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Tristan smiled finally. “I like Ellen.” His voice lowered. “I was hoping she’d give
me some help with the whole gay thing.” He smiled. “What was it you said? ‘Working
at full capacity?’ Nice.” He smirked.

I wasn’t going to be baited. Keep it light. “I don’t think you need any help. You
seem to be doing just fine.” If he expected me to say anything precise, he was very
wrong. But I still tensed every muscle in my body I could feel. Letting go. The hardest
thing for me. My demons. “But you probably need some space. That’s fine.” I had my
phone out, my finger on speed dial. “It’s the last nights of the tour. I’ve seen the
shows, had the bus experience. Next week L.A. I’ll see you there.” The voice on the
other end of the phone was cool. Dave’s secretary. Used to the sudden emergency. “Ginny.
Lily here.” We were on first name basis now. Would that still hold true if I wasn’t
fucking the star? Didn’t matter. But given my part in the whole production, I’d have
to insure that held true. Ironically, continuing to fuck the star now seemed to depend
on not doing it. Yin Yang, I thought. It’s balance. “Can you book me a ticket out
back to New York tonight? Houston, that’s right. Yes, I will hold.”

Tristan watched me, a slight flicker in his swirling eyes. I pretended not to notice.
This game depended on me holding my ground. “Yes? First flight out tomorrow morning
at 7? Sure, that’s fine. Ticket in my email in an hour? Great. Cheers, Ginny. Appreciate
it. Say hello to Dave for me. Thanks again.” I pressed the end call button with a
bit more ferocity than usual. “Ok, tomorrow a.m. I’m out of here. And now I’m going
to do a little shopping.” Tristan raised his hand as if to stop me. “No, it’s fine.
I’ll see you later—either at the show or after.” I went over to him and hugged him,
as though I was heading for a shower, rather than leaving. “Have a nap. I’ll get someone
to give you a call when it’s time to head out.”

Tristan leaned his head into my neck. “You scare me a little, you know.”

I laughed. “Yeah, me too.” I kissed him and grabbing my bag, I headed for the door.
“It’s all good, love.” I blew him a kiss from the door, and shut it carefully behind
me. I walked down the hall, made it to the elevator, then collapsed against the wall.
I had to do it. He had to make the choice, not me. I wasn’t going to jail anyone against
their will. Before I could think any more about it, I pressed the button for the elevator.
I rode down in silence, making up my mind. When I got down to the lobby, I asked the
concierge to get me a taxi to the mall. I didn’t think I’d need 5 hours in the mall,
but then again, I didn’t think I needed to hang about watching the show either. Probably
the moon-eyed wonder had gotten old. It didn’t matter. I sat down in one of the big
chairs by the doors, waiting for my ride, and pulled out my phone again. Another speed
dial button, and it struck me that it really was true, when you really loved someone,
you did want them to be happy. Mostly. Even if that didn’t always get you everything
you thought you wanted. But it also didn’t mean you gave up yourself. What a fucking
moment to learn that lesson. At any rate, I’d had enough of half-measures in my life.
I wanted the passion, I wanted the truth. I listened to the voice answer the phone.

“AC? Lily here. Yes. Look, he’s alone. And he needs you. No, everything is fine. But
I think he’s freaking out a bit. I have a feeling you’ll know what to say. No, really
it’s ok. I’ll see you both later. No, I won’t be at the show. Taking a break. Going
to eat some ribs. Shop for luxury goods. Be good to each other, ok?” And I rang off.
Outside, a black town car was pulling up. The doorman waved to me after getting the
nod from the concierge, and as he opened the door to let me slide into the air-conditioned
darkness, his deep voice said, “Have a good evening, Miss.”

Well, I’d started something. Now to see whether it was good, or not.

* * *

I’d turned off my phone in the film. I didn’t want to look. But now that I was outside,
trying to remember the title of what I’d just seen, determined to distract myself
and kill time, weaving my way through the crowd of people laughing and talking, I
had to. I wanted to. I’d been good. I switched it on, and watched the emails and DMs
add up, a little like the spinning wheels of a slot machine. Then the voice mail—only
three. I pressed it and watched as it went to the list—it was AC, not Tristan. I pressed
play before I had a change of heart or a chance to think about what that could mean.

