Chapter Eight. Luna
Chapter Eight
Luna
Our next stop after the three shows in Paris is Madrid, but before the one show there, we have five days off, so I rent a massive villa in Ronda and invite my travel crew—my backup dancers, musicians, and hair and makeup artists—to stay with me. And Riley, of course.
These are meant to be off days for everyone; we order food from local restaurants instead of having catering for the crew or having Riley prepare my meals, I don’t get my hair or makeup done, and everyone can spend the time sightseeing.
If people wanted to book separate travel, they were welcome to stay in Paris, but with the exception of a few dancers who had friends in town, everyone came to Spain with us.
And even though she’s supposed to have the day off, Riley insisted on making a family-style meal for our first night at the villa.
We leave for the villa on our tour buses at 4 AM after the show, and I sleep the entire way.
I’m exhausted after performing for three nights in a row, and the emotional roller coaster of Hudson showing up and me then staying out all night drinking way too much.
I vowed never to drink when I have a show the next day again.
I recovered quickly, though, which is one of the perks of going on tour while I’m twenty-one, and at the show that evening when I looked out into the crowd, I spotted Riley in one of the staff seats wearing a tour shirt.
It’s a tiny thing, but Hudson has refused to wear any of the tour merch because he says it’s cringe to do that, and when I saw her in it, I got the strangest feeling in my stomach.
It made me feel so cared for, and for a moment it felt like I was performing just for her.
I haven’t felt … this for someone before.
This kind of desire for her to care about me and think about me as often as I think of her.
Now, as I step off the bus, I try not to think about Hudson or about whether my songs are doing well enough that I could get the Best New Artist Grammy, and to just enjoy being on tour.
The villa is stunning, with sweeping views of the mountains and an infinity pool with loungers and an outdoor kitchen.
Everyone exclaims over it as they step off their own buses, and I’m looking forward to relaxing here.
Maybe we can even explore the town a bit.
Part of the reason we came out so far from Madrid is so I could have privacy and actually enjoy being here, without being photographed if I decide to go swimming or for a walk through town.
It’s only since I started dating Hudson that I can’t go outside for a walk without someone taking pictures of me, and I still haven’t gotten used to it.
I watch Riley step off the bus, laughing with Rhia, before she breaks away from her to walk over to the outdoor kitchen and inspect it, running her hand over the marble countertop that the grill is built into and turning on the sink.
Her blond hair is down instead of slicked back like it often is while she’s cooking, and she lets it blow in the wind.
It’s the kind of blond that would probably be brunette if she didn’t spend so much time in the sun.
I try to catch her eye, but she opens the porch door to walk into the in-house kitchen before I can.
But not before her head turns just enough that I can see the wide smile that stretches across her face.
I head upstairs to change into my bathing suit, then return to the pool.
Ashley had PAs travel ahead of us and bring everything we needed to the house before we got here, so all my things are already set up in my room.
I settle onto a pool float with my phone, book, song notebook, and a drink, ready to stay for a while.
But it’s hard to focus on any of that while Riley is out here cooking.
Soon after I settle in on my float, she steps outside wheeling a giant cooler behind her and then proceeds to take an entire octopus out of it and start expertly cutting off chunks of its head and beating its legs with a mallet.
I can’t look away. She’s so compact but wrangles this octopus with a huge knife as though it’s nothing, all while looking like a million bucks in a sporty bikini top and cutoffs.
I think just touching that gray blob would gross me out so much, I might throw up.
I’m only shaken from gaping when I realize I was so busy staring at her that I let my copy of Daisy Jones & the Six drop into the pool, and now it’s soaking wet. I close it and put it in the plastic pocket of my floating chair. Whatever. This is way better than any novel.
I thought the one octopus was impressive, but Riley goes on to set up her phone tripod to film herself and then do the entire process at least fifteen more times, before soaking all the tentacles in some sort of marinade.
I know she’s cooking for about twenty people, but this still seems like a lot of octopus.
