by A. V. Geiger
He started composing a reply, but he was interrupted by another new message.
RealEricThorn: Identify yourself.
What did she want, his social security number? He chuckled as he messaged back:
Snowflake734: It’s me!
RealEricThorn: OK, that’s not vague at all…
Snowflake734: I’m trying to be safe here. You know who this is. You really want me to spell it out?
RealEricThorn: No. Don’t.
Snowflake734: Thank you. And who am I speaking to right now?
RealEricThorn: This is Eric Thorn.
Eric rolled his eyes. Either he’d completely lost his grip on reality, or someone was messing with him. Could it be Maury? It sounded like his manager, cracking one-liners. Maury was probably cackling at his phone somewhere—probably found this whole exchange hilariously funny.
Or maybe not. It could be Tessa, acting paranoid. How was he supposed to tell the difference?
Ummm, pretty sure that isn’t true… Tessa, is that you?
Eric typed the message into his phone, but he stopped himself before he hit Send. Better not to use any names. There was a chance it could be some other publicist, someone who didn’t know that he and Tessa were together. There had to be some way to ask her indirectly.
A grin flashed across his face as the answer came to him. He deleted her name and input a different message instead.
Snowflake734: Foot selfie. Right now. Go.
RealEricThorn: Huh?
Eric frowned. Definitely not Tessa, then. She would know what he meant. There was no way she could have forgotten the only selfie she’d ever sent him: a picture of her feet in a pair of pink bunny slippers.
He was about to flick the phone back off when a new icon popped up.
RealEricThorn
Tap to view
A Snap? Eric clicked it open.
The image was hopelessly blurry. It looked like she’d zoomed in as far as the camera lens would go. To anyone else, it would look like a mistake—but Eric recognized the shade of pink, and the fuzzy oblong outline of a rabbit’s ear.
It was Tessa. It had to be! And when he recognized the image, she would know that it had to be him.
Eric messaged again.
Snowflake734: Could you bring those slippers over here please? I think you know the room number.
RealEricThorn: Are you joking?
Snowflake734: No. I need to see you. Face-to-face. I’d go to you, but there might be paps…
RealEricThorn: I can’t!
Snowflake734: It’s safer if you come to me. No one will bother following you. They’re looking for celebrities.
RealEricThorn: You don’t understand. I can’t leave my room.
“Crap,” Eric muttered. Was she back to full-blown agoraphobia? She’d been doing so well with her iTherapy and her relaxation techniques. Not that she didn’t have anxiety twenty-four seven, but she’d been able to function.
Was all that progress out the window?
Eric didn’t know what to say. He raised his eyes and looked across the room at the blank wall opposite him, fighting the urge to go bang his head against it. He could only imagine how frustrated Tessa must feel. With a sigh, he returned his attention to the phone. She’d added another message.
RealEricThorn: He’s here!
Snowflake734: What? Who?
RealEricThorn: I saw him! He was in the crowd earlier!
Snowflake734: Wait…Him???
RealEricThorn: HIM!
Snowflake734: Ughhh. Are you sure?
RealEricThorn: No. Not completely. I only saw him for a sec. There were so many people…
No wonder she’d panicked. Eric could feel his own heart rate pick up at the thought of Blair Duncan. Here. In the same city. Sharing the same airspace…
Snowflake734: When exactly? During my set?
RealEricThorn: Yeah. I spotted him in the risers behind you, but I lost sight of him when the lighting changed.
Snowflake734: Did you get a picture of him?
RealEricThorn: No. It was only for a second. OMG I freaked. I haven’t had an attack that bad in months…
Snowflake734: OK, stay calm. Deep breaths.
RealEricThorn: I’m trying. I took my meds.
Snowflake734: Is it possible your eyes were playing tricks on you?
RealEricThorn: I don’t know. I don’t think so.
Snowflake734: It would be totally understandable. You were in a big crowd of people. That’s one of your triggers.
RealEricThorn: But what if it was real? I don’t know what to do.
