by Jade Webb
“I need to focus on studying right now. I can’t have any distractions.” I look at him, letting my greedy eyes rove his toned, perfectly dressed body, and offer him a resigned smile. “And you, Jordan James, are a distraction.”
I grab my bag and make a beeline for the door. I stop by the concierge desk to grab my room key and check to make sure my bags were delivered. As I make my way to the elevator, I see Liam’s large frame doming the small settee across from the elevators. As he sees me, he quickly pulls out his phone and holds it to his ear.
I march straight to him, my anger bubbling. “Were you waiting for me?”
He shakes his head and points to the phone at his ear. I tug it away and toss it on his lap.
“Cut it out, I know you’re not on the phone.” His guilty face confirms it and I prop my hands on my hips in annoyance. “Oh my God, Daphni told you to wait for me, didn’t she?”
He again refuses to answer, which only further infuriates me. It doesn't matter: his silence confirms everything I need to know. I stalk to the elevators and press the call button a few times, hoping it can sense my frustration and make the elevator appear faster.
Liam gets up to stand beside me, his silence only irritating me more. And because my filter disappears whenever he is around, I turn around, unable to suppress my anger.
“You have no right to babysit me. I’m a grown woman, Liam. I can make my own choices.” I poke my finger into his hard chest to further emphasize my point.
He grabs my hand, closing his much larger one around it. His eyes darken as they look down at me. “Not him, Gabby.”
I pull my hand away and rush into the arrived elevator the minute the doors open. Liam follows me inside and I glare at him as the doors slowly close.
We both press the buttons for our respective floors and ride the first few seconds in silence. Me, fuming with my arms crossed in one corner and him, sulking in the opposite corner.
“You can have anyone you want, Gabby. Just don’t pick him,” he says, finally breaking the silence.
“Why do you even care, Liam?” I ask, defeated.
“You know why,” he replies, his eyes locked in on me.
I groan in frustration, and the second the elevator doors open to my floor, I rush out, not wanting him to have the final word because, for some inexplicable reason, Liam seems to bring out the very mature side of me. I turn to face him.
“You know, just because you didn’t want me doesn’t mean you have a right to control who does actually want me.”
Liam grabs me, not allowing me to leave, and pins me against the open elevator doors.
“I never said I didn’t want you, Gabby,” he says, his voice almost unrecognizable: deep, husky, and possessive.
I feel my willpower fade as a gnawing ache forms in my belly. The feeling lasts only a second, and I almost give in to the temptation of his lips close to mine. But then the humiliation of him pushing me off him comes rushing back, and I tear myself away. The elevator doors slowly close and I glare back at him, standing still in the elevator, his dark eyes never leaving me.
“You didn’t have to say it, Liam,” I say, just as the doors close.
27
Liam
The sound of my fist colliding with the heavy canvas bag plays like a symphony in my head. I focus all my tension into my fist and send it straight into the swinging target. I hit it again and again, forgetting to breathe, focusing on nothing but the swinging black bag in front of me.
“Liam!”
I stop my barrage on the sack and grab it to keep it from moving. My chest falls heavy as I catch my breath and look behind me to find Daphni standing in the doorway.
“Liam, I called your name like five times.”
“Eh? Oh, sorry,” I reply.
She takes a couple steps forward, somehow managing to walk straight in six-inch heels. “Yeah, I’ll say. You…doing okay?” she asks, her face concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I reply as I start to unwrap the tape from my hands.
She looks down at my hands and winces when she sees the blood underneath the wrapping. I suddenly feel embarrassed at the sight. I know I had lost control, but sometimes an hour with the bag is as good as any therapy.
“You aren’t fine, Liam,” she tells me as she takes another step closer. She takes my hands in hers and lightly runs her thumb over my bleeding knuckles. “I can recognize someone fighting their demons. Lord knows, I’ve got plenty enough to go around."
