Chapter 14
I havezero interest in going to a club tonight. Fuck the Seafarer. Fuck my company. Fuck profit margins and shareholders and all the rest of the bullshit.
What I want is Evie. I want her squirming under me and gasping in pleasure. I want her swallowing my cock as she stares up at me with those beautiful blue eyes. I want her in every position, in every way. And I don’t want to share her. Not with Kara, certainly not with the douchebags the DJ calls friends.
Still, even though errands eventually force us to leave our bed, the day ends up being one that will be stored with my most cherished memories. For the first time in months I forget about the ship and the company, Jack and my father. Here in the City of Love, I’m a different man. Someone who only has the woman beside him to think about, to hold, to pull into kisses that last until we have to literally tear ourselves apart.
We walk the Champs-élysées, Paris’s premier shopping street. I buy her a dress, shoes, waving away her protests as I hand over my limitless AmEx card. She picks out a suit for me that she swears is fashionable. It’s a little tight but I take her word for it.
Then we get a lunch of finger foods to-go and eat it in the park beneath the Eiffel Tower, lying on a blanket hand-in-hand and talking in low voices until inevitably falling on top of each other once again.
The coming show tears us away from paradise to go get ready and by 10 o’clock (i.e. the time I usually go to bed) we’re riding in a limo to the event.
“This is a pretty big deal,” Evie says, scrolling on her phone. “Mickey’s sending me stuff from social media about it. Look.”
She gives it to me and I flick through the messages. They show a stream of tweets, all either professing excitement at going to the concert or, more commonly, devastation at missing out on it.
“‘I’d set myself on fire just to be able to hear her outside the venue’,” I read aloud. I look up at Evie. “Does she realize that being on fire would affect the sound quality?”
“Don’t look for rationality on Twitter,” Evie replies.
“You’re very wise,” I say. “Makes me feel a little bad for not wanting to go. Sounds like some of these people would sell a kidney to get in.”
Evie raises an eyebrow. “Do you really feel bad?”
“Not really.” I grin. “I suppose I’m spoiled but I can’t imagine that Kara’s music is going to blow my mind any more than you did this morning.”
Evie looks away quickly, smiling almost sheepishly. I don’t push the point, but damn. This girl knows how to fuck. I can’t believe Brent felt the need to look elsewhere, or that he let her slip away. But then maybe some part of him was aware he couldn’t measure up.
Speaking of Brent and Cheryl, I do feel the need to broach the subject. We’ve avoided all controversial topics over the day but now it’s game time and I’d like to agree on a plan. Namely one that doesn’t involve physical assault. As much as I’d like to tear Brent a new one, I won’t. Evie, on the other hand, had a rage in her eye earlier that made the ski pole story suddenly utterly believable.
“So how are we going to handle those-who-must-not-be-named?” I ask.
The smile instantly drops off Evie’s face. She looks out the window at the Parisian streets rolling slowly by. Then she shakes her head.
“We’re going to treat them like anyone else in Kara’s entourage,” she says firmly. “But if they try to sling shit our way, we have to throw it right back.”
“Can’t look like they can kick us around,” I agree. “Think you’ll be okay? It might get messy.”
Evie looks somewhat unsure but then resolve hardens behind her eyes. She looks straight at me and says, “Absolutely.”
“And I’ll never be too far away,” I remind her.
She smiles. “I know. That’s why I’m so confident.”
Evie scooches over so that she’s resting against me, her head just beneath my chin. She smells like hair products and body spray. They’re nice smells, but they mask her natural flowery scent that always sends a jolt straight down to my cock. Later I’ll have to scrub it all off her in the shower.
For now I put a finger under her chin to lift it and kiss her lightly on her full lips. It was just supposed to be a peck but once I feel them I need more. I slip my tongue into her mouth and she does likewise, moaning low in her throat before tearing herself away.
“Stop it,” she says, raising an accusing finger. “We can’t come out of this limo looking like we just fucked.”
“Why not?” I ask. “What’s more punk rock than sex in the limo on the way to the show?”
Her mouth quirks. “You have a point,” she admits.