Snowflake734: Why didn’t you tell me???
RealEricThorn: I didn’t know how! After Clint left, I just locked the door and hid under the covers.
Snowflake734: OK, to hell with the paps. Sit tight. I’m coming.
RealEricThorn: NO!!!
Snowflake734: YES. You can’t be alone right now.
RealEricThorn: But what if he’s watching?
Snowflake734: There’s no way he’s in the hotel. No way.
RealEricThorn: You don’t know that!
Eric wiped his palms against the rough fabric of his jeans. He needed to think clearly. Keep his head on straight…
Snowflake734: Security wouldn’t let him in without some serious press credentials. The crowd at the concert, maybe…but not the hotel. It’s impossible.
RealEricThorn: Are you sure?
Snowflake734: There’s a friggin’ police blockade outside. This hotel is probably the safest place you could be.
RealEricThorn: I guess. OK…that makes sense.
Snowflake734: Tell me your room number. I’m coming.
RealEricThorn: Wait! No. That’s stupid.
Snowflake734: You have to!
RealEricThorn: No, I’m OK. You’re right. It’s probably all in my head. There’s a psych term for that. It’s called “priming.”
Snowflake734: I don’t know that one.
RealEricThorn: It means you’re more likely to perceive something if you’re exposed to some other stimulus that you associate with it. The mind perceives what it expects to find, even if it’s not really there…
Snowflake734: Example, please?
RealEricThorn: I associate being in a crowded room with HIM. That’s where I first encountered him. In a crowd. So when I was back in that environment again, my brain was primed to think I saw him.
Snowflake734: But you didn’t really see him?
RealEricThorn: Probably not. Probably someone else who looked like him.
Snowflake734: Right! That’s what I was saying. Your eyes were playing tricks on you.
RealEricThorn: It was totally just priming!
Snowflake734: Whatever fancy word you like. Does that make you feel better?
RealEricThorn: Yeah. A little bit. I’m laughing at myself :P
Snowflake734: OK, good. I’m still coming over.
RealEricThorn: No, wait. I’ll come to you.
13
LOSING IT
Tessa crept down the hotel corridor, careful not to trip. She could only see a tiny sliver of space directly in front of her face. Her peripheral vision was obscured by the thick hotel bedspread wrapped around her body and up over her head.
So far she’d been lucky. She hadn’t encountered anyone who looked like a photographer. She’d come face-to-face with hotel security when she stepped off the elevator on the VIP floor, but the guards let her through after she lowered her blanket and flashed her ID badge.
Now she was safely inside the secure perimeter. Tessa took a deep breath to steady her nerves. No one could follow her here. This stretch of corridor was probably the safest place on the planet, just like Eric had said.
Not that she’d faced any kind of danger at the concert earlier. Eric was right about that too. The apparition she had seen for a split second—tall and lean, with a hoodie sweatshirt over his head—wasn’t real. Her brain had simply reacted to a stimulus with the psychologically predictable
response.
When it came right down to it, she only had one enemy that no bodyguard could keep away. Not Blair Duncan. Her own mind held the power to take away her freedom—to shut her in a room and lock the door.
But only if she allowed her anxious thoughts to gang up on her.
Tessa frowned. That concert should have been a happy memory. She’d had a front-row view, pressed against the railing, perfectly positioned to win a smile from the boy up on the stage. Tonight should have been everything a fangirl could ever wish for her first live show. She’d lost her Eric-Thorn-concert virginity, and she hadn’t even enjoyed herself.
What was the matter with her?
Tessa gave her head an angry shake. She let go of the comforter clutched around her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. She didn’t need some security blanket. She needed to get her head on straight. Forget the concert. Forget Blair. Focus on what really mattered.
Eric.
All alone with Eric Thorn, in his pop-star VIP hotel suite.
Tessa hastily ran her fingers through her hair to smooth out the tangles. She grew painfully aware of her appearance as she came to a stop at Eric’s door. Her baggy flannel pajamas engulfed her legs and pooled at her ankles, swallowing up the bunny slippers on her feet.
