Forget being on the same page; Dallas and I had been reading entirely different books when it came to our relationship. In mine, there was a happily ever after that involved making a life together. He wasn’t just in my story—he was my story. In his I was merely a chapter.

I’m still me.

I wanted to smack myself. Hard. Of course he was still him. And he’d still walk away, dragging my battered heart behind him while I watched him leave. I’d hurt him, deeply. And I’d live with that regret for the rest of my life. He’d still be the guy who chose music over me¸ over us. He had even more reason to now that he was on this tour.

I waited there in his arms, forcing my steel walls back up between us while he drifted into unconsciousness. Once his breathing was deep and the light rumble of a snore settled into a steady rhythm, I slipped out of his bed and gathered my things as quietly as I could. Dressing quickly, I watched him, memorizing that peaceful look on his handsome face and promising myself this was a one-time thing. I wasn’t going to obsess over it. It was a life experience, one I didn’t regret but knew I’d be crazy to repeat.

I chanced one last look as I left, before I shut the door completely. The light from the hotel hallway sliced across him and he looked so . . . alone.

I closed the door and told myself this was for the best. What would having breakfast together or sharing a cab to the airport change? Nothing, that’s what.

This time, I’d been the one to leave. For the sake of my sanity and my heart, I could never fall into bed with Dallas Lark again. Here I’d been hoping that one day we could be friends, and our first actual attempt turns into . . . I don’t even know what. I’ve never been a fuck-buddy type of girl. Not that I don’t see the appeal to an exclusively physical mutually beneficial relationship, because I do. But it always seemed like a silly distraction, a waste of time that could be better spent finding something stable long term. But that, last night . . . I may not know exactly what it was, but it sure as hell wasn’t a waste of time.

I couldn’t stop thinking of him, of the way he looked at me, the smell of him, the way his calloused fingers felt on my skin, that stubble on his jaw, and dear Lord in Heaven, those sexy as sin whispered confessions. But now I was in Los Angeles getting ready for the National Business Bureau’s award ceremony, where I was accepting the award for Most Successful Family Run Business for Midnight Bay and I needed to focus. I called Katie to run through the reminders for the Kickin’ Up Crazy show she was handling in Kansas City and she wasn’t going to just let it go. Even though I was desperately trying to.

“Come on, Robyn. You never came back to the room last night. You expect me to believe the two of you spent the night reminiscing about the good old days? Have a sing-along, did you?”

I laugh at Katie’s pouting. I did get to hear him sing a little and her words conjure the erotic memory but I shake it off the best that I can. “No sing-alongs.”

I’m not like her. I didn’t have a lot of female friends growing up. I had Dixie, but she definitely didn’t want to hear about my sexual exploits with her brother. I had sorority sisters in college but mostly I kept my private business to myself.

“You’re really not going to give me any details?” Katie whines as I step into my four-inch heels.

I can already tell how badly my feet are going to hurt later. Between these shoes and my night with Dallas, I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’m a masochist.

“I’m going to give you lots of details. That’s why I called.”

She squeals and I grin wickedly in the mirror above the bathroom sink.

“First, make sure the VIP sections are spaced far enough apart for separate lines. Jase’s line will be crazy long so make sure it doesn’t interfere with any of the entrances or exits or crowd flow into the amphitheater. Second, make sure you upload the pictures Drew takes to the cloud so that I can access them and get them to the social media guys. Third—”

“You are no fun,” Katie interrupts flatly.

“I was plenty of fun last night. Today is about business.”

“I don’t think I like you anymore.” There’s a smile in her voice so I’m not too worried.

“Yeah, yeah. You love me. Anyway, I need to go but I’ll text you the rest, okay?”

“Got it.” Katie’s quiet for a moment before she says, “Hey, Robyn?”

“Yeah?” I give my hair one last tousle with my free hand.

“Um, it really is none of my business. And I am totally not judging you because I don’t think a girl in the world would’ve been able to turn that guy down after the show he put on last night, but . . .”

I freeze where I’m standing, hand still in my hair, while I wait for her to finish.

“It’s just . . . it’s him. So . . .”

I sigh and let my hand fall. “Just say it, Katie-O. Whatever it is, just say it.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing. And that you don’t get hurt like before.”

Staring at my too-wide eyes in the mirror, I ask myself if I know what I’m doing. My brain morphs into a Magic 8 Ball that only answers me with “outlook not so good.”

“Me, too, Katie. Me, too.”

I woke up alone.

Feeling cheap and used.

I had a great time, girl.

But you left me sore and abused.

Song lyrics. Dallas is texting me song lyrics in the middle of the ceremony that has already dragged on entirely too long. I smile at the screen and place my phone on my lap beneath the tablecloth so I don’t appear rude to my table companions.

You rocked my world, turned it upside down.

Now you’re nowhere to be found.

The alert chimes again. More lyrics.

Do you miss me, girl? Remember how you kissed me, girl?

’Cause I have to speak the truth, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to wake up holding you.

I should wrangle my dignity. Should play it cool for a while. But I miss those lips. I miss that smile.

I type out a quick response text. This your next hit? Do I get a cut?

His response comes almost immediately.

Maybe. I’m still trying to find a word that works with “slapped.”

I laugh out loud, stifling it the best I can, when an older gentleman to my left startles at my outburst. No one can see my phone so I don’t look rude, just crazy.

I told you I was sorry about that, I type out quickly.

It was pretty hot. I’m tough. I can take it if you like it rough.

Well now he’s just being inappropriate. I’m not sure if it’s an actual response or a lyric. And I’m squirming in my seat.

I don’t have a witty comeback yet so I just text him that I need to get back to my ceremony.

I’ll keep you posted on the song.

I stare at his words, my eyes zeroing in on the first three. I have got to get a grip on myself.

Thanks. Have a great show tomorrow night.

After that, I ignore my phone and focus on the speeches and awards. But Dallas Lark is holding a blowtorch, steadily burning a hole in my steel wall—one I don’t know how to protect myself against.

15 | Dallas

I’M SEEING SPOTS. BRIGHT ONES. BLINDING ONES.

Cameras flash from directly in front of me as I pose with fans.

Fans.

I have fans.

It’s kind of hard to wrap my head around. The band had a few regulars who attended shows at certain bars, but I think that was more about the bars than us.

“Thank y’all for coming out,” I say to two girls wearing matching If Lost Return to Dallas Walker T-shirts. Melissa and Jessica, I think they said their names were. But I still can’t get over the fact that I have shirts. “Love the shirts, by the way.” I wink and they laugh, the blond one turning a little red in the face.