Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,111

album sitting in the number one spot, I’m tumbling through some galaxy I never thought to explore. A dark sky pelted with stars, with promises masquerading as constellations.

I quoted that poem to Bristol at the top of the Ferris wheel all those years ago when we got stuck. She was frightened, but our kiss chased her fears away. She flipped my heart upside down, upending everything I thought I wanted in a girl. That Ferris wheel was maybe a hundred feet off the ground, but with Bristol’s lips so soft, first hesitant then urgent, her fingers twisted around mine like she was just as desperate to hold onto me as I was to hold onto her—I was on top of the world. I didn’t have two pennies to rub together or a pot to piss in, but I was happy.

So fucking happy.

And tonight, I am at the top of the world, more successful than that pauper on the Ferris wheel could have imagined. I can see Bristol on the other side of the club where we’re holding my release celebration, but she may as well be in another hemisphere there’s so much distance between us. I’m a fool because given the choice, I’d take the Ferris wheel with her any day over tonight. That kiss, not this celebration, feels like the best night of my life.

“You do know you have the number one album in the country, right?” Qwest walks toward the edge of the stage where I’m seated. We just finished sound check for tonight’s performance. “You got nothing to look sad about, baby.”

“I’m not sad.” I curve my lips into something close to a smile to prove it. “Just taking a quick breather. It’s a lot to take in.”

“How about you take me in.” She stands between my legs hanging over the lip of the stage. One hand touches my chest through my shirt and moves down while her lips wander over my jaw and down my neck. Her hand searches between my legs. I’m limp as a noodle. It’s embarrassing to have a woman hot enough to melt butter practically molesting you, and your dick doesn’t care.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Bristol’s voice snaps my head up, our eyes catching in the dim light of the club over Qwest’s shoulder. She’s scraped her hair back tonight so she’s all high cheekbones and matte red lips. I permit myself a glance over the naked shoulders in her strapless black pantsuit. The tight silk coaxes her breasts higher until they spill a little over the cups. A scarlet sash cords her waist, and her bright red heels scream “fuck me.” But it’s Bristol, so they could whisper it, and I’d still hear.

My dick presses against my jeans, poking into Qwest’s hand and putting that knowing grin on her face. She assumes my sudden hard-on is for her, not my manager. I’m a fraud. This thing with Qwest has gone too far, and I’m going to have to do what I never wanted. I’m going to have to hurt her.

“Could we talk for a minute?” Bristol’s eyes drop to Qwest’s hand on my dick before popping back up and staring just past my shoulder. “I just need to go over a few things for tonight.”

We’ve hardly spoken this week. All the hard work we both poured into this release over so many months, and when the project is colossally successful, we can barely look at each other.

“Sure,” I mutter, not bothering to check if she’s finally managed to look at me. “Pull up a seat.”

“I need to go find Will anyway.” Qwest kisses my cheek and steps away. “See you backstage.”

She and Bristol exchange polite smiles on her way to climb the stage steps and disappear in the wings.

Bristol shifts from one foot to the other, touches the silky bare skin at her throat, bites her lip, moves her iPad from the crook of one elbow to the other. I sit in silence, waiting for her to settle and tell me what this is about. Finally, she sets her hip against the edge of the stage beside me.

“I know it’s been a crazy week.” She clears her throat, long lashes lowered and eyes fixed to the floor. “How are you?”

“Good.” I keep my tone brusque. “What’d you need?”

She hesitates, probably still unused to the indifference I’ve displayed since our confrontation at Rhyson’s house. Since the Spotted post.

“So for tonight,” she says, glancing at her iPad. “We have you slated to do three songs.”

“Yeah,