Why hadn’t she slipped into something a little more…appropriate? Tessa wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t help recalling Ariana Grande with her crop top and micro-miniskirt. Even that wardrobe assistant Katrina had worn something cuter than the atrocity Tessa had on.
It was too late now though. She was here. Tessa undid the top button of her pajama top and knocked softly.
The door cracked open, but only a few inches. Tessa moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, waiting for him to speak. Did he expect her to say something? Some signal? Tessa opened her mouth to whisper his name, but she thought better of it. Instead, she kicked off one of her pink slippers and stuffed it through the narrow gap.
She heard his soft laughter from the other side. The door opened with a creak, and Eric stood motionless before her.
“Hey,” he whispered.
He looked exhausted. Dark shadows smudged his eyes, half concealed behind the curtain of his bangs. He was still wearing the skintight jeans from tonight’s performance, with a clean white V-neck T-shirt thrown on above them.
Tessa’s heart clutched at the sight of him. He looked so tired. Why was he still dressed? He should be the one in pajamas, as much as she appreciated the way the thin denim stretched across the muscles of his thighs. He should be tucked in bed, fast asleep. He only had a few hours before his morning wake-up call, and then his personal trainer would grab him for his daily three-hour workout.
“You look like hell,” he murmured, his eyes tracing up and down.
“Thanks. So do you.”
He broke into a crooked grin and reached for her elbow, pulling her across the threshold. Tessa heard the door click closed behind her. She tried to step past him into the darkened room, but he blocked her. The rigid door pressed against her shoulder blades as he took a half step closer. She looked up at him, and her pulse rate climbed as the gap between them shrank.
“Are you OK?” he whispered. He dipped his head to look into her face. “Did you see anything suspicious out there?”
Tessa shook her head. “All clear. Super-tight security, like you said.” Her throat had gone dry as sandpaper. Eric lifted a lazy arm and rested it against the door beside her, trapping her in place.
“You look scared,” he said.
“Nervous,” she corrected.
He studied her in silence for a moment. “Nervous about Blair?”
“No.”
“Really?” His eyes bored into her like lasers.
Tessa felt her cheeks heat up beneath his scrutiny, and she gave a tiny shrug. “He isn’t here,” she said. “I have to stop letting him control my life.”
Eric nodded. “I agree.” He shifted another inch closer. “I kind of wish he were here though.”
That surprised her. Tessa looked up into his face.
“I swear to God,” he said, his voice dropping an octave lower. “If that parasite ever shows his face again, I’ll kill him. I will crush him like a bug with my own bare hands.” His palm was pressed flat against the door, but he balled it into a fist. Tessa rested a hand on his forearm, rigid with flexed muscles and popping veins.
“No,” she whispered. “Then you’d go to jail.”
“Maybe.” He leaned in all the way and rested his forehead against hers. “Maybe I don’t care.”
“Well, I care.” She slid her hand up his arm until it rested at the crook of his elbow. “Then what? Are you and Dorian Cromwell going to share a cell?”
“Pretty sure his jail cell’s in England.”
Tessa shot him a tart look. “Maybe you two can start a jailhouse band together,” she said. “You’d make a good-looking duo.”
Eric laughed, and she felt his soft breath tickle her cheek. “Maury would probably love that.”
“You can pitch it to Maury in the morning.” Tessa let go of Eric’s elbow and pushed lightly against his chest. “It’s late. I’m fine, Eric. Really. Thank you for checking up on me. You should go to bed.”
He rocked backward a fraction of an inch. “What are you nervous about, if not Blair? You didn’t answer me.”
Tessa’s hand lingered on the white fabric of his T-shirt. She kept her eyes glued to the vee of his collar. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe because I’m alone in a hotel suite with the hottest guy at the YMAs?”
Her eyes flitted to his face, and she saw the corner of his mouth hitch upward. “Who? Harry Styles?”
