by Pamela Ann
I didn’t know why I felt hurt, but I fucking did. It shouldn’t have mattered. We weren’t friends or anything … Still … How could she be so cold?
Instead of opening the attachment that detailed her scheduled, I decided to deal with it once I was back on tour.
Today, I wanted it to be just about me. Cara and all the baggage she carried, I’d deal with tomorrow …
I had less than twenty-four hours to celebrate, and I intended to party and pretend all was fine in life. After all, I only got to turn twenty-three once in this lifetime. Might as well welcome it with a good bottle of vodka.
Aligning Cara’s schedule with mine wasn’t as easy as I had imagined. But after a week of back and forth, we both agreed on a date. She wouldn’t arrive for another two weeks since she’d be filming in Hong Kong, reshooting scenes from this new movie she had worked on. She only had four days free. Add two days’ worth of travel, and it afforded about two days of quality time. It wasn’t the ideal affair I had in mind, but I supposed it was a start.
The fourteen days dragged on, and as much as I was in denial, I anxiously counted down the days until we would meet in Miami. Apart from the few short emails that first week, I hadn’t heard anything from her.
When the day finally arrived, I made sure her room was situated right across from mine. Hopefully, it gave her enough privacy since she adamantly insisted on separate bedrooms. The tour had provided me with a huge two-bedroom suite, but knowing Cara, it’d probably give her ammunition to fight with me. This was our first time … I needed it to go as smoothly as possible.
Willa and the rest of the crew didn’t know she was arriving. Those two were like oil and water. The last thing I wanted was for Willa to give me a lengthy lecture as to how unhealthy Cara was for me. She had seen my decline firsthand. At first, she had been reluctant to voice her opinion, but after a month of Cara and me breaking up, Willa hadn’t held back. She’d warned me how Cara used me to garner more publicity and that she would use whomever to climb to the top. Before Juan, I’d have told her she was insane, but as time had gone on, it had made me wonder, too, if Cara had only seen me as a ladder to help her get on top. And after Willa had found out about her new projects lining up, the woman hadn’t wasted time repeating what she had believed all along.
In our line of work, everyone used everyone to get where they needed to be. But like most, everyone in the entertainment industry drew up contracts for such publicity stunts. If that had been the case with Cara, I’d have wished she would be upfront about her intentions. I wouldn’t have minded helping her out. Besides, back then, I was too head over heels nuts and bolts crazy about her. I’d have done anything just to make her happy. Unfortunately for me, Cara was secretive. She kept her secrets, guarding them close to heart.
Cara should’ve arrived while I was performing during the show. But instead of calling her, I figured it’d be better if I went straight into her room. I had made sure I had a keycard so I could access her anytime I wanted.
The show was amazing. The crowd was a complete frenzy. As much as I loved touring, though, I couldn’t wait until this all wrapped up. Eight months on the road took a huge toll on me. The rush of excitement I’d once had in the beginning had slowly died down. The process became tedious, and it didn’t help how depressed my state of mind had been. However, tonight’s show was a little different. I was more upbeat. There was a little spring to my step, my singing more soulful.
The effect of having Cara in my life was apparent. Even Phoenix had asked if I was feeling okay since I’d been messing around and interacting with the crew more than I ever had in the past months. I had denied anything was up, but I knew. I saw the difference in myself.
Was it even possible for the very person who’d caused the hurt—the pain—to be the very person to also put you back together? I had been told it was impossible … but based on experience, I began to wonder if it were.
Well, there were six months of trial … I should know the answer once our time was up.
After arriving late in my suite straight from the venue, I began to take my clothes off, ready to jump in the shower, scrub the sweat off my body, when a loud knock came at the door.
“A sec!” I barked out while I comfortably slung a towel across my hips before pacing toward the entrance. “What’s up?” The smile on my face disappeared when I found Petra and not Cara. My eyes immediately darted toward the room across from mine, but it was hard to say if anyone was in there. Should I kick Petra out or invite her inside before Cara saw her?
Fuck. “What are you doing here?” I grunted before I held her arm and ushered her inside my room. “What the fuck, Petra! You know I hate when you pop in without fucking telling me.” She was becoming a handful, and for the first time, her actions were beginning to irritate me. Tonight—most especially tonight!
“It’s your fault for not returning my calls for the past two weeks. What the hell did you expect? That I sit back and wait until you summon me? Honey, that’s not how this works.” She pointedly arched her brow, inquisitive. “So, who is she?”
“Who’s what, Petra?” I gritted out as I exhaustingly gazed at her while thinking she was off her rocker. We weren’t exclusive. We were free agents. That was what made it work between us—no strings attached. Obviously, something had changed because this was out of character even for Petra. The woman had never imposed during my tour without invitation, which had happened only once in the entire time we had been together. Yet, somehow, she had gotten it into her head she could intrude whenever she took fancy.
She tried to hide the anger and jealousy but failed miserably. “The whore you’re fucking for the past two weeks! You’ve never fucked the same woman after a weekend—”
I held up my hand, halting her mid-tirade as I ran out of patience. “Stop right there, Petra!” I thundered out, matching her terrible attitude. Glaring at the petulant woman before me, I took a step closer, towering over her, ensuring she didn’t miss the warning in my eyes. “Don’t fucking overstep your role in my life if you want me in yours, Petra … I swear to God, I’m fucking close to just ending this thing with you. You’ve become a fucking pain, and I don’t like this at all.”
