I uncapped the Sharpie with my teeth and started writing on her smooth back, taking great pleasure in knowing it was going to stay there for days. The Sharpie danced along her spine, and I gulped each time her body shivered against the bright red tip of the marker. My cock sprang to life, but now wasn’t the time.
And I would travel from asteroid to asteroid
Trying to find the one that would be ours
Building palace after palace until it feels like home
From London to Paris, from New York to Rome
The Little Prince, Alex Winslow
I paused, staring at my own terrible handwriting.
Her skin blossomed again.
“It’s cold.” She cleared her throat, grasping for her dress, her tits still covered by her arm. Bullshit. She was hornier than a unicorn. “Let’s go inside. You can copy it onto a notepad.”
I leaned forward and kissed the valley between her shoulder and neck, her skin coming alive and heating under my lips. The next words I whispered as seductively as I possibly could. I didn’t normally need to put in an effort, but with this one, I had to.
“If I don’t fuck you soon, I will die, and it will be on your conscience.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You can call me that in bed, if you’re inclined to,” I retorted, my lips skimming her drug-like skin. What was it about her that felt like home? It was senseless. I didn’t even fucking like home. I didn’t fucking have a home. Home was where my useless parents sat on their arses all day spending my money. “Isn’t that what The Little Prince is about? Being tamed and taming others? We don’t have to do that, here, Stardust. It’s just us. No grown-ups.”
“We are supposed to be the grown-ups.”
“No one is a grown-up when given a choice. It’s something you’re forced into.”
Pause.
“I’ve already told you, Alex. I’m not a fling type of girl.”
“You’re young, and available, and fit. You shouldn’t be so closed off. Get drunk. Fuck famous blokes. Post pictures of yourself all over the world on Instagram. You should live and make mistakes, and I’m offering to be one of those mistakes, because you have nothing to lose. We have an expiration date. We have a deadline. We have endless five-star hotel rooms and an album to write and your family to save and just fucking admit it—all arrows point in the same direction. Us. Together. For now.”
“And after now?” She turned around to stare at me. “What happens after now, Alex?”
“What do you mean?”
“When the tour is over. What do we do then?”
“We go our separate ways.” Wasn’t it obvious? Did she want a fucking boyfriend? Because I didn’t do that shit. And even if I did…Fallon was the first and last girl I tried monogamy with. She held my heart between her manicured fingers and squeezed hard every time I considered moving on. Even if I wanted to give Indie something—which I didn’t—I wasn’t sure if I even could.
“You will likely run into Fallon in Paris.” Indie was candid. And honest. And raw. She didn’t beat around the bush, asking the tough questions, giving zero fucks if it made her sound clingy or committed. She didn’t pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
“Then we end in Paris.” I brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “We end whenever Fallon and I begin again.”
Where in the fuck had that come from? I mean, it was the truth, but the truth could always be softened while being shoved into someone’s face. “Prior commitments” were my version of “I don’t fucking want to do it,” and “busy schedule” was “I’d rather choke on someone else’s cock than meet you for coffee.” But I wanted to get a rise from her. In fairness, I realized I was being a massive hypocrite. Here I was, just about ready to sack Lucas and throw him off the tour if he so much as looked at my sobriety companion, but I had no issue telling her—while trying to fuck her—that I was going to try to win my ex-girlfriend back. Where was my tact? Wherever it was, my charm and logic were hidden in the same dumpster.
“Wow.” Her eyebrows shot up. She pulled the straps of her dress back on her shoulders and pushed up to her feet, not even bothering to zip up. The step she took to her door was shaky and clumsy and told me everything I needed to know.
I’d fucked up royally.
“You’re such a bastard, calling you one is an insult to every bastard inhabiting this world. We need to invent a new word for what you are.”
“I think the word you are looking for is ‘cunt’,” I offered, dropping the open Sharpie onto the carpet and rising, about to follow her into her room. Pissed off or not—she still had my lyrics on her back. “It is what it is. We’re infatuated with each other, but not enough to lose our bloody minds. Eyes on the prize, Stardust. You need the money. I need the muse and the warm body at night.”