My hand snakes toward her dress. “A good point?” I ask devilishly. She doesn’t move away and my hand works deeper. She gasps when my fingers find her clit.
“Nick,” she hisses but still makes no move to end it. I press harder, working the sensitive button. She’s like jelly against me, wanting and willing…
Then the divider between us and the driver slides down an inch. Evie leaps away from me with a yelp.
The driver, oblivious (or maybe just professional), says, “Five minutes until arrival.”
Terrible timing.
“Can you loop around the block?” I ask.
“That’d be a little difficult, sir,” the man says.
I look out the window and realize that we’re actually already here, just stuck in a line of cars and limos leading up to a mob of people. There are too many of them to see the red carpet but I’ve been to enough press events to recognize the scene.
“Did you know about this?” I ask her.
Evie follows my gaze, her eyes widening. “Hell no!” she says. Whirling on me, she demands, “How do I look?”
“Like I could fuck you for a week and still not get tired,” I reply.
“No, seriously,” she says. She pulls down the vanity mirror, fingers her makeup, her hair. “I was not prepared for cameras!”
“I was being serious,” I say. When she doesn’t respond, I gently turn her shoulders toward me. “Evie,” I say. “Look at me.”
She does, her eyes reluctantly leaving the mirror.
“You’re perfect,” I say. I kiss her lightly on the forehead. “Don’t worry. Remember. I’m right here.”
Evie nods slowly and I see some of the anxiety lift from her face. I take her hand and squeeze it and before long our five minutes are up. The limo stops and the door opens, spilling bright light over us that pops and sparks with the flash of cameras.
We hadn’t talked about how we’d present to the world, neither of us thinking that a decision had to be made so soon. In lieu of a conclusion, I just do what feels right: I keep holding her hand. And as we walk down the carpet, her iron grip relaxes steadily until her hand is soft in mine.
I’ve done plenty of red carpets before. I find them boring and irritating, as I find most superfluous things. I’m able to stand this one though with Evie by my side.
I don’t recognize most of the people fawning to the cameras. They’re mostly in their mid-twenties, probably social media personalities I’ve never heard of. Evie and I are out of place in this world; the photographers take our picture but I see multiple people look at us in confusion, trying to place us.
At the very least we look the part. Evie is wearing a black club dress with a plunging neckline. It hugs her curves in all the right ways, leaving little to the imagination. It’s set off by smoky eyes and diamond accents — dangling earrings and a necklace I’d bought her earlier that make her blue eyes sparkle even brighter. She walks confidently in four-inch Louboutins, flashing the red sole with every step.
I’m wearing a slim-fitting black suit with a slim silver pinstripe and no tie. A black shirt is unbuttoned at the top, my thick silver Patek Philippe watch on my wrist.
We’re classic, elegant. Old-money suave. Tall and mature in a sea of youths. But most importantly we look like we know how to have a good time.
And this is the place to do so.
The site of Kara’s concert is magnificent. Even a skeptic like myself is impressed with the venue. The building is ancient, marble and stone and huge. The ceiling stretches four stories above an open floor crammed with people. Most of them are coming through another entrance; ours seems to be reserved for the VIPs. At the head of the room, music is already playing, an opener hyping up the crowd before Kara comes on at eleven.
The music isn’t my type — the same kind of electric dance beat that had been blasted on the plane — but everyone around us seems to be having an awesome time.
“Where are we supposed to go?” Evie asks me. I’m wondering the same thing but then an attendant approaches us with VIP passes and indicates a stairwell tucked out of sight. We follow it up two stories and come out on a balcony that wraps around three-quarters of the space.
Predictably, this is where Kara and Krew are. It isn’t hard to find them. The VIP section of the VIP section is at the far back of the room with a view across the entire sea of people, flashing lights and spotlights cutting the smoky air.
Kara is reclining on a couch like Cleopatra, Dax beside her, his hand running through her hair. A few other familiar faces are dotted on the couches around them, including, of course, Brent and Cheryl.
