by Chance : Poison & Wine, book 2

by Sigal Ehrlich

  All eyes are on us as we take our places on the stage. People are sitting in groups and standing in clusters, all dressed in their best with tall glasses in hand filled with golden liquids. Then there are the ones with cameras and phones directed at us, and last but not least, the group where Amanda Linden mingles with music world execs. All attention is on us, but the way it feels to me is that all attention is really focused on the person singing by my side. Just like the rest of them, I, too, am reverential in his presence.

  I’m on stage, singing with Tyler Lee Adams, but I don’t feel like I own it like he does. I give it my best, and I’m well aware that we’re giving one hell of a performance, yet I feel like I’m in his shadow. Not because he does anything to warrant that, just because of who he is. Anxiety still twists in my gut when the keys to the first chorus play. But when my eyes land on Vicky, the tightness comes loose.

  The way Vicky looks at me surges energy in me that by the time the background music, played by Tyler Lee’s band, gradually escalates, increasing the intensity of the melody, I’m thrown to another dimension. Together, Tyler Lee and I reach the chorus in strong harmony, stretching our voices to a powerful climax. And I feel like I’m floating. Adrenaline brings the very best of me onto the mic, and the only thing grounding me is Vicky’s eyes.

  As the last tunes play softly, the crowd erupts into a wave of claps echoing from the walls, nearly making the venue tremble. Tyler Lee Adams throws a glance to the side of the stage where his wife beams back at him and then turns to nod at me with a shadow of a smile. I return it, ecstatic. He nods at the audience and claps my way. I mirror him, and the cheering intensifies.

  Tyler Lee brings the microphone to his mouth, and the buzz dims. “Thank you.” He walks over to me, and standing by my side, he speaks to the audience again. “Ladies and gentlemen, Ricky Hart.” The crowd responds with a second wave of cheering. Tyler Lee dips his chin. “You’ve got this,” he says off the mic.

  He raises a hand in goodbye and disappears behind the stage, leaving me to sing a couple of my new songs.

  I’m too wound up to flirt with the audience as I do so naturally at Poison, so I busy myself instead, securing the guitar’s strap over my neck and taking a seat on the high stool. I adjust the standing microphone and say, “This is Secrets.” I take a deep breath as Tyler Lee’s band starts playing, wet my lips, and wait for my cue.

  My heart is beating itself out of my chest as I sing the intro. When I finally dare to look up at the audience, I’m overwhelmed by the response. They’re there with me, connected to my song, eyes on me. My lips twitch on impulse, and I’m rewarded with more than a few smiles. Yet Amanda’s smile tells it all, removing the heavy load of insecurity off my chest. I search the audience for the person I wrote this song for, and when our gazes connect, I sing to her. “Listen to the lyrics of my song. You’ll hear them differently when your guards are down.”

  Boosted by the crowd and my woman, I sing the words, strumming the guitar, “We broke each other in this chaos we made. Haunted and left. But, babe, I never wanna fall in love with anyone else. The good and the bad, just with you.”

  The linked stare between Vicky and me isn’t a stare anymore; it’s as if we’re touching. As if my words are pressed onto her skin, as I cherish her along every curve and nook of her body. She drinks me in with erotic promises in those sapphires. It’s damn foreplay. And it shows in the way the song blasts out of me, in the cadence of my voice. It doesn’t escape the audience either. It appears to lure them as they watch me mesmerized.

  “We are secrets; we are dreams. And tonight, you’re a song.” My words engulf Vicky, and her responding stare pulls at my strings. And here on the stage, in what feels like the turning point of my life, where I am touching the sky, in front of all these strangers, I’m hit by a realization.

  I’m madly in love with Victoria Nielsen.

  Breaking our connection, back from our bubble, realizing what I’m supposed to be doing, I steer my attention from Vicky to my audience. I send the crowd a flirty smile, and when my eyes meet Amanda’s, she mouths, “Wow.” My smile stretches much broader, fueled by adrenaline, and I take the song to a climactic finish.

  The next song is upbeat, and they’re there with me, swaying to the music, giving me the energy to push it higher, to give them my very best.

