Page 49 of The Encore’s Crown

Does he regret it?

Maybe he’s already congratulating himself on successfully avoiding sleeping with the emotionally compromised blonde who threw herself at him. What if he's making coffee and constructing a speech about boundaries? Will he act like nothing happened? No. He can’t do that. Can he?

Of course he can.

Men have performed far more impressive acts of stupidity.

He could give me the best orgasm of my life and then ghost me in broad daylight while staying on the same hotel floor. We still have days left before we go home. Days of tour buses, backstage rooms, group dinners, and pretending we don’t notice each other from opposite sides of every room. I reach for my phone on the bedside table. Nothing from him. I sigh as annoyance washes over me. I unlock it and open our conversation. I stare at the empty message box. What would I even send?

Good morning. Thank you for the life-altering orgasm. Apologies for biting you. Please confirm whether we’re now avoiding eye contact professionally or recreationally. Also, fuck you, how dare you not say good morning after I let you put your fingers literally inside of me!

I drop the phone onto the mattress. He should text me, he’s the one who left. After he made sure I was comfortable, tucked the blanket around me, stayed when I asked, and only moved once I was unconscious.

Asshole.

A considerate asshole, which is significantly more problematic. My body remembers the way he held me after. The warmth in my chest returns, gentler this time.

Then someone knocks on my door.

I nearly fall out of bed, the blanket tangles around my legs as I sit up. My heart slams once, hard enough to hurt.

Kiri?

I run a hand over my hair, which accomplishes nothing, and glance down at myself. My clothes are wrinkled and twisted, but present. Thank God for minor miracles, though I'm sure Father Marek probably wouldn't call it that. The knock comes again.

“Nat?”

Kasia.

Relief and disappointment collide so hard inside me they should qualify as an injury.

“Coming.”

My voice sounds suspiciously rough. I clear my throat, stumble from the bed, and catch sight of myself in the mirror. My hair looks like I’ve spent the night in a wind tunnel. There’s a faint flush high on my cheeks, and my lips are still swollen, from kissing him. A stupid little smile pulls at my mouth again. I slap both hands over my face.

“Stop it.”

“Are you talking to me?” Kasia calls through the door.

“No, just talking to myself.”

I straighten my clothes, drag my hair into something that resembles a bun, and open the door a careful amount. Kasia stands in the hallway already dressed, made up, and irritatingly functional. Her sunglasses are perched on top of her head, and she has a coffee in each hand.

“You're not ready yet?” she says slowly, “We have to leave in forty minutes.”

“For what?”

She blinks at me. Then her expression changes from suspicion to genuine disbelief.

“The tour bus? Did you forget we're heading out today? Concert tomorrow?”

I stare back.

“Nagoya?” She asks, like it'll help me remember, but I'm a lost cause.

Nothing.

“I forgot.”