The music changes as we approach. I swipe two glasses off a nearby tray and pass one to Evie. I catch a glimpse of us in a mirror as we make our approach. We look very European, like we just rolled out of a Bugatti. Nobody around us is better in style, and the crowd parts around us as if instinctively sensing we’re important.
Carl, Kara’s bodyguard, steps aside as we approach and we strut into the VIP section, fashionably late and fucking gorgeous.
I don’t normally care about this kind of shit, but the look on everyone’s faces is pretty damn satisfying.
Neither Evie nor I acknowledge anyone other than Kara, and we stand before her like we’re paying tribute to the queen.
“I’m impressed,” I say nonchalantly, taking a sip of my drink. “This is exactly the vibe I want for the Seafarer.”
Kara looks us up and down, her eyes lingering on our held hands before traveling up to my face. “You’re not the only one, Mr. Madison,” she says. “I like your suit.”
“Call me Nick,” I say. “This isn’t a business meeting.”
A smile creeps across Kara’s face. “It’s not,” she agrees. “And that’s why we’re doing shots.”
I don’t blink. “You read my mind.”
Kara literally snaps a finger and an attendant comes over with a tray of glasses and a bottle of vodka.
Out of the corner of my eye I see everyone in the entourage lean forward expectantly, including Brent and Cheryl. But Kara only indicates four. Dax and Kara stand and we clink glasses, draining them without hesitation.
The liquor hits my stomach pleasantly. I’m about to hand the glass back to the attendant when Kara gestures for him to pour one more.
I glance at Evie. She’s smiling, by all measures excited. But I already know her well enough to see a slight flicker of nerves behind the front. The shots are big, easily close to two normal-sized ones. Two would be plenty for me, and I’m far from a lightweight. I also outweigh Evie by a hundred pounds.
The attendant holds out the tray for us and I grab both of ours before Evie can. Then, smoothly, I turn as if checking out the view. Kara and Dax are too busy laughing about something to notice as I pour Evie’s shot into my own before passing her the empty glass. We cheers again and down our drinks.
This time the hit is a little less pleasant but I’m glad I can take the bullet for Evie. Besides, as a steady buzz hits me, I realize that maybe my dislike of clubs comes from not getting shit-faced enough.
Kara sends the attendant away and gestures to a couple in the entourage to move to make room for the two of us on the couch next to her and Dax.
“First time in Paris?” I ask Kara.
She nods. “I went to the motherfucking catacombs today,” she says. “It was dope.” She jerks her head at Dax. “He was too freaked out.”
“Man, I just don’t want to waste time seeing a bunch of old skulls,” he says defensively.
“He was scared,” she says again. Her smile is teasing but Dax doesn’t seem to like the joke. He mutters something under his breath.
“Huh?” Kara asks. It’s a dare for him to say it louder. Wisely, he doesn’t.
Jesus.
“So you two, huh?” Kara asks, turning back to us. We’re no longer holding hands, but my arm is around Evie, her little body pressed down the length of me like she belongs there.
“All those long work hours,” Evie jokes. She sounds a little tipsy.
“Get it, girl,” Kara says, nodding approvingly. “I could tell, ya know. Right when the two of you walked into Bogart’s back in New York.” She turns to a girl on a nearby couch, and I recognize her as the girl with the rose tattoos whom we’d met briefly on the plane. “Right, Tori? Didn’t I say those two were fucking?”
Tori nods. “Like the minute they left the room.”
Evie shifts, a little uncomfortable. I own it though. “We weren’t at that point,” I say, “but you must be a prophet, because it wasn’t long afterward.”
Up until now Brent and Cheryl have stayed on the sidelines but they must sense we’re working into Kara’s good graces. As expected, when they butt in, it’s with something snide to say.
“Personally I could never fuck my boss,” Cheryl says. “But I guess some women can…”
Evie doesn’t miss a beat. “Personally I could never fuck my best friend’s fiancé,” she says in the exact same tone. “But I guess some women can…”
Cheryl’s mouth gapes like a fish, working up a retort. It doesn’t materialize. Kara’s eyes dart between the two women. Dax looks uncomfortable. But Evie handles the situation perfectly: she pivots.
