Page 122 of Love on Tour
“Honestly, I don’t know. I thought about saying yes many times. But if I must give an answer, it’s because I felt like you only kept asking because I kept saying no. And if I ever said yes, you’d have disappeared. I think your interest in me stemmed from the fact you couldn’t have me.”
“I think it was more than that. But I won’t lie. It did keep me interested. That and the fact I think you’re one cool chick.” He smiled his gorgeous smile and gave her a wink.
“I didn’t want to risk what we had with a one-night fling.And I was pretty sure Matt wouldn’t go in after you. So to speak.” Christine blushed, making Austin laugh.
“So to speak. No, that probably would have ended any possibility there.”
“Then I’d have slept with you, lost our friendship, and lost any chance with Matt.”
“Might not have happened that way.”
“But good chance it would have. I could have lost you both.”
Austin nodded, accepting the answer. “Love ya, girl.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Love ya back.”
He stepped outside just as Julianna opened her door. She peered out at them.
“Jules! What’s up, gorgeous?” He gave a salute and walked toward the elevator.
Christine raised her eyebrows at Julianna, who shrugged and headed toward Christine.
“Jules?” Christine asked.
“I told him not to call me that,” she said.
Austin stepped into the elevator, whistling on his way. He waved as the doors closed.
“Anything I should know about?” Julianna asked.
“Nope. Not yet . . .Jules,” Christine said. “AnythingIshould know about?”
“Nope. Not yet.”
Christine stared at her. “Watch yourself with that one.”
“If and when the time comes, I will.”
“Fair enough. Hey, there’s a songwriter night at the Bluebird tomorrow. Want to go?” Christine asked.
Julianna looked at Christine with a big smile on her face. “You’re going to be okay, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I’m going to be okay.”
THE PAIN WAS SEARING.Alicia plunged the knife in repeatedly. Christine tried to fight her off, but nothing made it stop. Right before Alicia lunged one last time, Christine opened her eyes and glanced around to see that nobody was in her bedroom. She always left a light on at night. She wondered if she’d ever sleep without a light on again.
She felt another stabbing pain in her stomach. Cramps. She stumbled to the bathroom and discovered that, once again, she had let her tampon supply run low. “When will I ever learn?”
Christine called in late to work. It was the music industry. Nobody showed up on time anyway.
She threw her hair up in a bun, slapped on some lipstick for good measure, dressed in baggy jeans and a fitted T-shirt, and made her way to Target. She tossed her list of items in the cart. “Lightdays, tampons, Pamprin.” She added shampoo and conditioner, a box of facial cloths, and a six-pack of toilet paper. Waiting in line at the checkout counter, she glanced at a rag mag and wondered once again how anyone could believe the stuff they published.
“Christine?”
She shut her eyes. “No,” she said. “This could not happen twice in one year. Fate is not that cruel.”
“What?” the cashier asked.
