Page 36 of One More Kiss

JEN

There are reporters everywhere.I ate my breakfast, took a shower, packed, and dodged more texts and phone calls from Zane than I care to admit. There's quite a bit of guilt settling in—especially after listening to his voicemails.

Voicemail 1: Jen… *sigh* where'd you go? We should talk about what happened last night. *another sigh*

Voicemail 2: Jen, I don't have much time before I have to go, and I don't want to leave when things are up in the air. *sigh*

Voicemail 3: Don't run from me. You're my best friend. This is our annual weekend, and things… happened. We really need to talk about this. Please.

It's the "please" that has me feeling like an asshole. I know we need to talk, but I don't want to do that until I know all the things we need to talk about. Bits and pieces are coming back to me, but I still don't have the whole picture.

This is our annual best friend's weekend. We hang out in a different city every year just before Zane goes on tour. This tour will be six weeks, mostly European and countries over there. He'll drop down to Australia as well. That means I won't hear from him much. When he travels, he gets serious jet lag, to the point he needs to sleep as much as possible or he gets run down and runs the risk of getting sick. He's definitely not the type to disappoint his fans. He'd rather go on sick than not at all.

I need to call him. But I'll do it from the car. First, I need to get through all those cameras.

Think fast, Jen.I need a way they won't recognize me. Ah, I know. My hair is two different shades: lighter on top and nearly black underneath. I flip my head down, and pull the dark hair upward, doing my best to hide the blonde layers on top, and pulling it all into a bun. I look at my reflection in the elevator door. Not a good look for me. It's half-assed and if anyone got a good picture of us the other night, these vultures will spot me immediately.

I pull my luggage behind me, throwing on my sunglasses as I near the door. I'm in leggings and a tank top, nothing at all to make me stand out. I'm sweating from nerves and the hangover. I look about as good as I feel.

When I get to the door, it automatically opens, and I step out into the sunshine and oppressive heat. I don't mind the dry heat so much. I hated Miami. There was no point in styling my hair that weekend.

All the reporters look my way expectantly, most of them grumble and look away, but a few of their stares linger. Shit. I just keep on walking until I get to my rental.

"Excuse me," I hear as I unlock my car doors.

Damn. So close.

I turn around. "Can I help you?"

"Maybe. Do you happen to know how to get to the Bellagio?" she asks.

My stomach settles back into place. Thank god.

"Unfortunately, I don't. I'm just here for the weekend," I admit.

"Damn."

"The concierge would know. They're extremely helpful," I advise.

At that, she perks up. "I'll ask. Thanks so much."

I just put on a fake smile and see the three reporters still staring me down. Crap.

One starts toward me, and I throw my suitcase in the backseat. Fuck the trunk. No time to waste.

But when I look up, my stomach sinks again.

Zane's assistant and she's closing in on me fast. The reporters see Joanne and note she's heading toward me.

I'm staring at my phone, considering calling Zane when a text from Tia comes through.

Zane Masters Married In Vegas

Holy shit, my dad's going to be so mad at me. I click the link.

"In breaking news, Rocker Zane Masters spent the weekend in Las Vegas with long-time friend Jennifer Smith. But it seems there's more than friendship going on. The two were seen in an intimate embrace, and a local tattoo artist came forward with this piece of information."

The screen flashes to a tatted-up dude with a long beard. I remember him. I remember Zane… Oh man.

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