“Besides,” she says, “Nick isn’t really my boss. He’s a client. My real boss is named Dan. He lives in Boston and has all the sex appeal of a piece of fruit so I’m safe on that front. But that’s boring.” She gestures at Kara, who’s wearing some kind of gold, stringy get-up that clashes stylishly with her trademark rainbow hair. “Look at you. What a venue! We were not expecting the red carpet, all the paparazzi. You’re killing it.”
Kara shrugs. “Part of the fun,” she says. “Just trying to enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Well if what people have to say is true, you’re going to last quite a while,” Evie says.
“Do you listen to my music?” Kara asks, sidestepping the flattery.
Evie hesitates and wisely chooses the truth. “I’m really more of a country girl,” she admits.
“And I only listen to instrumental rock music,” I say when Kara’s gaze trains on me.
Kara doesn’t look surprised or offended. “Yeah, that checks out,” she says. “Why me then?”
“For the cruise?” I ask.
She nods.
“Because you’re what’s hot,” I say simply. “And I’m in the business of giving people what they want, not what I’d like them to want.”
Kara considers my words and then lets them pass without comment. She turns to Dax and pecks him on the cheek. “I’m going. I’m on soon so I gotta get ready.”
She stands. Evie and I do as well. “Thank you for inviting us along,” I say, and it’s actually genuine, even though I’m sure the welling feeling of appreciation has more than a little to do with the alcohol hitting my brain. “We’re looking forward to seeing what you can do.”
Kara just smiles and then makes her exit. A couple of the people in the group go along with her, presumably to help her get ready. That leaves Evie and me with Dax, Brent, Cheryl, and the rest.
Suddenly the situation doesn’t feel as fun as it did a moment ago. It feels awkward. I glance at our two enemies. They look pissed. I’m not particularly excited about spending the rest of the night sitting around trying not to argue with them.
I turn to Evie. “Let’s dance.”
Her face lights up, relieved to escape.
“Wait, you’re leaving?” Tori asks. “This is the VIP section.” She sounds surprised that we’d even consider stepping out.
“Yeah, and we’re going to go rub elbows with the commoners,” I say with a laugh. I stand and offer a hand to Evie. “We’ll be around.”
We rejoin the crowd on the balcony. Evie grabs my hand and guides me to the bar where she orders us another shot and a drink — a fruity cocktail for her and, guessing correctly, a dark liquor straight for me.
We take the four drinks to the edge of the balcony, the sea of people jumping and crashing like waves below us.
“Did that go well?” Evie asks with a smile. “I feel like that went well.”
“I think she likes us,” I say, matching her grin.
“So now what?”
The energy of the place, the drunk slowly creeping up on me — it’s all warming my heart to the club scene. It doesn’t hurt that Evie lights up every room she’s in like the rising sun.
I raise my shot glass to hers and we clink. “Now?” I say. “Now we have some fun.”
We go downstairs, leaving the stuffy VIPs behind for the heat and chaos of the main floor. By the time we’ve worked our way to the center of the dancers, Kara is on and the room surges as one to greet her.
“MY DARLINGS ARE YOU READY TO HAVE SOME FUN TONIGHT?”
“FUCK YEAH!” I shout with the crowd.
In answer, the lights shift to red lasers, smoke pours out of vents around us and the beat drops. The bass reverberates in my head, my bones. My senses are overwhelmed. My heart is full. Because Evie is right beside me, screaming and jumping with everyone else.
Who is this man who’s suddenly replaced the reliable old Nick? I’m not sure and I definitely don’t care. The next two hours are a blur of drinks and dancing. Evie grinding on me, my hard cock pressing against her ass in that hot little black dress. I sweat straight through my suit and completely lose the jacket at some point, abandoning it to be crushed underfoot. Evie unbuttons my dress shirt so that I look like I’m in Saturday Night Fever, but I don’t care. I never want it to end.
But of course, like all good things, it does.
Kara takes a break around 1 a.m. and Evie and I stagger off the dance floor and head up to the VIP section to congratulate her on a fucking awesome set.
I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror once again and we no longer look so coolly put together. But damn does it look like we’re having a good time.
