Page 11 of Deeper

“Good.”

“So why didn’t y’all stay around the venue and find me?” Victoria prodded.

“The police were there. He got spooked.”

“Spooked? Uh-huh, what is he, a criminal?” Shit. Tori wasn’t buying it. “Come on, Bia, what really happened? What, did Roderick text you or something?”

Roderick Jackson was my ex—my lying, cheating ex. The worst kind of ex, where the sex was good and kept you coming back, but the person attached to the dick kept you one lie away from catching an assault charge. Rod was big in LA, a club promoter, and he often rubbed elbows with rappers and ballplayers. Pretty girls came with that lifestyle, something I knew from the jump, but still, I expected Rod to be a man and keep it in his pants.

I’d forgiven him the first time he cheated, and the rest was a messy history of lies and heartache.

“No,” I quickly denied. “This isn’t Rod, just some nice, random stranger who had a hotel room nearby.”

“He fine?”

Fan or no fan, there was no denying the truth about Zander Khalil. “Yes, Tori.”

“You owe me,” she said into the phone. “If I hadn’t have dragged you out for the night you wouldn’t be about to have nasty hotel sex.”

My eyes rolled to the ceiling. Victoria had a thing about hotels, the anonymity and the pampering. One of her exes had money-money and would often book rooms for them to spend the weekends in. She said hotel sex made you wilder, whereas sex at home was too customary and domestic.

“Please,” I told her. “I’m on my way home now that I know you’re safe. Again, I’m sorry we got separated.”

Victoria sighed. “I’m sorry Zander cancelled. I hope he’s okay.”

“Fuck him.” Because for real. “You better be able to get a damn refund.”

“Bianka.”

There was no getting through to her. Zander could do no wrong as far as she was concerned. “Let me get this phone to charge some more. I’ll call you when I get in, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Get home safe.”

We hung up and I checked my percentage, deciding six percent wasn’t enough to take an Uber out of Zander’s room just yet.

The sound of the piano greeted me as I stepped out of the bathroom. Out in the sitting area, Zander was at the piano, shirtless and barefoot now as he played with one hand and ate a peach in the other. On the dining room table was a bowl of the fruit, and it was fascinating watching him eat with one hand and play with the other.

With his shirt off, Zander’s tattooed skin showed his love for the taste of ink. He had a sleeve on one arm and the makings of another on the other. His chest and his torso were bare, but really, I didn’t mind. He had a broad chest and impressive arms.

Against my better judgment, my anger seemed to dissolve with every layer of clothing Zander removed.

But then I was right in front of him, where he seemed perfectly healthy and fine. He had no reason to let Victoria and his fans down. There was no reason he couldn’t have performed tonight.

“Things okay?” he asked as he continued to play with his left hand.

“Yes.”

“Good.” His attention was back on the piano, playing with such a composed, nonchalant grace as if he’d been trained to play with one hand his whole life. “I’ll text…Terryto wait with you until your ride comes.”

Leaving was a top priority, but with my battery percentage, I could stand to hang back just for a little while. If anything, it bought me time to question the obvious.

“Why did you cancel?” I demanded to know.

Zander peeked up at me. “None of your concern.”

So he felt entitled to let people down? “Fuck you, Zander.”

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