His voice was clear. “Lily. Come home. He loves you, so much. And so do I, and not
just for being that constant in his life. You’re rad. Seriously. Touring really gets
to him. He thought it’d be easier this time around. He didn’t tell you. And someone
was trash talking the band. He’s got to sack James, he’s a fucking time bomb. Now
he’s spending time chatting to Jack. No good will come of that. Fuck it. But come
back. Come now. Ok? Please?” I listened to it again, walking towards the exit of the
mall, watching the couples and the high school kids strolling by, heading home. I
called for a taxi, and stood outside, breathing in the warm air, the dark sky, watching
the headlights come on the different cars as they started up and headed off. But it
wasn’t until my cab had turned up, and I’d given the guy the name of the hotel, which
luckily I’d saved on the phone, that I texted AC.
On my way.
I added the next part more slowly.
For now.
And hit send before I had a chance to change my mind.

It took about half an hour to get back. It was before midnight. I figured I had time
for a shower, and a chance to collect my thoughts before I needed to deal with either
of them. I could pack. The flight left at 6:40. One stop, no plane change. Seemed
fair. I was thinking about what I’d say to both of them. I was hoping it wasn’t going
to be too hard to leave. Or too easy. I turned my feet away from the elevators, and
towards the bar. I needed a drink, and to try and remember what it was like to be
on my own. Watching. Thinking. On my own time.

I sat near the end of the bar, and ordered another vodka tonic. There was a part of
me that wanted the medicinal taste of a straight shot, the burning feeling of alcohol
like a cleanser, cutting away the extra. The emotions. The feelings. But I wanted
the anonymity more. Nothing says look at me more than a woman ordering shots in a
hotel bar, and I could already feel the late night men circling around behind me,
trying to get a read. I literally shook my shoulders, involuntarily, as though I could
make them all disappear with a quick gesture. The bartender chose that moment to bring
me my drink. He gave me a funny look. I returned a level gaze. Life shadowing a rock
star on tour had taught me a few things, I could see that. “It’s a little cold in
here. Can you turn down the AC? And bring me some peanuts, or snacks—whatever you
serve? Thanks.” And I turned away again. I ignored the shiver the coldness of the
frosted glass gave me, my warm fingertips melting away neat little ovals on the glass,
and I tried to ignore the taste of the tonic, chasing instead after the bitter absent
coldness of vodka. I did finally notice that I’d tipped down half of it almost immediately.
There goes anonymity, I thought, and when the bartender came back with a little tray
of nuts and mini cheese crackers, I ordered another one. Then I ignored the way his
lips pursed slightly, and the quick look he gave me to make sure I wasn’t about to
fall off my chair. The second one came, and I was pleased to notice it was a little
stronger. Maybe he figured he’d get rid of me that way.

I was staring into space, and counting to a hundred every time I thought about taking
a sip, and doing my best not to listen to the conversation the two men at the other
end were having about the overlap between sales techniques and sports prowess. It
was 12:30. I figured I’d head upstairs after this one. I doubted we’d sleep tonight
anyway. Hadn’t Tristan said he was tired of domesticity? Nothing more domestic than
sleep. I’d just called for the check, when someone sat in the chair next to me. I
looked straight ahead, and waited for the return of the bartender. A hand settled
on my arm, and I looked down, startled. I knew that hand.

AC grinned at me. “I thought I’d find you in here. Getting up some liquid courage
before you face the diva?” I started to reply, but he shook his head, and took my
hand. “I don’t blame you. And I won’t blame you if you leave, or if you hate me. But
you shouldn’t. And I don’t want you to.”

I did speak up at that. “I don’t hate you. I never have. And…”

AC interrupted. “…we need to talk?”

The wry expression I could feel twisting my lips into a half smile said it all. “Yes.
I guess we do. Probably overdue. But that’s not it, you know. I’m not blaming you
for him. Or what the two of you have.”

AC rolled his eyes and tilted his head back a bit. The bartender came with the bill.
AC stopped him. “Sorry mate. Can we get two more of whatever that was? Thanks. Put
the whole thing on this.” And he handed over a black card, like a magician pushing
forward the most important card from the deck, effortlessly. The effect was pretty
magical, too.

“Nice one,” I laughed. “Now you’re just trying to impress me.”