“No, not Harry Styles.”
“Justin Bieber?”
“Eric, don’t be dense.”
His face hung before her, his blue eyes blazing in the darkness. “Some girls like Justin Bieber,” he said softly.
“Some girls like Eric Thorn,” she whispered back.
Eric didn’t answer. Not with words. His arm swept around her waist and pulled her toward him, and his lips came down on hers. His mouth moved slowly, teasing, and Tessa let her own lips drift apart. She heard a low rumble from somewhere in the back of his throat. The sound of it sent a shock wave of heat rippling through her.
Forget the concert, Tessa thought, as she laced one arm around his shoulders. That wasn’t the real fangirl dream-come-true. This. Now. Alone with Eric…tasting his breath…sweeping the hair from his eyes with her fingertips…
This was the fantasy. This time, nothing would distract her.
With her free hand, Tessa groped behind her, searching blindly for the dead bolt. Eric’s head tilted to deepen the kiss. His arm tightened, locking her against him.
Tessa dropped her hand. To hell with the dead bolt. This was where she felt safe. Here in Eric’s arms. As if to underline the point, he bent down and scooped her up. She didn’t question what he was doing as he carried her into the next room.
He laid her gently on the bed and eased himself above her. For a moment, he hovered there, and Tessa met his eyes—two points of electric blue, glowing in the light from a bedside lamp.
“Is this OK?” he whispered.
She dragged his mouth back toward her. “Yes,” she said against his lips. “Don’t stop.”
Tessa’s mind flashed back to that final morning in Tijuana. She’d felt the same way then—standing on the threshold, about to take the leap. They’d been interrupted, but nothing could distract her tonight. This time, she needed to block out all other thoughts, shut down all other senses but the feeling of Eric’s lips and his body pressing down on top of her.
Tessa closed her eyes. She heard nothing but his whispered words as they peeled off each other’s clothes.
“Tessa, I love you… I can’t keep pretending… I need to be with you so bad…”
“Wait.” She didn’t know why she said that.
The word slipped out, and Eric froze. He rolled
onto his back. “What’s wrong?”
Tessa pulled the top sheet and slipped beneath it, gripping it across her chest. “Do you have a condom?”
“Of course.”
He groped in the dark for a moment. Tessa watched in silence as he found his discarded jeans and fished for his wallet in the back pocket. She heard the crinkle of foil, and she swallowed hard.
“I came prepared,” Eric said. A tiny smirk tugged at his mouth, and it sparked a vicious flair of heat in the pit of her stomach.
Tessa squeezed her eyes closed. “OK,” she said. “Good. Go ahead.”
Eric stopped. When she reopened her eyes, his face had grown serious. “Tessa, I love you, but this doesn’t have to happen today. Not if—”
“No,” she said firmly. “I want to.”
“Are you sure?” He held up the black foil packet. “Should I open this or not?”
Tessa nodded, letting the sheet around her chest relax. She knew why she kept holding back. She still had her mother’s warning, permanently etched into her psyche.
Listen to me, sweetheart. It only takes one time. I got in trouble the first time I ever fooled around…
She couldn’t give in to it. She couldn’t let her mother ruin this for her. “I’m ready,” she told Eric. “I’m just… I need to look something up.” Tessa reached off the edge of the bed to retrieve her phone.
“Seriously?” Eric murmured in her ear.
Tessa held up a finger to shush him. “Information,” she explained. “Clinical information. You know how it’s the only thing that relaxes me sometimes.”
Eric leaned back against the pillows. A look of comprehension flashed across his face. He’d seen her do this a thousand times. She’d spent countless hours in Mexico reading article after article full of psych jargon. The world seemed far less terrifying when she armed herself with facts.
Now, she simply needed to research a slightly different topic. Eric watched over her shoulder as she entered a Google search:
Condom effectiveness
A Wikipedia page popped up on the screen, and Tessa read the title out loud. “Comparison of birth control methods, in order of effectiveness.”