Page 24 of One More Song

“Tell me.” Her eyebrows lift. “Tell me what dirty things you imagined.”

It would be so easy to take this night in the direction my cock craves. “You’re tired,” I say. “And half-drunk.”

She blinks, sleepily and I know even if part of her wants us to go all-in tonight, she wouldn’t remember it in the morning, and I would. I stand, knowing right from wrong.

“Stay with me,” she says. “Please.”

I don’t want to tell her no. It looks like she needs someone to tell her yes.

Yes. Everything you want, everything you need, it’s yours, Ember. Yes.

I want to be that person for her even if I haven’t the slightest idea of what it means.

And I also know, as I slip off my shoes and move to the other side of the bed, intentionally lying down ontopof the coverlet, notunderit, that in the morning this spell she’s under will break.

She will remember that her friends gushed over me and Synn and Saint. She will remember, even in her hazy-memory of the night before, that someone mentioned we were famous.

She will google me.

Learn the truth.

Fuck.

I’m not ready to say goodbye.

I wrap an arm around her.

And instead, I simply say goodnight.

Chapter Nine

Ember

As the earlymorning light filters through my bedroom window, I startle. There is a man in my bed. A very handsome man.

Ash.

Oh shit. Did I sleep with him? I look under the blanket, my panties and t-shirt are on. And after I run a hand over my eyes, I realize he is still very dressed. And spooning me.

I bite my lip, squeeze my eyes shut. Ash is in my bed. How in the hell did that happen? And whatelsehappened last night?

Rolling out of the bed, I reach for my terrycloth bathrobe and slide my feet into slippers, closing the blinds before slipping into the hallway. I close the door and exhale. It’s been a long ass time since there was a man in my bed.

Taking a minute in the hallway bathroom, I wash my face, take three pain relievers, and look at myself in the mirror. God, I haven’t been hungover in about as long as I haven’t been laid.

My stomach rumbles, roars, really, and I decide a big, greasy breakfast is in order. But when I get to the kitchen, I see Synn, Saint, and Dusky are already working on bacon and eggs. There’s a glass pitcher of what looks like a Bloody Mary mix on the counter, and French toast is on a griddle.

“Wow,” I say, taking in the spread. “This is quite the feast.”

Dusky hands me a Bloody Mary, celery stick and all. “Hair of the dog, thought ye might need it.”

I take a sip. It’s perfectly spicy. “Why all this fuss?” I ask. “No offense, but none of you have seemed much like the help-in-the-kitchen type over the last few days.”

The guys share a look that I don’t understand. “Maybe ye oughta take a seat,” Dusky says.

I do as he asks as they dish up plates of food, all of us sitting at the kitchen table. I decide to be patient, wait for them to talk. My headache is fading, and I want it to stay that way. But I have a feeling that whatever is going to come next isn’t going to be good.

We eat in silence, and it grows more awkward by the minute. Admittedly the food is amazing. And exactly what my hang-over needed. Sugary-sweet bread, covered in syrup, hot bacon, and extra cheesy eggs. When Dusky hands me a mug of piping hot coffee, a smile spreads across my face. Whatever they are preparing me for seems worth it. No one has made me breakfast since I was a little girl.

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