  The rest of the night, from the moment Amanda meets me with a towel and clean shirt as I leave the stage to when I step into the elevator with Kat in the middle of the night, it’s as if I’m in a trance. Between the handshakes, the compliments, the selfies, polite conversations, nods, and smiles, I don’t think that I manage to exhale. It’s an out-of-body experience. Everyone wants a piece of me, and I just go along, a puppet worked by strings, controlled by Amanda. Yet it was euphoric.

  “Quite the night for you,” Kat says, pressing the button for our floor.

  I chuckle. “I’m still reeling,” I answer honestly.

  “I’m going to stress-eat as I stalk my ex on social media.” She laughs to herself, and I join her.

  “I’m just going to crash . . . if I make it to bed.”

  We say good night as we step out of the elevator, going to our own rooms.

  A sting of uncertainty punctures my high as I stand with the key card aimed at the pad on the door, thinking, will she be inside waiting for me? I’ve been burned by Vicky one too many times. While we’re together, there are still spikes of doubt poking at my insecurity. I left her a key earlier at reception, but I don’t know if she took it. With Vicky, you can never know. I swipe the card at the door, pushing it open at the green light. I don’t call for her. It’s way past midnight; if she’s here, she might already be asleep. The main room is dark, only adding to my doubt. I pass the dining area, and when I enter the vast bedroom, my lips stretch of their own volition.

  I’m greeted by long bare legs crossed at the ankles. Vicky doesn’t notice me as I near the bed. She’s lying on her stomach, legs up with a red thong and a red cropped shirt, her silky hair splayed down to her shoulder blades. And I feel like the luckiest man on the fucking planet. Quietly, I bend over to caress her butt. She yelps in response, yanking out earbuds from her ears. I smile at her and press a lingered kiss on her sublime ass.

  “Hey.” I sit on the bed by her side, lowering my lips to her neck for a kiss at her pulse.

  She flips to lie on her back, looking up at me with a smile. “Hey, rock star.”

  I roll my eyes with a grin. She brings her finger up in a come-hither gesture. I lower my mouth to kiss her. She kisses me and eases back to look at me. “I loved the song.”

  It’s an inhuman struggle not to respond with “I love you.” We’re finally doing this. I don’t want to say something that will make her clam up or, worse, run away.

  Her eyes run over my face. “It’s a sad song.”

  “We had a rocky beginning.” I hold her eyes as I slowly lean down to leave another kiss on her lips. This one a little longer.

  She kisses me slowly and inches back, her voice brimming with vulnerability. “I hope I won’t end up being just a song to you.”

  I stare at her for a beat, hoping she’ll always look at me this way, before finally speaking. “If it’s up to me, I want you to be the soundtrack of my life.”

  Her eyes fill up with emotions before she sobers up and throws me a sassy grin. “What’s happening to us, to me? We’re . . . we’re texting, and you sing me songs, and I cancel plans just in case you show up and wait up for you until the middle of the night.” She pretends to retch.

  I shake my head with a smile and pretend to shiver in horror. Not a heartbeat later, I flip her over to smack her ass. She yelps and turns to look up at me with her mouth rounded. I grin at her wickedly and rise to stand.

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

  “Shower.” I mirror her teasing gaze.

  She straightens to sit. “You don’t get to smack my butt and walk away.”

  “That
so?” I raise my brow.

  Vicky narrows her stare at me and sends her hand to her panties. “Yeah.” She slides her thumb under the strings and drags the lacy fabric down slowly. I watch her, my blood flowing in one direction.

  When she frees it from her legs, she throws it at me. I catch it with one hand, watching her raptly as she slowly lies back on the bed and spreads her legs under my heated gaze. I’m a goner. With a groan, I rip off my belt, yank my buttoned fly open, and not a breath later, I plant myself between her legs.

  A Fast-paced Psychedelic Movie

  Earlier today.

  Kayla to Chickens: Anyone know what it means when holy water sizzles on your skin?

  Victoria to Chickens: It means that you’ve finally confirmed what we always knew.

  Pandora to Chickens: You’re a fabulous demon.

  Kayla to Chickens: Don’t hold back, keep going.