Kara is similarly drenched in sweat and so hyped up from her set that she gives Evie a huge hug upon seeing her. The normally cool-as-ice DJ is grinning from ear to ear, and she hops up and down, still riding the high of the show.
“It was amazing!” Evie says. “Oh my god I haven’t danced like that since… I don’t think ever.”
“Did I win you two over?” Kara asks.
The rush of the dance floor is fading, and I’m sobering up a bit but I still have to smile. “I think after thirty-odd years I finally see what all the fuss is about,” I admit.
Kara leaves for a moment to give Dax a peck on the lips, but returns quickly, asking, “Want to check out backstage?”
“I was thinking I might get some air,” I say, just as Evie says, “I’d love to.”
We look at each other, neither wanting to part, but then finally I say, “You go ahead. I’ll just step outside for a minute.”
Evie nods, a bit reluctantly and then disappears into the crowd with Kara and some of the other girls from the group. Cheryl stays behind, arms crossed as if in protest. Nobody cares.
There’s a door off the balcony that leads to an outside pavilion with views of the Parisian rooftops. It’s populated by a lot of VIPs smoking everything from cigarettes to hashish. I thread through to a spot on the edge where I can get a bit of the stiff night breeze and maybe dry my sweat-soaked shirt off a bit.
“Nick.”
I turn and see Dalton. I shake his outstretched hand, moving so there’s room for him on the balcony.
“I haven’t seen you all night,” I say.
“I’ve been backstage, wrangling the crew and the other acts,” he says. He wipes his forehead. “It’s going okay.” He sounds way too dour for the awesome time everyone’s having in there.
“You’re pulling it off,” I say. “I had my doubts, but I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“Yeah, you look like you’re having fun,” he says. “I saw Kara and Evie for a moment going backstage. Seems like the deal is progressing.”
“Not sure I could dance any harder,” I say.
Dalton nods but he looks absentminded, barely focused on the deal that seemed to matter so much to him.
“How old are you?” I ask him.
He blinks, side-eyes me. “Twenty-two,” he says. “Why?”
“You’re going to go far in this business,” I say. “You’ve got a great eye for talent. Kara is a star. Where’d you find her?”
He cocks his head, realizes I’m serious, and laughs. “Man, you got it backward. Kara asked me to manage her. In all honesty, I barely know what the hell I’m doing.”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean she asked you?”
“She wanted someone she knew and I guess she trusted me not to fuck it up,” he says. “We grew up together in the same building in Brooklyn. I’ve known her my whole life.” There’s a note of wistfulness in his tone and it’s not hard to recognize it. This guy’s got it bad, and he’s gotten unlucky enough for his childhood crush to suddenly be in the same league with NBA players.
“You’re not fucking it up,” I remind him. “She’s got to be pretty appreciative.”
He nods. “She is.” But not in the way I’d like her to be. It goes unsaid but understood.
I look Dalton up and down. He’s good-looking, well put together, tall. Not basketball player tall but tall enough. I’m about to ask him why he’s never made a move when two familiar faces shove through the mix.
Brent hesitates when he sees me, looking like he wants to turn around and find another spot. But Dax is with him and the man reaches out to shake my hand, obviously happy to see me. He playfully slugs Dalton on the shoulder in greeting. Dalton, for his part, doesn’t look thrilled to see his crush’s boyfriend and smiles weakly.
“Haven’t seen either of you all night,” Dax says.
“Been dancing,” I say. I’m not sure how I feel about the guy yet but I stay friendly. Brent, on the other hand, goes ignored.
“So you are with that advertising chick, huh?” Dax asks. “Is that a serious thing?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say.
“So you wouldn’t be mad if I talked to her?”
I freeze, ice shooting instantly down my veins. I would absolutely fucking mind. Dax must read the instant fury that darkens my face because he raises two gigantic hands.
“Man, say the word and I’ll leave her alone. I respect you.”
But does he respect Kara? I thought they were an item.
“You’re not missing much,” Brent cuts in with a sneer. “Believe me.”
