Chapter 6
SIX
Eric
? Again - Lenny Kravitz ?
The bed is cool beside me, but the scent of Ty still lingers on the sheets—a mix of something sweet and something I can’t quite place but already know I will crave for the rest of my life.
Eyes still heavy with sleep, I reach over, expecting to find the curve of her waist, the heat of her skin against my palm.
Instead, my fingers are met with emptiness.
My brow furrows as I blink myself fully awake and roll onto my back, my heart already sinking in my chest. Maybe she’s just shifted to the other side.
Maybe she’s in the bathroom. But deep down, there’s a quiet, unshakable knowing.
I finally turn my head and realize that the bed next to me is indeed empty.
I sit up.
“Ty?” I call, my voice still deep and rough from sleep.
Silence answers.
I take a second to survey the room and realize that her clothes are gone and my heart sinks.
No.
“Ty!” I call again, pushing the covers aside and crossing the room. I slide my boxer briefs back on before I step out into the living area and sigh when it registers that it, along with the kitchen, are empty. “Fuck.” I rub my hands down my face.
Why would she leave? Granted, it’s been a long damn time since I’ve done what I did last night, but from what I can remember, they never leave.
Not on their own accord. I’m usually all but shoving them out of my room in the morning.
Or worse, I’m the one already gone when they wake.
Already on the RV and headed to the next stop.
Whoever I left behind already long forgotten.
Doesn’t it figure that the one time I want a woman to still be here in the morning, she’s gone. Vanished into thin air like a ghost. I look back toward the bed and have to physically shake the mental images of last night from my head. The way she looked under me, on top of me, in front of me.
A piece of paper on the desk near the door catches my eye, and I dart across the room to snatch it up. Hoping, begging whatever all-seeing, all-knowing being exists out there that it says Went for coffee or that she left her number. Or her name.
Fuck, I’m freaking out over this woman, and I don’t even know her goddamn name.
I pick up the piece of hotel stationary and read it once. Twice. Three times before the words register.
Your Majesty,
Figured I’d save us both the embarrassment of you politely and awkwardly thanking me (again) for an “unforgettable evening” and shoving me out the door.
So, thanks for an unforgettable evening.
-Ty
The finality of her words sting. It’s the kind of note you leave when you don’t want to be a hassle, when you don’t want to be missed. No lingering promises. No “call me.” Just a clean, neat exit.
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, exactly. Maybe some inclination of wanting to see me again or some hint of a connection that went beyond the heat of the moment—especially after hanging out and getting to know each other before and after the show.
But there was nothing. Just…goodbye.
I run my fingers over the tiny heart she doodled next to her name before dropping the paper to the floor and collapsing back onto the bed.
Even after everything—after I told her I wanted her to stay—she still thought I wanted her to leave. Could I blame her? Would I have believed me if I were in her shoes?
The scent of her perfume wafts up from the sheets and into my nostrils, causing flashes of last night to run through my mind again—the conversations in my dressing room, watching her in the crowd, how easily conversation flowed between us in the diner, the way that first kiss stole my breath.
The way her skin felt under my fingers, the way she tasted, the way her dark hair looked when it splayed across the pillows.
The way she smiled, and how it made everything feel lighter, like the world wasn’t quite as heavy as it had been before I met her.
But now…now the bed next to me is cold, the sheets rumpled and absent of her warmth.
I brush my fingers over the pillow she’d laid on, unsure why I feel so fucking sad about this.
I’ve been at this a long time, and I know how things work on the road—how fleeting everything can be.
People come and go all the time, but something about this, something about her, is gnawing at me more than I want to admit.
I stand up and walk to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face before staring at myself in the mirror.
My hair’s a mess from the way she ran her fingers through it, and I smile at the memory of her gripping the strands in her fist while my head was between her thighs.
Then I remember the sounds she made and the way she tasted on my tongue, and I realize that I need to get the fuck out of this room.
I pull on a hoodie and a pair of jeans and head out into the hallway, not exactly sure where I’m going, just sure that I need to move.
When I make it down to the lobby and out onto the sidewalk, the cool morning air hits me like a slap in the face, and I breathe it in, trying to clear the mental fog. The city streets are unusually quiet. It’s early enough that everything feels suspended, like the world hasn’t woken up yet.
I walk for a few blocks before ducking into a Starbucks and grabbing a mocha, taking a slow sip, trying to focus on the warmth of it instead of the cold ache in my chest.
Jesus Christ. Why can’t I stop thinking about last night? Why did one night with that woman send me into some kind of spiral?
Maybe she thought it was just sex, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t want more.
More of her—more of whatever it was between us.
The way she fit, the way we connected. I’ve had plenty of one-night stands, but with her, it felt different.
It felt real, in a way I haven’t experienced before.
As I wander the streets of Manhattan, I realize that one night with Ty was not going to be enough for me. I need to find her.
And when I do, I’m going to fight like hell to keep her.