I look up at her, surprised, and she shrugs absently, tearing her eyes away from my assessment.
“It’s June 16. One of my best friends was killed in an ambush outside Kandahar five years ago. The anniversary gets me a little…you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” she responds softly.
A long moment goes by and neither of us says anything. We recognize the broken pieces in each other and can appreciate how the silence is sometimes all we need. It's when we name our demons that it becomes our responsibility to fight them. Until then, we have our memories to haunt us.
“I hope you know that even though I can sometimes be…difficult,” Daphni says, breaking the long silence, “that I really appreciate everything you do.”
I let my eyes catch hers. “Of course, Daphni.”
She nods and playfully punches the black bag. “You think maybe you could teach me a few moves sometime?”
“Yeah, any time.”
She smiles and arches her blonde eyebrow. “I bet I could be a real killer,” she says as she holds her hand up to guard her face.
“Oh for sure,” I agree, and gesture down to her heels. “Those shoes alone could puncture a few arteries.”
Daphni laughs and lightly kicks my calf. “You know it.” Settling back on her feet, she brings her green eyes up to mine—the same green eyes she shares with her sister, the same green eyes that have been haunting every one of my dreams these past two weeks.
“Can you do me a favor?” she finally asks after a long moment.
“Aye, of course.”
“I need to find Gabby before the show tonight. I know she’s in the arena somewhere, but I don’t have time to look for her.”
“Daphni, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Well, obviously you need to shower first,” Daphni responds with a smile.
“No, Daphni. You know what I mean. She’s still pissed at me.”
“Look, I need you to find Gabby for me.” She picks at nonexistent lint on her clothes as she looks away. “And technically you’re on the clock, mister. So get to it!”
And with that, she walks away, her heels clicking on the floor. And it’s at that moment that I realize I have no idea if I absolutely hate or adore Daphni Monroe.
28
Gabby
“Damnit!”
I re-add my points in the practice test and come up with the same score. It’s not technically a terrible score, but it’s not good enough to get me into some of the law schools on my short list.
I throw my pencil down and check the time on my phone. The practice test took me a good three hours, and my stomach is kindly reminding me that I am absolutely starving. Luckily mega tours like these have round-the-clock food service, so all I need to do is wander around and I’m sure to find some food.
I pack up my books and throw them into my bag, doing my best to tidy up the mess I had made. I had scoured the building for an empty room to study in and eventually wandered into an unlocked prop closet with a distracting number of neon-pink wigs on Styrofoam heads inside. Needing some peace and quiet, I managed to look past the sea of neon pink to find a table and chair and make it my study zone.
Flicking off the lights as I leave, I follow the traffic in hopes of finding some food. As I’m walking, the sound of an acoustic guitar paired with a low, muffled voice catches my attention. Following the music, the muffled voice grows clearer, turning into a soft, melodic ballad. I’m admittedly intrigued, since the only music I’ve b
een hearing for the past month has been overproduced pop tracks with a thumping bass beat that have likely been the reason my bottle of Advil is now empty.
I continue following the music until I find myself standing outside a room, the door left slightly ajar. I’m completely caught off guard when I recognize the familiar blonde hair and realize it’s Jordan singing. Sitting in a large leather chair, with his foot propped up against the coffee table, he strums a beautiful, vintage-looking Gibson in his lap. His eyes half-closed as he sings, he looks like an entirely different person from the gyrating pop star on stage, surrounded by a sea of women in booty-shorts.
Watch the walls crumble around you
as the crowd stands up and cheers
they were waiting for you to crack babe
and it looks like that day is here
so go out with your head held high
don’t you let ‘em see you cry
they’ve taken all they can get now babe
your body’s still here but your name will die
Pausing after he finishes the refrain, he continues to strum along, his long, lean fingers effortlessly gliding over the strings of the guitar. Distracted by how easily his long fingers coast over the strings, I lean back against the door frame and let my eyes drift closed.