It takes all of my control not to grab him by the front of his tacky shirt and throw him over the balcony. But there must be no assaults tonight and certainly no outright murders. Even though I think a jury of my peers would be on my side if they heard the details.
I swallow my rage and eye Brent. “Maybe she was just unimpressed with what you had to offer,” I say.
“Oooo,” Dax says. He’s grinning and calm, chill in his perceived position as top dog and enjoying the drama. My opinion of him is lowering by the second.
“Cheryl’s happy,” Brent says back, ignoring Dax.
“Cheryl looks about as enjoyable as a nail gun to the nuts,” I say. “I can’t believe she’s who you left Evie for.”
Brent rolls his eyes. “You think Cheryl’s the only girl I’m fucking?” he asks.
“Does she know that?”
“Oh come on. Don’t play dumb. You know the score.”
“I guess I don’t,” I say stiffly.
Brent laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to only fuck one girl at a time. Personally there isn’t a pussy good enough in the world to tie me down.”
“Hell yeah brother,” Dax says with a chuckle.
I look at him hard. “Aren’t you with Kara?” I ask.
His expression sours but then he playfully raises his hands. “Oh sure,” he says. “But just because I’ve got a girl doesn’t mean I can’t look.” He slings his hand around Dalton’s shoulders and squeezes him. “Besides lil bro would probably take a shot at me if I said anything else.”
Dalton doesn’t say anything, looking away like he’d rather be anywhere other than here.
“And what’s Cheryl say about your open relationship?” I ask Brent.
Brent just shrugs. “Hey what a bitch don’t know, don’t hurt her. You feel me?”
“I’d rather not,” I say.
“You’re coming off a little judgmental, bro,” Dax says. “I thought you were cool.”
“I guess I’m not,” I say. “And I don’t give a fuck what you think.” I put a hand on Dalton’s shoulder and pull him away. “Let’s go back inside, man.”
We leave the two cracking jokes about us and go back inside. My mood has definitely plummeted. How dare Dax think he has a shot of talking up Evie? And how the hell do I feel bad for Cheryl? Actually, no I don’t. She’s just as much a cheater as Brent is, and she shouldn’t be surprised that if he couldn’t keep it in his pants for Evie, he wouldn’t be able to for her.
No, Brent being a cheating cockring isn’t a shocker. What surprises me more is that Kara would put up with a guy like Dax.
“How long have they been together?” I ask Dalton.
The younger man has his eyes glued to the floor, and upon closer examination he’s shaking with fury.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
His jaw is clenched and when he talks his eyes don’t meet mine. “If you think this is a new thing since she’s famous now, it’s not. Dax is just the latest in a long line of pieces of shit.”
“And you’ve never made a move?” I ask.
“Me?” He looks up, tries and fails to feign innocence. “Yeah, no,” he says with a bitter laugh. “That’s not going to happen.”
“And why not?” I ask. “What does Dax have that you don’t?”
“A yellow Lamborghini.”
I snort. “I haven’t known Kara that long, but something tells me it takes more than a cool car to impress her. And I think you know that. So what’s the real reason?”
Dalton doesn’t meet my eye. “Dax has nothing to lose,” he says finally. “What happens if I put it all out there and she laughs in my face?”
I don’t have too many comforting words. I’ve never had an issue attracting women, and honestly I’ve always been in Dax’s position up until now.
“There’s a good chance she won’t,” I finally say, just to say something. Dalton’s face darkens and he looks away again.
It probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but it’s really damn late and my history with Jack proves I’m not the best at advice. I slap a comforting hand on his shoulder and guide him back to the VIP section before I say anything that makes things worse.
Kara is back onstage. Evie is talking with Tori, and her face lights up when I join them.
“Nick!” she says. “Backstage was so cool. Almost wish I would have gone into music.” She makes a face. “On the other hand, I can’t carry a note to save my life.”
“There’s auto-tune,” I remind her.
“I don’t think even auto-tune could bail me out,” she says. “I’ll have to just settle for observing the rock star life from afar.”
“Join the club,” Tori says. “I’d never be here if I hadn’t been Kara’s best friend since grade school.”
First Dalton, now Tori. “Is everyone here old friends of Kara’s?” I ask.
