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I’m attracted to him.
Holy shit.
The thought comes to me so unexpectedly that I almost tumble straight off the edge of the mattress. Goose bumps rise on my skin, and it’s scary as hell to acknowledge this part of me, this sensual side of me that I thought had long since died when my marriage ended.
But I want that release. I want to find that elusive edge again. I want to tumble over it without fear of what’s lurking beneath the thick, murky waters.
Kael is dark and mysterious, and he has demons that I don’t even know about yet. But at this moment, all I care about is the way his eyes are so intense in the photograph and how that intensity makes me feel.
Desire builds, stronger and stronger, tingling deep down in my belly. My hand heads south beneath my pajama shorts, fingers searching, and when I find what I’m looking for, a shockwave of pleasure shudders through me.
It’s all kinds of wrong, but it also feels right.
Very right.
And that’s the scariest part of all.
Kael
Day 29
I’m sitting in my group session with Dr. Copeland the following morning when I catch a glimpse of the television screen in the common area across from where we’re all seated.
The sound is turned down low enough so that I can’t hear it from across the room, but I can clearly make out the faces on the screen, and I know for a fact what I’m looking at.
It’s one of those morning breakfast shows.
The screen alternates between a brunette with big hair and too much lipstick and the group of guys she’s interviewing. There are three of them seated together on a couch, and they’re talking to her about something I can’t make out.
Standing slowly to my feet, I walk in the direction of the television screen.
“Kael?” says Dr. Copeland, watching me go.
I don’t acknowledge him. I don’t spare him a look. I just keep walking.
“Kael, what are you doing?” he insists.
I don’t answer.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Thiscannotbe real.
A swell of voices follows after me, but I don’t pay any of them any attention. I can only stare at the television screen.
Dr. Copeland walks up and stands beside me. His tweed jacket sleeve brushes against the side of my arm making me flinch from the quick shock of static electricity that passes between us.
I wait for him to move away, but he doesn’t. “Would you like me to turn up the volume?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He grabs the remote off the table and points it at the screen, and then Reed’s deep voice instantly permeates my ears, his laughter thick and heavy as he jokes with the female interviewer.
Quinn and Jaxon’s faces appear on the screen beside him, and they all start laughing, too, about what, I’m still not entirely sure.
The words rolling across the bottom of the screen grab my attention…
Cold Neptune plays live at 9:00 a.m. Following successful recent tour, management is in talks with international record companies for a three-month European tour.
Fuck.Another tour?Therewas talk something like this could happen down the road, but nothing was set in stone. How do I not know anything about another tour? Why hasn’t Nick contacted me and discussed this with me? Shouldn’t the bass player of a band be consulted on something as huge as this? It’s not like he doesn’t know where I am. He was the one who put me here in the first place.