“Gabby?”
When I hear my name, my eyes pop open and I feel the rush of blood to my cheeks. Jordan has stopped playing and is looking right at me. Dear God, I must look like such a stalker.
“I’m so sorry,” I manage to stammer out. “I heard you playing and it was so beautiful." I turn to leave, offering him an apologetic smile. "You know, I’m just going to go.”
“Wait!” Jordan calls out and I turn back around, pushing the door to the room open. I take a deep breath and slowly enter the room, taking a seat on the couch opposite his chair.
“Well, did you like it?” Jordan asks, his stunning blue eyes looking at me.
I find myself nodding. “It was beautiful, but…”
“But?”
“Well, to be honest, it felt a little sad.”
He doesn’t respond right away, but instead looks at me thoughtfully before chuckling. “It’s my ode to Hollywood,” he responds dryly.
I look at him curiously. “Jordan, why don’t you record songs like that?”
Leaning back in his chair, he moves the guitar off his lap. “No one wants to hear songs like this. They want to hear about pretty girls and fancy cars. They don’t want to hear how I really feel.”
I let out a long sigh. “That’s so sad, Jordan.”
Catching my eye, Jordan smiles. “Do you feel sorry for me, Gabby?”
“No!” I answer instantly before admitting, “Well, actually, maybe a little.”
He leans in, closing the distance between us. “I like that you’re always honest with me. That’s something I don’t get a lot.” He smacks his palms on his thighs and winks at me before continuing, “And since I’ve got you feeling sorry for me, how about you let me take you out to dinner?”
I can’t help but laugh as I shake my head.
“Not even a pity date?”
I roll my eyes in response and stand to leave. “Trust me, I am not the girl for you, Jordan. I may be some billionaire heiress with a pop star for a sister, but I don’t want that life. I want to try and chase some semblance of normalcy. Don’t forget, I Googled you. You took Destiny Warren on a date and flew her to Paris for dinner on the top of the freaking Eiffel Tower. That’s not me. I want burgers and fries and a cheesy movie. We’re just different, Jordan.”
“Okay, in my defense, we were already in London when we went to Paris. So that barely counts. And secondly, I can do burgers and cheesy movies. I love burgers.” He smiles seductively as he rubs his belly.
I know where this conversation is going, and Jordan is simply not a distraction I want in my life right now. I offer him another smile before I walk to the door. “Bye, Jordan.”
I close the door behind me and spin around. I instantly hit a hard wall of muscle that temporarily knocks the breath out of me. Firm hands grab my arms as I stumble back and look up to find Liam.
I straighten and pull myself out of his grip. “Oh my God, Liam. Are you following me?”
The question pulls a scowl to his face. “Your sister asked me to look for you.”
“Of course she did,” I mumble in response. Waving my hand, I command, “Lead the way.”
I follow dutifully as he leads me to Daphni’s dressing room. She’s perched in her chair, in the middle of getting her hair and makeup done for the show.
Seeing me in her mirror, she spins around in her chair, sending her makeup artist flying backwards.
“Gabby, tell me it’s not true!” she squeals.
I stare at her in confusion. “What are you talking about, Daphni?”
“Did Jordan James ask you out on a date?” she asks. Before I get a chance to open my mouth, she holds one finger in the air, adding, “And don’t even think about lying to me. I have my ways of finding out!”
I plop down in an empty seat and glare over at Liam. “Oh trust me, I know.”
“Well, did he?” she asks again.
“Did he what?”
She lets out a frustrated groan. “Did Jordan James ask you out?”
“Yes. Twice actually.”
Daphni’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “That bag of dicks!”
“Bag of dicks? Seriously, Daphni?”
“Gabby, everyone knows that Jordan is a player and a skeaze. You cannot go out with him!”
“Thank you for your sage advice, but I am a grown woman. I can date whomever I want. And not that you even bothered to ask, but I turned him down.”