“I’m not going anywhere, so deal with it!” she lashed out, pointedly tilting her chin, defiant as ever.
I knew, right then and there, there was no power on God’s green earth powerful enough to make Petra go anywhere. She was staying put, perpetually pestering me about the what and whys, leaving me stuck in a sticky conundrum.
Now what? How the fuck did I manage to get away from Petra? She tended to be clingy and possessive. Obviously, she and Willa weren’t the best of friends. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, right?
Well …
Maybe … just maybe … I could have Willa distract her. It wasn’t the greatest of plans, but it was the best I could come up with.
Here was bracing for the best because if it failed to work … Cara wouldn’t let me forget it. Quite frankly, adding more ire on top of everything would definitely inflame our already prickly situation.
Damn it … Damn it all to Hell.
Chapter 11
River
Checked in … I’m here.
I re-read the text Cara had just sent me. She didn’t bother with ‘hello’ nor show any form of excitement. Her tone was flat … was that a sign of how she’d be each time she came to see me? Cara wasn’t going to make this easy, and that was a sad fact.
Instead of immediately responding to her, I took my time planning out how to juggle Cara and Petra during our weekend in Miami.
As lady luck would have it, Willa was brought to my door, interrupting the escalating fight Petra and I were having. Willa’s untimely appearance diffused the situation.
Thank. Fuck.
Willa was a true godsend, and I couldn’t thank her enough when she intuitively read into my predicament without having to explain anything. Willa only had to look at my face to understand
I needed immediate saving. Upon realization, my childhood friend and efficient assistant solved the problem by inviting Petra for dinner, joining the rest of the tour crew. They had a dinner reservation at one of Miami’s trendy places to eat, but with Cara onboard, catering to her first before everyone else was my priority. Besides, it was the polite thing to do since, after all, she had traveled across continents to atone for her sins.
It’d been twenty minutes since receiving the text. While waiting, I had the concierge change my room to the four-bedroom penthouse suite which took up the entire fortieth floor.
The Sentai hotel was known for their modern oriental meets exquisite style. It reminded me of being in a sanctuary—peaceful and serene—but with a hefty dose of elegance and class blending effortlessly, a perfectly harmonious setting aimed to cater to one’s level of standards and taste.
The composed earthy tones, plush comfort, and the sound of the ocean calling upon you … It was the kind of tranquility I desperately required after the kind of lifestyle I led. One of the main reasons Willa specifically chose this hotel was so I could properly decompress and regenerate in between gigs.
Cara’s suite boasted the same dramatic South Beach waterfront views as mine did. As much as I would’ve liked staying across from Cara, having Petra pop up at all hours wasn’t something I could risk. A nuisance, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. So, the second I left the room, hotel staff would quietly take care of my belongings and transfer them to my new digs.
Annihilating the rest of my vodka, I left the suite’s bar and headed straight into my bedroom where Cara’s room key was located, situated right on my nightstand. Swiping the keycard off the flat surface, I then exited the room.
It didn’t take long to be standing outside her door, but instead of taking the initiative to go inside, I found myself staring at the carpeted floor, my mind in a constant whir of ups and downs. Before my doubts took over me, I held the devil by the balls, squeezing the life out of them, harshly subduing the root of my fear.
I’d waited too long to back out at the last minute. For my future to become a possibility, enduring the impossibility was an inevitable obstacle to experience.
Once I got my bearings in order, I made a noncommittal shrug. A few steady breaths. Ultimately, taking the plunge by finally sliding the key into the slot. The device gave a quiet beep, granting me access.
This was it—the be all, end all.
Holding my breath, I hastily opened the door with a sweaty hand and entered into her domain.
The first thing I noticed was how brightly lit the room was. Unbearably so. It seemed Cara turned on every available switch in the room. As if having a dim nook somewhere would spook her.
After almost seven months apart, what else had changed?
Walking past the threshold, I noted with piqued curiosity the opened champagne bottle abandoned on the living room coffee table. Drawn curtains. As if the glimmering moonlight and twinkling stars would be overkill. However, the bedroom door was partially open.
Pivoting toward the bedroom, I stood in the crack of the opening, giving me a direct line of sight, where my mind—my thoughts—came to a sudden screeching halt.
There, soundly sleeping on top of the blankets, was a superbly naked Cara with no modesty to hide her perfection.
Like a complete creep, I stood thunderstruck, swept up by compounding emotions, spearheaded by extreme mental and physical arousal. I swallowed what little saliva I had left. The effort did little to quench my thirst.
As welcome gestures went, I preferred this the best.
She intrinsically understood what pleased me, and I had to admit, she’d realized her role and what she had come here to do. And she did it without fuss. Her nakedness spoke in itself—a sign of surrender.
Yes, I was appreciative, and goddamn it, I was beyond hard, but if she figured I was going to simply fuck her half-asleep body while she sleepily moaned like I used to when we lived together, she could think again.
