Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet #2) - Lauren Rowe Page 0,99

obsessed with you by that point. Tortured you hadn’t answered any of my texts during the tour, or after it. Tormented you hadn’t come to my room in a single city, despite how much I’d begged you. I’d been dreaming about you, pretty much every night. Pulling out my hair, trying to understand how the night of the hot tub wasn’t as big a game-changer for you as it had been for me. So, when I saw that woman, and she looked so much like you—although, to be clear, you’re way hotter than her—I lost it. I told her she looked like you—that she reminded me of Laila. And finally saying your name out loud to someone broke the seal on my madness, so to speak. And, suddenly, I couldn’t stop myself from confessing everything. Laila, Laila, Laila. I poured my heart out to her. Told her how obsessed I was with you. How tortured I’d been. But I guess she didn’t hear most of it, due to the noise at the party. When she asked me to take her upstairs, I was shocked. I’d just told her, in no uncertain terms, that I only wanted you. And this bitch’s response was to think I’d fuck her as your stand-in? It pissed me off to think she, and the whole world, assume I’m that big a player. So, I told her no, I didn’t want to go upstairs with her or anyone else. I told her I’d made a promise to myself not to have sex with anyone but Laila, ever again. Until the end of time. And that she should feel free to tell the whole world I’d said so.”

I gasp.

“I knew who she was the whole time. I’m not stupid. She was constantly tagging me and the band in her posts and videos. So, I drunkenly told her to post a video outing me because I wanted you to see it. Because I wanted you to know how much I wanted you. Because I wanted you to finally put me out of my misery and contact me, even if only to tell me why you didn’t want me the way I wanted you.”

I can’t speak or breathe. My jaw feels like it’s resting in my naked lap. The world feels like it’s warping around me.

Savage says, “When I woke up the next morning, my sober brain realized how stupid and reckless my drunk brain had been. So, when Eli gave me a plausible interpretation of what I’d said the night before, I ran with it. But it was Eli who said I must have said I had to ‘lay low’ because of the show. Not me. I didn’t use the word ‘promise’ in relation to my contract with the show, Laila. I said everything that Instagrammer claimed I did and much more. I wanted you so badly, it physically hurt by then, and I couldn’t figure out, for the life of me, why you didn’t want me, too.”

“Oh, Adrian.”

I kiss him, passionately. And when our kiss ends, he strokes my cheek and looks deeply into my eyes. “You want to hear a few more Truth bombs?” he asks, his dark eyes on fire. “Because now that I’m confessing the whole truth to you, I don’t want to stop.”

I nod furiously. “I’ll take as many Truth bombs as you’ve got.”

Savage drops his hands from my face and takes one of mine in his. “I watched your set every night during the tour. I sneaked into the wings and hid behind this huge speaker at stage right so you wouldn’t see me, and I watched every minute of every performance. Unless, of course, I left a little early to drag some random groupie into your dressing room at precisely the right time for you to walk in and find me.”

I bite my lip. “I did the same thing, basically—minus the groupies. I could have left the venue every night after my set was finished. But I never did. Half the time, I listened to your set in my dressing room, with a glass of wine. I’d touch myself and listen to your voice singing ‘Come with Me.’ And it never failed to make me come, no matter how much I hated you.”

“Oh, my God, Laila. That’s so hot.”

“Other times, I’d creep into the wings during your set and hide behind that same huge speaker at stage right, so you wouldn’t see me. And your performance never failed to blow me