Tryst

Great.

I climb out of bed and clamber into the bathroom. Along with a glass-encased shower, each room is outfitted with a claw-foot tub large enough for two, and luxurious bath soaps and oils. I decide that a hot, bubble bath is just what I need to expel all the nervous energy still simmering inside me, and I fill it up as high as it will go without overflowing, hoping to drown my discontent. An hour later, my water is cool, my skin is pruned, and my joints are still not uncoiled.

I towel off and slip on a plain cotton dress and sandals. Even with the late hour, it’s still hot out, and if I happen to step outside, I don’t want to sweat my face off. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m seeking. I just know that I can’t stay within these four walls. There are a dozen different voices drifting from the pool area when I make my way downstairs. I think about checking it out, but decide not to. Nearly naked couples submerged in water? No thank you.

Right off the main dining room is a bar area, housing a few pub tables and stools. Masculine laughter echoes from that direction along with what sounds like a lively commentator on a sports show. I pause, letting the shadows envelop me, listening to chatter about the latest game and some domestic scandal between a popular baseball player and his wife. I hear them bond over their mutual appreciation for various musicians and colorful stories of their favorite travels. I stand there, an intruder, a voyeur, and I ache with jealousy, longing to be on the receiving end of those chuckles and casual banter. Not feeling like I have to calculate every word to avoid a slip of the tongue.

“Must be incredible to go on tour,” Riku says, pausing to take a sip from his beer. “I saw you guys back in 2012 and it was insane. I can’t even imagine how your fan base has grown since then. And how much your sound has evolved since the first album.”

“Yeah. Been a crazy ride. But I think this next album will shock people, which is fucking hard to do in this market. But I think it’s the subtlety that’ll get them. The simplicity.” I can hear the smile in Ransom’s voice.

“Shock them with simplicity? I like it.”

They tap beer bottles and go back to gazing at the big screen that displays the sports highlights of the week. Growing weary, I take a deep breath and step around the seclusion of the wall.

“Heidi! What’s up, girl?” Riku smiles, damn near startling me by the sheer perfection of it. The tall, golden-ski

“How’s it going, Riku,” I say, returning his grin as I approach. “Haven’t burned the place down yet, I see.”

“Aw, girl. You know that’s not happening. How was di

I force myself to keep my eyes trained on Riku, but I can feel Ransom’s stare sliding over every inch of my frame. Looking at him would be bad for the both of us. I wouldn’t be able to hide the flush of my cheeks and the sharp intake of breath. And he wouldn’t be able to resist devouring every one of my reactions like sex-flavored candy while wearing that smug smile on his face.

“Delicious.” The word is no more than a whisper on my lips. I mean to elaborate, but standing before not one, but two, incredibly sexy men, my body wound tighter than a rubber band threatening to snap, I can’t seem to find the words.

“Good. Glad to hear it,” Riku replies thoughtfully. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Please.”

He disappears around the bar, leaving me to confront the one person I was told to stay away from.

“I was wondering when you’d quit eavesdropping and come join us.”

I snap my gaze to him and frown. “What? How did you . . . ?”

He laughs, tipping his head back to give me full view of his throat. Oh, how I would kill to rake my teeth against the fragile skin, the promise of puncture so thrilling that we both moan when the sharpness of my canines make contact.

“You know that feeling you get when danger is near? The hair stands up on the back of your arms. That niggling sensation that crawls up your spine. The silent alarm that goes off in your ears. That’s what I get when you’re close by. I smell danger.”

His words are like the sweetest poetry, his voice like syrup dripping from his lips. I don’t know what to make of it . . . don’t know what to say other than, “I know.”

“You know?” One corner of his mouth lifts. “You know you’re dangerous?”

“I know we’re dangerous together.”

“Yes. We are.” He nods before sipping the remnants of his brew. I eye it, questioning. Should an addict be drinking? He did say it wasn’t alcohol that was his main vice, and other than that one time after SNL, I had never seen him drink more than beer.

“Which is why this is a bad idea. We were a mistake.”

He looks at me then. Really stops to see me through those eyes made of black lava rock. Maybe he’s surprised. Maybe he’s hurt. Maybe he hates me enough that he’ll be able to walk away. I can’t say which reaction I was going for, but any would be better than this.

“A mistake, eh?” He’s suddenly too close to me, yet I don’t think he’s moved. I just know I feel overwhelmed by his presence, almost violated.

“You know what I mean, Ransom,” I whisper furiously, my eyes intently watching the doorway. “This isn’t right. What we did . . . It’s not fair. Not to Tuck, not to you, not to me. So can we try to forget about it? Please?”

“You want to forget about it? Just like that?” He looks amused. “Can you forget me?”

“I can try.”

He nods and places the empty beer bottle on the bar, just as Riku arrives from the back with a glass of something bubbly and pink. “Here we are,” he a

I plaster on a smile and accept it, and while I know it’s delicious, I can’t taste anything but regret and longing on my tongue.

“Well, I’m out,” Ransom states, dapping up his new friend. “Catch you later.” He looks at me momentarily and tips his head. “Heidi.”

“Ransom.” Then he turns around and disappears from view.

“Well . . . damn.”

“What?” I frown, looking at Riku over the rim of my glass.

“It’s just . . . if you were somebody else, I’d swear you two are in a lover’s quarrel. Must be your sparkling personality,” he jibes.

“Ha ha. Sparkling personality, my ass. Someone has to be the hard nose around here, when all you strong, strapping men are writing so

“Mani-pedis?” he feigns outrage. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know that I receive paraffin dips. Don’t get it twisted.”

We share a few laughs until a few guests begin to filter in from outside. I recognize a few CEOs, TV personalities, and even a big shot record label exec. Of course, my presence doesn’t evoke any warm fuzzies so I down the rest of my drink and bid Riku good night. When I return to my room, I find that Tucker is still knocked out, flat on his stomach, snoring softly. Half an hour—yeah right. Tuck hasn’t been able to go two rounds since his twenties. And it’s not that he isn’t in shape or the equipment is malfunctioning. We’re just usually too tired or too busy. Honestly, sex between us had become a weekly chore that we just wanted to “get over with” to release the pressure. And while it’s still good, it has become much like the rest of our life—predictable.

I figure I could sleep if I tried, so I slide between the sheets next to him. Out of habit, I check my phone, which I had left on the nightstand, set to Silent. To my surprise, there’s a message. I don’t even have to read the name to know who it is.