Silence greets me, and I realize what I’ve said. I wince at the utterly gleeful expression on Jules’s face.

“Oh, really?” she drawls.

“There’s no really.”

“I knew he’d be a dirty bird in bed.”

I clear my throat and catch a glimpse of grinning Santa. Edging away from him, I roll my stiff shoulders and try again. “We did not go there!” Texts don’t count. “I just don’t want that image in my head.” Too late. “But, okay, it was…good. Really good. But it’s Rye.”

Jules hums thoughtfully under her breath then pins me with a curious stare. “Can I ask you something? You and Rye have always been at each other’s throats, and I assumed it was simmering repressed sexual tension—”

“Oh, for crying out—” I shut up, because she lifts a brow as if to say, Get real, Brenna. And she isn’t entirely wrong. Damn it. With a sigh, I make a motion with my hand for her to continue.

Jules sniffs delicately. “As I was saying, I’m pretty sure we all thought that. But how did this animosity between you two start? Where’s it coming from?”

Part of me wants to turn tail and run. But I squeeze the bridge of my nose and answer her. “In the beginning, it was a simple case of immaturity and my inability to handle rejection.” I tell her about my crush on Rye, the way he effectively squashed it, and the resulting low-key feud. “We started relating to each other by bickering and sniping. But a few years later…”

I grit my teeth. I don’t want to remember. I put it aside a while ago. Remembering only pokes a sore spot that I’ve worked to heal. Remembering only threatens to make me view Rye in a way that will make everything harder. But Jules asked, and maybe it’s better to get it out instead of burying it away.

“I saw him doing something he shouldn’t.”

“What, like a crime?”

“No. He was with a woman—”

“Please don’t tell me he hurt her.” Horror shimmers in her eyes.

“Jules!” I huff out a weak laugh. “Stop interrupting. No, he didn’t do that. I’d have told someone, and he’d have been out of the band in a blink. He was just kissing someone he shouldn’t have.”

I close my eyes and will away the memory, the utter disappointment and rage I’d felt toward him, knowing that he put his drunken lust over the happiness of his friends.

“I’m not going to say who, because it’s been ten years at this point, and it does no good to stir the pot.” I give Jules a sad, wane smile. “But it set the tone for how I related to him for so long. I held on to that rage for years, let it feed me when it came to him. But it wasn’t healthy, and he never did anything like that again—not that I know of. So, I let it go. Only by then, we’d settled into the pattern of animosity like a pair of favorite shoes.”

“Does he know about this?” Jules asks.

“No. I never said a word. I didn’t want to hurt the band.” I snort. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I protected him from a blowup, when he deserved everything that he would have gotten.”

“Not really,” Jules says. “Your job was to protect them. I can see how that would put you in a tough spot.”

“And I resented that too. I took it out on Rye, even though he had no clue why I was so pissed.”

She peers at me, and I have the urge to squirm. When she talks, her tone holds no judgment, only curiosity. “Despite all that, when he made you this offer, you took it.”

“Sometimes, I can’t believe it myself.” I laugh without humor. My chest hurts, and my head feels as if it’s stuffed with wool. “I’d like to think we’ve both grown. And the truth is…Shit. I like this Rye.”

Saying it makes it real. Saying it also lifts a weight I didn’t know I’d been carrying.

Jules nods as if understanding. “And you’re running scared.”

“Scared,” I scoff. “I’m not scared.” I am, though. I’m terrified of falling.

“Of course not.” Jules pats my arm. “That’s why we’re talking about sex in front of St. Nick instead of you being in New York getting some dick.”

“Ugh!” I turn away and start walking through the museum. But I can’t outrun my memories.

Ride me, Bren.

He’d been so thick. So hard. So good.

“Shit.” With a silent groan, I toss up my hands in defeat. I can lie to myself all day, but it won’t change the truth. My body doesn’t feel right anymore. Like it’s waiting for him. “I ran, all right! I know I ran. But I couldn’t face him. I just couldn’t, okay?”

Not after he’d taken me apart in the best of ways. He’d taken me apart and then put me back together. I’m this new needy woman who can’t stop craving one more touch. I don’t know if I like it. But I want it.

Jules is silent for a moment, letting me stride along, my heels clicking double time on the linoleum floor. “Brenna, you are my idol, the woman who told the head of RAI Records that the day he started staring at guys’ dicks when he talked to them was the day it would be okay for him to talk to your tits.”

I snort at the memory.

Jules smiles fondly. “Do you know how many times I’ve seen you set down random drunk and disorderly dudes at events without breaking a sweat? Or make power-hungry executives quake in their loafers? You’re never fazed. You’re a badass in five-inch heels. No one takes advantage of you.” Her gaze is serious now. “If I could harness half your confidence, I’d be a happy woman. So, I have to wonder why you’re running from the one guy who lights you up.”

My steps slow to a halt. Lights me up? As much as I want to, I can’t deny that I feel something when I’m around him. Alive. Energized.

“I don’t know.”

But I do. I’m a sham. I am not cool and collected. Half the time, I’m terrified to take any risks. I’m afraid anything I truly want will get ripped away and I’ll be that insecure girl on the outside looking in once more.

When it comes to Rye, he has the power to pull the rug out from under me. When I got physical with him, I only gave him more of that power. That knowledge lies on my skin, making it feel too tight. And yet I cannot lie to myself: I crave more of him.

Jules watches me carefully. Whatever she sees in my face has her tone softening. “I know one thing. You don’t let a man like Rye see you sweat. He’ll never let that go. Get back to New York and face him head-on.”

Chapter Fourteen

Rye

 

Berrylicious: Michael says you haven’t answered any texts regarding next week’s appearance schedule. What gives?

TrueAceOfBass: Sorry

Berrylicious: Sorry? That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?

TrueAceOfBass: This a 16 Candles skit?

Berrylicious: If you fucking forget my birthday, we’re going to have words, Peterson.

TrueAceOfBass: 8/16 will nvr 4gt

Berrylicious: Even your texting is bad. Are you drunk?

TrueAceOfBass: No

Berrylicious: High?

TrueAceOfBass: Wish