How mistaken she was. Our mating wouldn’t be easily forgotten. She would be there with me every step of the way. Cara would have no choice but to remember my touch, the thirst on my lips, passion on my tongue, the force of my cock thrusting into her body, and goddamn it to hell, my cock would be unforgotten.
Instead of joining her in bed, I got some vodka from the bar, sat across the room on one of the wingback chairs while relishing the glorious sleeping perfection before my very eyes.
Time held no relevance. This was where I wanted to be, nowhere else but here … just … here.
An hour passed then another before Cara let out a hair-raising scream The kind that made one’s blood run cold.
In a flash, I sought her side, held her by the shoulders, and tried to shake her awake. “Cara, wake up!” Her cheeks were wet with tears. A quick glance at the soaked cream pillowcase proved she’d been crying. “Cara!” This time, I lightly slapped her but applied enough strength that it would pull her out of the hellish nightmare her subconscious was trapped in. “Wake up!”
It was the sudden stiffening of her body, indicating consciousness, before those big dark eyes opened, connecting with mine. Something held me in place. It was the momentary flash of panic—a gutting look of loss—before Cara smoothly hid her real emotions underneath a scowl.
“I didn’t mean to slap you, but you were having a nightmare. I wasn’t thinking straight—forgive me … I swear it wasn’t intentional … it … It just happened.” Upon realizing my hands were still touching her shoulders, I gradually let go of her. But my body remained in place, planted at the edges of the mattress, intently gazing down at her with worry.
“Wanna talk about it?” I softly offered. We weren’t the best of friends any longer, but she must know, I was here for her—most especially at times like this one. Yet, someway, somehow, she appeared to have recovered from it.
Cara viewed me for a brief moment, contemplating, before shaking her head. “It’s no biggie. I get nightmares when I’m overworked … but I feel better now. Napping’s a good call. Promise.”
My unconvinced eyes flickered around her delicate face, skeptical about her statement that she felt better already. Those kinds of dreams never left your mind. They lingered … taunting, haunting until you’d over-analyzed everything about them. But instead of compelling her to tell me what her bad dream was about, I, instead, took the safest route. One I could completely declare worked the best with her. “Now that you’re up, are you up for some good food? I don’t remember the last time I ate, and I’m hella hungry.”
“What time is it?” she made a cute little yawn, unabashed about her bare state.
It was a fucking pain to look away from her breasts and the rest of her amazing physique when all I wanted was to ravish her on the spot. But I was playing the ‘gentleman’ card for the time being. “Its … uh … about two in the morning.”
“You should’ve woken me up …”
Like I’d pass the chance to unreservedly watch her. Nah, not gonna happen. “It’s all good … Anyway, go get dressed so we can go fill our bellies.”
“I’ll be ready in ten.” She stifled a cute, little yawn.
Damn, the urge to kiss her was so overwhelming that I briskly stood up, immediately putting distance between us. Even from a distance, I didn’t trust myself not to hop in bed with her and ravage those pouty pink lips.
I was frowning deeply when I saw Cara throw me a questioning look. But instead of confronting it—confronting her—I took the coward’s way out. “Okay. Go get ready. I’ll be outside.”
Why wouldn’t she let me kiss her? The subject grated on me just as I shut the door behind me.
Then it hit me. Dead in the fucking eye.
Because the last man she kissed was dead. It’s the only way she could carry on the torch, to prove her heart’s loyalty, to cherish his memory … their memory.
They were each other’s last kiss.
The kiss of death.
Chapter
12
Cara
Lately, my color preference consisted of red, black, and white—mainly black—a true reflection of myself and what I’d become. Tonight, however, I took a gamble and went for a soft blush, a subtle shade of pink that complemented my body. It purposely accentuated my best features. It was a hugging dress, and paired with nude stilettos and a matching color lip gloss, the outcome was far from what I was accustomed to staring back at me in the mirror for the past months. Had it not been for Joy, the set’s wardrobe assistant, insisting I take one of the items from the set’s vast apparel selection because most would go unused, I never would have worn it. She was adamant about giving me a spark of color. Since she was one of the kindest people I’d ever encountered in my life, I didn’t have the heart to decline the generous offer coming from the ever-efficient and a true ray of sunshine that was Joy. This petite little Asian woman might appear sweet, but if she wanted something done, she had this odd persuasive method of turning things her way.
Since I was back stateside to complete my part of the contract, in some ways, I saw it as a role I had to partake in.
After all, wasn’t life all about playacting?
It was what pop-culture was about—the vapid art of pretending. The me, myself, and I philosophy consisted of non-stop propaganda of positivity, boosting self-worth and learning how to overindulge in selfies, memes, and utter idiocy. As much as I loathed such nature, due to my line of work, social media was unavoidable. It was one of the most prolific ways to market one’s ‘fun-ness’, ‘uniqueness’, and the ‘hey, my life’s cooler than yours’ marketing tool. My manager gave me an option, either she made one where she’d have sole control, or I gave in and took charge of the account. So, much to my chagrin, bitchy me had to give in to the madness that was spurring this sad generation’s obsession with perfection, celebrities, and gossip.