“For sure,” she says. “Everyone that Dax didn’t bring, that is.” A note in her voice makes me think that she’s not a huge fan of Kara’s boyfriend either, or maybe just not of his guests. Get in line, lady.
She points around the ring, “Kylie and Jada were on the basketball team with us in middle school. Sam and Jason lived in the same building as Dalton and Kara. LaToya and Amber are her cousins.” She’s about to go on but then she waves a hand. “And the rest are from various sports and schools, friends collected over the years. But,” she smiles proudly (and a little drunkenly), “I’ve been here since the beginning.”
“She’s lucky to have so many friends,” Evie says.
My skeptical side wonders how many of these friends came out of the woodwork when Kara got big. Tons of people from my past had emerged too when I was first getting featured in Forbes. I’d told them to get lost. Of course they’d repeated what my father often told me, that I’d forgotten where I’d come from. I’d always reply with the same answer — believe me, I wish I could.
Evie’s hand rests over mine, and I turn to see her looking up at me with concern. I smile, vanishing the sullen thoughts to a more appropriate time. Right now I need to stay in the moment, enjoy this simple, carefree night in Paris with the woman I’m falling steadily for by the minute.
Tori introduces us to a few others in the friend group and we make polite chit-chat for another hour before Kara makes her final bows, getting off the stage at an impressive 3 a.m.
Evie tries to hide a yawn, and I struggle to suppress one of my own. We’ve been at it all day, after getting very little sleep last night, and I’m ready to fall into our big feather bed back at the hotel and sleep with her nestled in my arms.
Of course, we have to make one stop first.
“Do you remember the way to the dressing room?” I ask Evie.
“Are you sure?” she asks, understanding my intentions. “Shouldn’t we wait until she comes out?”
I shake my head and lean forward, whispering in her ear, “I’m ready to take you back home to bed and I’m not waiting on anyone a moment longer.”
Her mouth quirks in amusement and she stands, still holding my hand.
We say our goodbyes, pointedly ignoring Brent, and Cheryl. When Evie moves toward Dax, I give her a quick shake of my head. She trusts me and pivots, giving Tori one last hug. Then we head toward the back.
The huge club is emptying, the lights coming on to reveal the disaster zone left behind. My jacket is out there somewhere and I abandon it as another casualty of the night.
After slipping a burly security guard a hundred, we find Kara’s door backstage. Evie knocks lightly, and Kara cracks the door, her face lighting up at the sight of us.
“Give it to me straight,” she says, after letting us in.
“It was great,” I say. “Way better than I expected. On the way back here I only heard people talking about what a good time they had.”
“You speak French?” Kara challenges.
“Yes,” I say. “And may I say you’re a little suspicious of a compliment.”
She shrugs, turning back to the mirror where she’s wiping off her makeup. “Part of the game. I’m sure you’re used to over-the-top flattery.”
“People learned that doesn’t work on me a long time ago,” I say.
“Well I hope they start learning it about me quick,” she says.
I have to smile. Beyond all reason, I like this girl. She reminds me of me.
We say our goodbyes. We don’t need to ask for an evaluation. It’s clear that Kara is warming to us in the same way I’m warming to her. Finally we get into our waiting limo and slump on the wide seats.
“Now to do that every night for the next two weeks,” I say.
Evie moans — and not in a sexy way. “We’re going to need to go shopping again tomorrow,” she says, sounding like she’d rather spend the next twenty-four hours in bed.
“What for?” I demand. “We have clothes.”
“No way. Gotta have new clothes every night,” she says. “I brought a ton but there’s no way anything I packed is going to match up to this crowd.”
I scooch so that we’re closer together and she leans over, placing her head on my lap.
“We fucking killed it though,” I say, punctuating the sentence with a loud yawn.
“I could get used to that VIP stuff,” she replies sleepily.
I could get used to you. I almost say it. I open my mouth to. But I hesitate, something giving me pause. A feeling? Of self-consciousness, or maybe just of fear.
I never thought I had much to lose either.
But then I realize it would have been pointless anyway. Evie has fallen asleep.