Page 111 of Love You Like This

“Yeah, but my reputation is ruined. What if things don’t work out between us and I have to find a new job? I couldn’t keep working for them and watch him move on with someone else.”

“This will be forgotten by this time next week. It’s show business, baby. Scandals come and go at the drop of a hat. Reputations can be remade.” She releases my hand when I make a move toward my coffee cup. “As for your relationship with Xander, do you see it ending?”

I look up at her. “What? No. It was a hypothetical.”

“Why don’t we live in the present? Focus on what is happening instead of what could happen?”

“That’s how you end up with eight ex-husbands.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “You’re not me, but I think you could use a sprinkle of me in this situation.”

“Just say fuck it and take the leap?”

She perks up. “Exactly. Trust that he’ll be there to have your back. You know I will, too. Everyone who matters will. I mean, even Amber has softened to him.”

“I know. Hell must have frozen over.”

“Think about it. I’m going to take a shower.” She stands and kisses my forehead.

Her footsteps retreat down the hall but return less than a minute later.

“Your phone was going off.” She sets it down in front of me and goes back down the hall to her room.

Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for the barrage I’ve been ignoring. I blink in rapid succession when I see the lock screen say there are nine-hundred and ninety-nine plus notifications. Fucking hell. This is what I get for ignoring my responsibilities.

Checking my emails first I see a long thread of emails between Darren, executives at the label, and the attorneys. I decide to hold off on opening those. I’m sure Darren has it under control.

Social media is my domain. Unfortunately, it’s also where the miserable trolls live, too. I don’t give myself time to overthink and click on one of the social media apps. My heart thuds as the notifications load; there are thousands of them. I’m assuming most will be negative comments.

I squint when I see tags from Stone, Tobias, and Xander in posts. I can’t remember scheduling anything for today, and they’re never on their profiles. My mind is blown when I click on Stone’s post first. It’s a photo carousel that starts with a picture from one of the shows with Xander and I looking at each other while he plays. The next one makes me laugh; it’s from years ago when we were out at a club and he licked the side of my face. Still as horrifying as it was the day it happened. The final picture is of eighteen-year-old Xander and me in Mexico. There are a few more of him with me and us as a group. When I look down and see the caption, I melt.

If you don’t love her, you don’t love Blue Sunday. She’s our heart.

I click on Tobias’s post next. It starts and ends with the same photos. The ones in the middle are different. On the last tour we stopped in Egypt for a few days of sightseeing, and there’s a picture of him carrying me piggyback in front of the Sphinx. His caption makes my eyes sting.

My ride or die.

If those two posts pulled on my heartstrings, Xander’s takes a wrecking ball to the remaining walls I have up. He maxed out the number of photos allowed. They start from when we were teens, all photos I never knew he took of me. A shot of me putting lipstick on in the mirror before prom. So many of us surfing. Moonlight walks on the beach in Mexico. Pictures of me working on the tour bus that I definitely had no idea he was taking. All the way up to a recent one of me sleeping on his chest, it’s mostly of my face, but his lips are visible kissing the top of my head.

Mine.

I’m also tagged in his story. Waves crash on the shore of a familiar beach. The overlayed text says waiting for her to come back to where it all started with “Somewhere Only We Know” playing as the music.

“Mom,” I yell as I stand up. “I have to go.”

“Okay.” She comes out in her robe, towel drying her hair.

I grab my purse off the counter and slide the closest pair of shoes on, not giving a damn that they’re Mom’s. I don’t bother changing, even though I’m wearing plaid pajama pants and the hoodie with Xander’s face on it. He posted that story three hours ago; I can’t spare another minute to even put a bra on.

The freeway is miraculously clear of heavy traffic as I speed toward the beach. There’s plenty of parking since it’s winter and the sky is overcast. Relief washes over me when I spot his Jeep in the parking lot. I take the open spot beside him and jump out of my car. As soon as I get down to the sand, I take my shoes off and scan the beach for him.

He sits on the sand, his hair tucked under a backwards baseball cap and arms resting on his bent knees. His eyes scan the horizon, watching the waves roll in. He looks lonely, and I hate myself for the past days of uncertainty.

“Xander!”

His head snaps up when he hears me call his name. For a second he doesn’t react beyond looking at me. Then his face cracks into a wide smile, the dimple I claimed long ago popping out to greet me as he stands, and I start running. I let my purse and shoes fall to the ground and leap into his hold. His arms lock around me, tightening as if he’ll never let me go now that he has me back.

I press my lips to his, which are cold and salty from the mist blowing off the surf. His tongue is hot, though, as our kiss deepens. Our mouths move against each other with the longing and need of denying ourselves from what our souls have yearned for for years. I pull his hat off, so I can thread my fingers through the silky, soft hair at the base of his neck. The moan he releases travels straight from my lips down to my center.