“Sure,” AC smiled. “Took you long enough to notice. Besides,” he shook out his hair,
“you haven’t admired the natural set of curls life has gifted me with.”

I reached up and twisted one between my fingers. His hair, the gold side of yellow
blond, was incredibly soft. “Cute.”

AC winked at me. “Now you’re just flirting. Heartbreaker. And your man is waiting
for you.” The drinks came, along with another bowl of snacks. There were three different
kinds now, I noticed. “But I recommend you let him wait, at least long enough to have
a drink with me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Isn’t that just going to piss him off even more?”

AC took a sip, and grimaced. “God, tonic. Lily. Yes, probably will. But damn if it
isn’t good for him.” He raised his glass. “Don’t try to be everything for him, Lil.
Or give him everything he asks for. You’ll exhaust yourself, and create a monster
in the process. Push back. Relax.” He drank some more. “Don’t you feel better having
walked away, even a little?”

“You told me to come back.”

“Yes, I did. Because it’s the right thing to do. And he cares. A lot. Let him. Now
make him work for it.”

I looked at his face, the green eyes, the quiet confidence that was there. And trust.
Something like faith. “And you?”

“And me.” He kissed my cheek. “We’ll have that chat soon, I promise. With Barolo.
But now it’s diva time!” And he laughed, the moment of seriousness gone as quickly
as it came.

I turned around at the entrance to the bar. AC was still watching me. He shooed me
away with his hands, a big smile on his face. I waved, and turned the corner. I had
a feeling he was going to be there until the bar closed. I glanced around, looking
for fans. Amazingly enough, none of them had managed to sneak past the entrance. I
pressed the button for the elevator. I had no idea what I was going to say. Maybe
we wouldn’t say anything.

I slid the key card into the lock and the green light glowed. I turned the handle,
but the room was dark. Maybe he wasn’t here after all. He needed to sleep, but I couldn’t
imagine he’d gone to bed already. I switched on the light. It didn’t even look like
anyone had been here. I had the sudden thought that maybe he’d left first. Maybe he’d
only told AC he was coming back. AC didn’t know everything. I swallowed down the feeling
of panic, and dropped my bag, taking off my jacket, and draping it over the arm of
the sofa.

Then I pushed open the door leading in to the bedroom, and gasped. The lights had
been turned down, but there in the half-lit room, the curtains open to show the night
24 floors below, lay Tristan, sprawled out on the bed. His dark hair was fanned out
over the pillow, his long legs still in tight jeans splayed out across the white sheets.
His feet were bare. I could just make out the tattoo across his foot that said “plus
jamais,” never again. He’d gotten it to match mine—to keep me company, he’d said.
His body seemed longer than ever, a slash of dark color against the sheets. But he
was still wearing his leather jacket. One hand was balanced lightly between his legs,
long fingers stretched out from hipbone to hipbone. The other arm was stretched tautly
upwards, but this time the long fingers were firmly pinned to the headboard, a metal
cuff circling his wrist, a silver band on his pale skin. The other section was locked
firmly on to the railing.

Tristan opened his eyes when he heard me gasp. They were focused on me intently, and
I felt the weight of his stare so keenly I nearly turned my head away in embarrassment.

His voice was an inky drawl, scratching itself through all my hastily constructed
barriers. “Like what you see, then?”

I felt my face grow hot. His next words were a direct challenge. “Shy? Afraid of
what you want? You weren’t earlier.” He looked me up and down. “What if I couldn’t
move?” He pulled at the cuff to demonstrate. It rattled loudly in the room. I had
the feeling everyone in the world could hear us. Tristan’s voice brought me back.
“No? Not enough incentive? I could try and read your mind, tell you what you want.”
He stared at me, I consented to meet his eyes. “You fall into it so easily. So good.”
He smirked, and looked down. I saw his free hand was unbuttoning the top of his red
jeans, and slowly lowering the zipper. He adjusted himself, and sighed with pleasure
at the release of pressure. “Fuck these things are tight. Are you still there? I need
some help here.” I was still standing still. “Unless you don’t want to. Then I could
do it myself. Would you like that? Or do you want to help?” I made myself move forward.
I was dizzy, my vision clouded. I had the half-formed thought that only Tristan could
inspire submission while tied up.