  Ricky to Babe: 20-minute delay. Boarding soon.

  “So, where are you now?” my sister asks.

  “At the airport, waiting for him to come out,” I answer, my attention focused on the sliding doors pouring out people and luggage.

  “Why aren’t you meeting him inside?” Anna says.

  “Because I don’t want my face on TMZ.”

  She scoffs. “Oh c’mon.”

  “Don’t, oh c’mon me. Bean, he’s everywhere. After the single with Tyler Lee Adams dropped together with two new singles that skyrocketed to the top of the charters locally and internationally, he’s recognized wherever he goes. And all I need is for people at work to see me starring in tabloids or our clients as the new it boy’s flavor of the month.” I shudder at the thought and add, “Flavor of the hour,” scornfully. “I’m happy keeping my anonymity and my reputation intact, thank you very much.”

  “I’m so happy for you, his voice, his charisma, he’s—”

  “I know. It’s ludicrous.”

  Anna’s voice takes a swoony tone. “Totally! He’s so handsome it’s unfair.”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “Vic, I think he’s in love with you.”

  “No one is in love with no one,” I say flatly.

  Anna laughs briefly. “I love you, but you’re ridiculous and full of organic crap.”

  “Okay,” I huff, resigned. “You repeat this to anyone, and I swear . . . I never liked, liked anyone before like I like, like him.”

  “I like, like it when you use your big girl vocabulary,” Anna says with a laugh.

  “Fuck off! Mature enough for you?” My next breath gets caught when I notice Ricky exiting the airport. My sister says something, but I don’t really listen anymore. I’m too caught up absorbing the tsunami happening in my stomach. “He’s here. I’ve got to go; talk later.”

  It’s been sixteen days since I saw Ricky, and the need for him is almost unbearable. We talked whenever we were able to, which wasn’t too often with our busy schedules. Two of his new songs were released the day after the party, and he was busy promoting them. He’s been everywhere, talk shows, radio, magazines, and even on one of the late-night shows. My days weren’t less busy with all the changes our company is going through. But we somehow ensured we didn’t go to sleep before FaceTiming each other, even if just to say good night.

  It’s been so good between us. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  When he notices me, Ricky’s lips tip into a side-smile. I devour him with my eyes as he makes his way to me. He’s in a plain black tee, dark jeans, and heavy black shoes, but the simplicity only adds to his appeal. His hair is a little longer, almost covering his eyes. His tattoo-covered arm is bent; his bicep bulged from the exertion of holding a duffel bag over his shoulder. No wonder he already has so many fans; it’s impossible to stay indifferent to him.

  A step away, Ricky is stopped by two teenagers. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but their body language tells the story. Ricky shrugs at me with an apologetic grin, and I smile back, communicating it’s okay. Both cropped top and pink gloss girls blush, talking to him. Ricky smiles at them and nods just before they position themselves, flanking him. The freckled one holds her phone out for a selfie. They all smile at the phone, and then one of the girls produces a pen from her pink crossbody and hands it to Ricky. Ricky laughs and signs her teeny-tiny shirt.

  This is his life now. He’s a public commodity. The thought makes my stomach slightly drop. It’s not out of jealousy. The implications on our relationship don’t escape me, but this is a part of his life that I choose to shy away from at all costs. Us, both. There’s my job and reputation that I’ll do anything to protect, and not to mention the nonnegotiable clause in his contract that explicitly prevents him from having a public relationship. The ideal way to start a serious relationship.

  I shake the thought as Ricky throws his bag in the back and slides into the passenger seat. “Hey,” he says, giving me a sidelong glance. I smile at him as he adds, “I’d kiss you like I’m dying to, but we have an audience.”

  My smile stretches. “I’d have you naked if we didn’t have an audience.”

  Ricky chuckles, his stare caressing along my face. “So, what’s with the wet bar in the back.” He refers to a box of alcohol in the back seat.

  “For the office, someone is leaving, and I was assigned alcohol duty,” I answer and start the engine. Ricky smiles at the girls who are still in the same spot he left them, watching us as we leave the parking lot. Five minutes into the drive, Ricky asks me to pull over on the shoulder.