Relief washes over Daphni’s face and she leans back in her chair. “Oh, thank God.” Turning back in her seat to face the mirror, she continues, “I knew there was a reason you were the smarter one. Besides, there is seriously no way Jordan James would make a play for you. He was just using you to get to me.”
Straightening in my chair, I catch her eyes in the mirror. “Excuse me?”
Shrugging her shoulders, Daphni explains, “I’m not trying to be mean, Gabby. But Jordan dates supermodels. You’re not his type. He just wanted to get to me so he can take over my tour.”
I ball up my fists at my side and pounce out of my seat. “Okay, for the record Daphni, not everything is about you. It is seriously that hard to imagine Jordan might be interested in me because of my personality?”
Turning to face Liam, unable to control the torrent of fury rushing through me, I continue my mini-tirade. “Or am I so repulsive to the male species that the idea of anyone wanting to spend time with me is so shocking?”
Without letting anyone respond, I storm out of the room. I’m fuming and in no position to be making rash decisions, which is why I make a beeline back for Jordan’s room.
I fling the door open, not bothering to knock. A surprised—and shirtless—Jordan looks up at me, and I greedily take him in. He looks like a freaking Ken doll. A perfect six pack, flawless tanned skin, and oh my God, a deep V leading down…
“Gabby?”
“Yes,” I breathe out.
“Yes?” he asks, confused.
“Yes, I will go out with you. Tomorrow night. You can pick me up at the hotel at nine.” Turning to leave, I spin back and add, “And please, no international travel.”
29
Gabby
I tug again at the bottom of my shirt as I stare my reflection down in the mirror. This is the third outfit I’ve tried on, and I am now officially getting frustrated. Everything technically looks fine in the bag, but since I’m a ball of nerves, the minute I actually try on the clothes, I look like a hideous ogre.
I go back to brainstorming excuses to cancel, but keep coming up short. Why had I gone back and told Jordan I would go out with him? With a frustrated groan, I fling myself onto my bed.
I am not this kind of girl—the kind of girl wh
o gets nervous about a date and goes out to buy new clothes to make herself feel better. And yet, here I am, surrounded by three shopping bags all filled with clothes that are now too ugly, too boring, too lame. It was stupid to go out shopping. No store sold the perfect outfit for a date with Jordan freaking James.
A knock at my door interrupts my pity fest and I force myself to answer it. Melissa stands outside, and while I would normally be happy to see her, I can only assume she is here to do Daphni’s bidding.
“If Daphni sent you here to convince me not to go, then you can just leave now, Mel," I tell her, before she can even start.
Melissa holds up her hands in defense. “Woah, let’s pause. Daphni did not send me, but I did hear about your date tonight.” She raises her eyebrows suspiciously. “Jordan James?”
Rolling my eyes in response, I move to let her in. “Yes, Jordan James. You know, he’s not like what everyone says, Mel.”
Melissa walks into my room and sits on the corner of my bed. “I hope you’re right, Gabby. And in all the time I’ve known you, you have always had your head screwed on right. I have no idea how—I’ve met your family. But if you trust him, Gabby, then I do, too.”
I offer Melissa a warm smile. “Thanks, Mel.” Catching my reflection in the mirror, I let out a pitiful moan. “I don’t suppose you could help find me something to wear tonight?”
Laughing, Melissa asks, “Well where are you going?”
“You see, that’s the problem. He didn’t tell me anything, he just sent me a text telling me to wear something ‘comfortable’ and to be in the lobby at nine. What does that even mean?”
Rifling through the pile of clothes on my bed, Melissa grabs a pair of black pants and throws them at me. “It means, these pants with this top,” she says, as she throws a muted floral blouse at me. “Oh, and wear those Payless wedges you’re always bragging that you bought for five dollars.”
I stick out my tongue at her barb but change into her outfit choice. Impressed, I look at my reflection, finally somewhat confident that I don’t look totally hideous.
