Page 28 of Dirty Lyrics
But the bedroom is empty.
So is the condo.
The soundproofed studio door is shut, faint vibrations of bass thrumming from behind it.
Of course. That’s where he is.
Rico always turns to music when the world weighs too heavy on him.
I let out a shaky breath.
Too tired to knock, too drained to try again, I pull on a pair of soft pajamas—cotton boxer shorts and a tank top that doesn’t do much to hide the curve of my body.
Then, I climb into his enormous king-sized bed.
There’s another bedroom in the condo, but it’s been gutted and outfitted into that same studio I suspect he’s in right now.
The couch is way too narrow, and I’m too damn pregnant—and, let’s be real, too damn fluffy—to sleep on it.
Besides, I want the bed. His bed.
I curl against the pillows, burying my face in the pillowcase and snuggling into the sheets.
They smell like him—clean and spicy, with just a whisper of his aftershave.
Not the heavy, choking colognes so many men wear. Rico never liked that, thank God.
His scent is subtle, natural, and grounding.
I close my eyes, breathing him in, letting it settle into me.
I shouldn’t love it. I shouldn’t love him, not after everything.
But I do.
And wrapped in his scent, surrounded by the warmth he left behind, I drift off to sleep with my heart aching in ways I don’t know how to fix.
chapter 12-rico
I’m too amped up to be gentle, too wired with adrenaline after that bathroom scene, so I ducked into my home studio when she went to take her bath.
My fingers find the guitar strings, then the keys, chasing the melodies that have been clawing inside me since the second I saw her again.
Fuck.
It’s like I’ve come back to life.
For months, I’ve been a ghost—existing, performing, but not living. Not without her.
When I finally look up, hours have bled away. I didn’t mean for it to happen.
Panic punches me in the gut.
What if she left again?
What if I walked out here and found nothing but an empty bed and silence?
My heart is pounding as I stalk through the condo, quiet but desperate.