After that she mixes up some sort of dough and leaves it in the fridge, and the smell of just the dough makes my mouth water.
I don’t know how to cook anything, but somehow I think Riley isn’t just cooking an average meal.
She’s making art. We have that in common.
A few dancers and musicians have joined me at the pool by this point, and I can tell they’re interested in what Riley’s doing as well.
She seems to know a few of them, and they chat with her as they traipse in and out of the house while she cooks.
She just does everything so gracefully, it’s like she’s performing a choreographed dance that only she can hear the music to.
Eventually she goes back inside and then returns with what looks like an entire animal leg, which she arranges by the dining table on a smaller table with a serving tray and knife.
I’m ready to ask what she’s planning to do with that, when Riley looks up and catches my eye. “This will be ready in thirty minutes,” she calls out. To everyone, I guess, but it feels like she’s talking only to me. “In case you need to … change or whatever.”
I don’t break eye contact with her. “I don’t want to miss anything. I like watching you cook. I’ll just eat in my bikini cover-up.”
For a moment I swear her gaze flicks down to my chest. I’m wearing the tiniest bikini I own right now so that I tan evenly, and it leaves very little to the imagination.
Whenever Hudson checked me out, it was like he was reassuring himself that I would work.
With me, a suitably attractive singer with a squeaky-clean enough image, he could get the rebrand he needed.
But now, even though for all I know Riley was just worried I was about to have a wardrobe malfunction or something, just the thought of her looking at me like that …
it’s making my cheeks flush, and I’m forgetting anything interesting I could say.
And more than that … I actually hope that her searing gaze is because she’s checking me out.
She breaks our silent staring contest first and goes back to her work.
She lights the grill and carefully places each of the tentacles on it, and watching her do that I know with certainty that I’m turned on.
Why does seeing her be so capable leave me this hot and bothered?
The way she moves, it’s clear that she knows exactly what she’s doing.
And as she leans over to tend to the grill for a moment, her full breasts spill over the top of her bikini and I bite my lip and force myself to tear my eyes away.
It’s been a long time since I was this turned on, and while it’s not the first time I’ve noticed how attractive a girl is …
it’s the first time I’ve been this attracted to another woman. This attracted to anyone, actually.
And I’m not just attracted to how Riley looks.
It’s how strong she is, how skilled and attentive she is to every detail.
How thoughtful and open she’s been to me.
I keep catching myself hoping she’ll be looking at me, but then when I do finally catch her gaze, I look away, embarrassed to be caught staring.
It’s almost sunset now and the golden glow is illuminating her by the grill.
Riley starts to set the table and plate the food, and set out bottles of wine.
When she starts to slice the meat off that leg she set up, I can’t look away, because seeing her biceps strain and her abs flex as she deftly peels away pieces is mesmerizing.
I’ve never found such mundane actions so attractive before.
This isn’t like me. Usually I can compartmentalize and focus so firmly on my career that I don’t even think about sex.
In fact, I’ve never once felt this turned on by Hudson.
And maybe that’s part of why it worked, because he wasn’t a distraction.
But I’m also usually especially good at pushing aside thoughts about attractive girls and what I could feel for them, because I know how challenging it could make things for my career.
I’ve been curating an all-American image.
I’m supposed to be the girl next door, not want to kiss her.
I need to get it together.
I toss my phone and notebook to the side of the pool and then roll off my floatie in hopes the water will cool me down.
But right as I surface someone dives into the pool next to me.
Riley rises out of the water, her blond hair dark and wet and falling around her shoulders.
She wipes water from her face and a few droplets fall from her long eyelashes.
“That felt amazing,” she breathes. “It was getting so hot by the grill.”
“Now you’re going to be all wet for dinner,” I say, and I think my voice sounds weird. Can she tell what I was thinking a few minutes ago?
“So will you,” she says with a wide smile. “I thought I’d join you. This is how I eat more often than not at home, fresh out of the water. It feels right.”