Page 58 of Paparazzi

Iris, however, seems fascinated by this topic and nods. “So, you don’t even know which interviews or appearances you’ll be doing?”

“No, to be honest, we approved that list months ago. We have the last say in everything we do, but the list is given to us months in advance. When the appointments come up, the assistants get going to keep up. Do you want me to have Evan contact you for an interview on your blog?”

Iris’s gaze snaps on mine, and I almost regret proposing it. “My blog isn’t at the level of your band.”

I smile and watch her mouth settle into a stiff grimace. “If you mean the fact that it doesn’t have as many followers as other blogs that are more famous than yours, yes, you’re right. But if you mean it’s not as professional as the others, you’re wrong. It’s one of the best music blogs I’ve seen in recent years and is as good as the most famous magazines or websites in the industry.”

She seems to relax at my statement and even blush a little.

“Look, I’ll speak to Evan, but he’s not the one to decide either. It’s going to be the press office.”

“Okay.” She seems more convinced than before, as she brings the dish to the sink, and I follow her.

I put my hands on the kitchen cabinet, trapping her in my arms, and when she turns, she rests her fingers on my chest, a shy smile appearing on her lips. She tiptoes to kiss me on the mouth, a light gesture, not at all mischievous.

“Thank you for making breakfast.”

I smile at her, put my hands on her hips, and lift her up until she sits on the cabinet behind her. “Don’t thank me, I had ulterior motives,” I tease, sinking my head into the hollow of her neck, kissing her, and pushing my erection between her thighs.

She giggles and, with one hand, stretches to one side of the counter where there is a new box of condoms. Seeing her struggling to move her dislocated shoulder, I wonder if she shouldbe seen by a doctor before she does more damage. Still, I’ll need to bring it up calmly, suggesting something that doesn’t make her feel embarrassed.I can’tdo it now anyway, with my brain clouded by her hands exploring my body.

In less than five seconds, my boxers are on the floor and her fingers are sticking a condom on me with a delicacy I’m not used to. When I finally get between her legs, I move her panties to the side and sink into her with a slow movement, enjoying every moment she wraps me with her warm body.

Like last night, we take our time, enjoying each other, and when we finally get to the peak of our pleasure, I feel her sink her teeth into my shoulder gently, making me shudder. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of her. Despite panting and almost out of strength, I want to start over, get lost in her like I’ve never done with a woman. Enjoy her breath, her hair falling on her forehead partly covering her eyes, wide open and full of pleasure, her small and perfect breasts that rise with each of my breaths, becoming swollen against my chest. I wish I could hug her like this for the rest of our lives, and that thought terrifies me to death.

*

The sense of discomfort seizes me when I leave Iris’s apartment, and I walk quickly toward Max’s car waiting for me. I need to breathe fresh air, talk to someone.

“Can you take me to Michael’s?” I ask Max as he opens the door for me.

He looks a little perplexed and maybe even worried, but he doesn’t say anything. He just gets in the car and slips into traffic, casting a few glances in the rearview mirror every now and then. I need to talk to my cynical, realistic friend. He can help put my feelings into perspective. Damian and Lilly would only make it worse. Those two, since they met, have been on an eternal honeymoon. I shudder at the thought.

Max takes me to Michael, who is on the roof of a building by the Hudson River playing golf. I didn’t even know there was such a place in Manhattan, let alone on a rooftop, but the fake grass and protective nets contrast wonderfully with the view of New Jersey across the river. The practice cubicles are practically empty since it’s morning on a work day in the middle of winter, with a cold that penetrates your bones.

“Since when do you play golf?” I ask him amusedly.

Michael throws a glance my way before hitting the ball with the golf club in a swing I wouldn’t exactly call elegant. “Playing isn’t quite the word. It’s more like hitting those poor balls without having any idea how to do it,” he chuckles, teeing up another ball and hitting it worse than before, sending it only a few feet in front of him.

I watch him, amused, and sit in the chair a safe distance away. “So I see.”

“It’s relaxing. I found that hitting a ball in a purely mechanical way loosens my tension.”

“I need to try it too.”

“Isn’t it enough to be fucking the redhead?” He raises an eyebrow and then sits next to me, following my gaze toward the river.

“I think she makes me more tense.”

“Because she isn’t good at fucking or because you’ve decided to do it exclusively with her?” he jokes in his usual irreverent way.

“The latter, definitely the latter.” I rub my face and try to put my thoughts together.

“It’s not a bad thing, I don’t think. I mean, look at Damian. He looks happy with the same woman. I’d go crazy, but you two seem like normal people.” He shrugs.

I look at him, shocked. I didn’t expect this. I thought he’d say I should go out and fuck the line of women waiting for me in the Manhattan clubs. “I’ve never wanted a relationship, and now I find myself so deep in it I’m scared to death.”

Michael can’t hold back a laugh. “It’s pretty clear that you’re in up to your neck. But can you tell me why? Is it still about that story and my pictures? That’s all water under the bridge for me, I swear.”

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