybe I won’t get dressed,” I bluff. Then he’ll have to leave me behind in the SUV.
“Irish, I’ll wrap you in that blanket. Might actually be better. Then someone might not sneak a picture.”
“Sneak a picture of me?” I hadn’t even thought about that. What it would mean if I was dating someone famous. How it would not only affect my life but all the people that are in it.
“They’re always looking for their next story. You don’t need to be one.”
“Oh, now you’re hiding me.” I know I’m being ridiculous and I’m all over the place, but I can’t help it. I snatch the bag from his hand and start to get dressed.
“Not hiding. I’m not sure I’m ready to share.” His eyes eat me up as I quickly get dressed. The clothes fit me perfectly. Does he snap his fingers and things happen? I’m guessing the answer is yes. “But I suppose it’s only a matter of time.”
“Do you want me here or not?”
“I always want you, Irish. Always. If I had my way, I’d never be away from you.” He sinks his fingers into my hair, pulling me in for a deep kiss. “I’m sorry I’ve pulled you into this, but I can’t let you go.” His eyes are almost pleading.
“We’ve got to go,” Chris shouts, knocking on the window. Dylan ignores him.
“Let’s go.” I give. My heart is already in this. Even if I walked away right now it would hurt like hell. We can talk about all this after the show. I don’t want to make anyone pick me over their passion even if on some small level I do. Or I suppose I more want to know I’d come first. But I should know better than anyone what always comes first.
CHAPTER 19
DYLAN
The concert is…not the usual smooth set. I’m distracted, and even though I know that for many, this might be the only event of mine they attend, I can’t drag my mind off of Irish. The crowd doesn’t seem to notice. The cheers are louder than ever. I admit there was an edge of pain in my vocals that I think everyone responded to.
At the bottom of the lift, Chris beams at me. “Good call on doing the ‘Crazy Lovin’ You’ set. We’ll have to put it on your live album. The crowd was loving it.”
“Guess I was inspired.” My eyes flick toward the long makeshift tunnel under the stage that leads toward the artist lounges. “Any problems?”
“None. I’ve checked on her multiple times. Had some things thrown at my head, but she’s still there.”
My assistant Cloudy hands me a fresh shirt and a towel. “Figured we should get rid of the girls who pat you dry. Someone may not like that.”
“Good call.” I strip off my soaked stage shirt and wipe myself down as much as possible. I’ll have to shower when I get to the artists’ lounge. I slip on the clean white shirt and climb onto the golf cart. When I arrive at Irish’s space, I can feel my heart rate kick up.
“Go away,” she yells at my knock.
Relieved to hear her voice, my body relaxes. Despite Chris’ reassurances, I half-believed she had run off. I give Chris the thumbs up and shoo him away.
“It’s me,” I say. “I’m alone.”
There’s silence, and then I hear metal clanging against metal and the scrape of something heavy against the floor. Her face is flushed from exertion when she opens the door. My eyes fall to the side, where I spot a metal chair.
“There’s no lock on the door,” she says, a little defensively.
“Smart,” I reply, and gently move forward into her space. She backs up and then retreats to the sofa. On the coffee table are the remains of a fruit and cheese plate, a half-drunk flute of champagne, and some chocolate-covered strawberries.
“You’re done?” she asks.
I drag my eyes upward to the television that carried the live stream of the concert. It’s off, and the fact that she’s asking me if I’m finished means she didn’t watch. I try not to let that bother me.
“Yeah.” I notice that her red hair is smoothed and styled with bouncy curls at the bottom. Her beautiful features are highlighted by light makeup around the eyes and cheeks. My styling team must’ve come here. I wonder how they were able to convince her to undergo this small transformation.
She tugs at one of the curls. “What are you doing now?”