  I frown and point a finger at the graveled shoulder by the road. “There?” I glance at the rearview mirror and cut to the shoulder. When the car comes to a stop, even before I manage to turn his way in question, I hear his buckle clip free. Not a breath later, his hands frame my cheeks as he pulls me into an urgent kiss. For some long moments, he deepens the kiss, and I’m there with him. “Christ, I missed you,” he says in a husky voice, hovering my lips.

  “I was so busy, I hardly noticed you were gone,” I say, smirking at him playfully.

  Ricky shakes his head with a twitch of his lips. “I’d hate to bother you if you’re busy. I can just get out and get an Uber.”

  “Nah, I’m already here. It’s fine.”

  He shakes his head again, his eyes dancing, mirroring my own excitement at being together again.

  “Where to, then?” I ask, my hands returning to the wheel.

  “I want to take you out for dinner,” Ricky says.

  I glance at him and back at the road. “Rick…”

  “There’s this family-run Asian restaurant, the chances of anyone paying me any attention there are slim to none.”

  It warms my heart that he wants that for us, that it’s important to him that we actually do couple things together. “I’d love that.”

  Ricky puts the address into the GPS, and I change lanes, following the instructions on the screen. We carry a light conversation, filling each other in on things we didn’t discuss on our calls when he was away. It’s so easy and feels so right, and I let myself be happy, genuinely happy.

  The restaurant is small and simple, yet intimate and exactly what we were looking for. Somewhere we can just enjoy each other’s company without the constant alert of being “caught.” On one of our calls, Ricky mentioned how he wanted to date me properly, go to places together, be seen in public. He also mentioned that it’s okay for us to be seen in public, as long as it’s not a recurring thing. I was the one to insist that I don’t want my photo taken or have anything about me online or elsewhere. The last thing I want is to be linked to someone who, in the public eye, is—for lack of a better word, a manwhore. So we’ve taken precautions because since he was “discovered,” and with Amanda’s master media skills, the tabloids have been in a frenzy to get a piece of him. So far, it’s been a little calmer in Seattle, but who knows how it will go with the latest releases and the recent broad media exposure.

  After the server take
s our order and brings us two glasses of wine, Ricky sends his hand across the table to cover mine. On instinct, I glance around hesitantly, and when I realize that no one is paying us any attention, I manage to relax and enjoy the way his skin feels on mine.

  I laugh at his anecdotes from the time we spent apart. And tease him on how soon enough he’ll forget all about me with all the models and A-listers he’s rubbing elbows with now.

  Ricky nods with a grin. “Probably sooner than we think.”

  I frown at him playfully and poke him with a chopstick. We smile at each other like two cliché goofs, and I don’t care how ridiculous we might look because this person makes me the happiest I’ve ever been.

  “Why don’t you come with me to LA next week?” Ricky asks, forking the last dumpling.

  I shift the napkin from my lap and drop it on the table, shaking my head. “I wish I could, but I can’t take any time off work right now.”

  “Just for the weekend, then?” The way he looks at me makes me want to say yes to whatever he asks.

  “Maybe, I’ll—” I think out loud, trying to guess at how I’ll shift things around that I already have planned for the weekend. “You know what?” I lift my stare to his. “I’ll make it work somehow.”

  The smile he gives me plants a ridiculous smile on my own lips. He brings our joint hands to his lips and presses a soft kiss on my palm. I chance a quick glance around. The place is still half empty, with the tables around still entirely indifferent to us.

  A shared dessert and coffee later, Ricky asks for the check. As we leave the restaurant, the owner stops Ricky, telling him that her teens play his song with Tyler Lee on repeat and that even she knows the lyrics now. I stealthily exit the place and head to the car while she chats him up. A few moments later, as Ricky makes his way to the passenger’s side, someone calls his name. Ricky turns his head, and I follow the interaction from behind the wheel. The guy says something, and Ricky nods. Only then do I notice the professional-looking camera he’s holding. He shifts it from his shoulder to his hands. Ricky lets the guy take a photo, tells him something, raises his hand in goodbye, and turns to join me in the car.