in me.
Some people were waiting to go down the elevator as we stepped off. I didn’t take notice who they were because I was looking at him. We stepped off and they stepped on. He waved to someone, greeted someone else, but I was stuck in a fog from his kiss. Was this real life? Was this really happening to me?
He led me to a door marked 4701 and opened it to a party in full swing. People milled around, music blared. Some people sat on his couch while others helped themselves to drinks in his kitchen.
“Welcome to my place,” he said wryly.
I smiled and glanced around, memorizing every detail for the report Jill would surely want the next day. “It’s nice,” I said.
He shrugged. “Better be for what I paid for it. You want a beer?”
“Sure.” I followed him to his refrigerator. “Do you live alone?”
“Usually, yes, but I have houseguests for the next few weeks.” A woman with bleach blonde hair stood just beside it.
“Hi you,” she said, her voice throaty.
“Hey, Delilah. Excuse me.” He opened the fridge and she moved over about a half a centimeter. She ran her hand up his arm, and I felt incredibly uncomfortable as I stood a few feet behind him, my eyes focused on the fridge.
“Marky Mark, take me to bed.” Her lids were heavy and she was clearly trying for seduction. I had to wonder if this is the type of girl Mark normally went for, because that wasn’t me.
I knew what I was here for, and I also knew I had no claim to stake on him. Seeing another woman try to take him out from under my nose sent a shock of reality through me. What if he decided he’d rather be with her tonight? What would I do? Where would I go?
How was I even here tonight? How had he chosen me?
“Sorry, babe, I’ve got company.” He nodded back to me.
Company. Is that all I was to him—after that car ride where he wrote down those words and confessed his darkest secret to me? After the way he kissed me after he typed out A Little Like Destiny, kissed me like a starved man with all that raw, unfiltered passion?
He grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge, opened both, and handed one to me, and then he took my hand in his and led me through the crowded living room, down a hallway, and into his bedroom.
His bedroom was sleek and, just like the rest of his place, black, white, and gray. The floors were a white, shiny tile, and a soft, plush, black and white rug covered the majority of the floor. The walls painted a soft gray with white panel molding. The bed was the centerpiece, a huge king with white sheets and a white comforter. Black, white, and gray pillows decorated the top of the bed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had a housekeeper who made his bed every day. I just couldn’t see Mark Ashton, rock star extraordinaire, making his bed.
His bedroom set was white and simple, and black and white framed pictures adorned the walls. The images were simple and musical—a guitar, a sexy image of just a microphone against the backdrop of a stage, Vail’s first album cover. They were all general photos—none of him, none of people. I wondered if this was his main residence, if he picked out those pictures, that dresser, or if he had a person who did those things for him. I wondered if he had another house somewhere else where he kept pictures of his family. His mom and dad. His siblings. If his parents had a house with his childhood bedroom still intact.
He didn’t turn on any lights—instead, the room was lit with the glow of the Strip right outside his window.
The bedroom was empty and quiet despite the music pumping just in the next room. “Soundproof walls,” he said, a smile tipping up his lips.
I looked out over the view as he walked over to a chair and collapsed in it.
“I’ve never met anybody who had a soundproof bedroom,” I said.
“Helps for when my parents are visiting.” He winked at me.
I wanted to giggle because it was funny, but it just reminded me how I was one of many. I wasn’t special. This night wasn’t special—not to him, anyway. This was something he did all the time even if it wasn’t something I did all the time.
He patted his