He nods. “Yes. I wanna know.”
“Ok, fine. Here’s the truth.” I toss my own napkin and lean forward in my seat. “Yeah, I think you sold out. I think you moved away and went fucking Bieber.”
“I moved away and went fucking platinum. Multi platinum, if you wanna get technical,” he bites back.
“Yeah, but at what cost? Your dignity? Your soul?”
His expression falls for just a moment before his eyes find mine, churning with undefined emotion. “Shit, I’d already lost you. What’s one more vital piece of me?”
The wind is stolen from my lungs and the words are ripped from my tongue. Whatever I thought, whatever I was feeling just seconds before dissipates into flecks of dust that are carried by the cool ocean breeze. What do I say to that? How do allow myself to believe him when I don’t even recognize him?
“You didn’t lose me,” I utter only for his ears.
“I didn’t?”
“No,” I shake my head. “You left me.”
“Rox…” His voice is as broken as my young heart. “I have to tell you-”
“Hello, darling!” Poppy struts onto the terrace, her narrow hips swaying as if she’s on a catwalk in Paris. Her ice-blonde locks are so overly styled that they barely move and her outfit of linen shorts and a strappy tank looks simple, yet I can tell it’s anything but cool and casual, especially when cameramen are just feet away, capturing her every move on film. “How was your workout?”
She leans over to plant a kiss on Riot’s mouth without waiting for his answer. I look away. Riot just dropped a bomb on me, and from the sound of it, there was more to the story. However, there’s no way we can continue this conversation when there is a boom mic hovering above my head.
“Oh, good morning, Rox,” Poppy chirps, as if she’s just noticed me. She slides onto Riot’s lap. “Looks like I missed breakfast. Are those breakfast burritos? Yum. You’re so lucky you can indulge like that. I’m jealous!”
“Babe, you can eat this, too,” Riot insists.
“No, I can’t. It’ll go straight to my hips.”
“Your hips look fine to me.” Riot squeezes Poppy’s slender side, causing her to squeal. I’m going to be blowing chunks soon.
Over the next sixty seconds, Riot playfully tries to feed Poppy while she squeaks and squirms on his lap. I feel like a voyeur, awkwardly sitting across from them and trying to pretend like I’m not completely grossed out. Not just by the very public display of affection, but by how forced and phony it seems, at least on Riot’s part. I get it—he’s grown and matured. And being in a healthy, committed relationship is what every man pushing thirty should strive for. But Poppy? On paper, they make sense. But seeing how he transforms into a caricature of himself—from the baby talk to the pet names to the overall ick factor of having cameras surrounding us—I can’t say they make much sense in real life.
Or maybe that’s just what I want to believe. Maybe the skinny kid I knew is gone and buried.
I’m an idiot for just sitting here and pretending like they even notice I’m breathing the same air as them. I rise as quietly as possible and exit without a word before the silly flirtations turn hot and heavy. As if Riot needs a sex tape floating around. The leaked dick pics from 2015 were risqué enough…and also saved in a secret file on my MacBook.
Certain that neither of them even look up as I depart, let alone notice I’m gone, I head back to my room. Writing is pretty much out of the question since I have nothing worth writing about, so I decide to see if Haze is awake. It is Saturday morning, and there’s no way she went to bed early last night. Still, I’m lonely as hell without her here, in this huge apartment that doesn’t feel like home, no matter how gorgeous it is.
When I look down at my phone to make the call, I find that there’s a text from an unlisted number. The message contains only one word.
Understanding.
I’M NOT SURE WHAT THAT word means to the mysterious sender, and initially chalk it up to a wrong number. But then I get curious, which is probably just a symptom of boredom. It’s been twenty four hours and I still don’t have a story. Not that I don’t have material. I could delve into Riot and Poppy’s ridiculous relationship. I can expose his insecurity regarding his choice to settle for catchy hits versus meaningful music. Or I could sell my soul for a buck and write about how hot and sexy and innovative Riot is, which readers would eat up like the regurgitated garbage plastered in every other story. I could. But then I’d be compromising my art. And my conscience.
Which brings me back to boredom…and the mysterious text. I don’t give out my number freely; I don’t need every basement band in town hitting me up to put them on. I could call the number, but then I’d just be asking for awkwardness. So I do what any modern woman would do. I call my nosy ass friend who could probably trace the number, find a home address, the caller’s social security number, and current credit score in less than ten minutes.
“Please tell me you’re waking up and not just getting to bed.”
Haze yawns on the other end. “I took a power nap. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Whatchu up to, boo?”
“Nothing, honestly. Just had breakfast…with Riot.” I cringe just saying his name.
“No shit. So y’all are cool now?”
I contemplate telling her about our fight…and his confession. I’d already lost you. What’s one more vital piece of me? But I don’t even know what that means. One day, we were planning our future together, and the next, he was gone. Riot didn’t lose me. He abandoned me. He threw me away for the glitz and glamour of Los Angeles and a shiny, new record deal.
No. I can’t tell Haze that. It doesn’t make sense to me, how the hell will it make sense to her?
“Not exactly. We exchanged words. Then Poppy showed up.”
“Poppy? You mean, he’s still fucking with that lanky ass hoe?”
“Now why she gotta be a hoe, Haze? Don’t be hater. Besides, she’s nice.”
I can almost visualize Haze rolling her eyes. “Mmm hmm. Nice and loose amongst NBA players. Let’s not forget how she cheated on him with that rookie from Golden State. You know who I’m talking about. The fine one. Can’t say I blame her, but she had Riot sprung stupid.”
“We don’t know for sure if that happened. She could’ve stepped on his shoe and said excuse me, and the paps would’ve spun it like they were boning on the Golden Gate Bridge in broad daylight. We both know how the media likes to make something out of nothing. Plus, she and Riot seem very much in love.” It almost aches to admit, but it’s true. Maybe if I keep saying it aloud, it’ll become easier to swallow.
“Pffft. Please, girl. My homeboy’s cousin said he saw her out at a club in NYC with a dude from the 76ers. I don’t trust her.”
“But you trust the word of your friend’s cousin’s hairdresser’s ex-girlfriend?”
We both bust out laughing at the sheer lunacy of the whole conversation. It’s not just that Haze has spies all the way on the other side of the country. But also the fact that I’m actually defending Poppy and her relationship with Riot. Talk about growth.
“Anyway, I’m calling because I need your help. I got a weird text from an unknown number, and I kinda wanna know who it’s from.”
“Hold up. Let me pull out my CSI badge.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Proceed.”
I recite the phone number then the one-word message.
“That’s it? Understanding?”
“Yup.”
“Girl, I thought you had a challenge for me. I’ll call you back in five.”
I briefly consider unpacking my clothes but remind myself that I’m not staying more than another day or so, meaning I need to demand Riot give me an actual interview, free from the cameras or Poppy or his manager, Jonas. Just me and him and my digital recorder. Considering how breakfast went, it wouldn’t be wise to stick around and give our past grievances any more room to breathe.
When my phone vibrates with a call, I hardly let it get through a full ri
ng before I answer.
“Damn, thirsty much?”
“Shut up,” I retort. “What’d you find out?”
“Well…and I hate to admit it…not much of anything. The number is unlisted and there’s no way to trace it. Like it belongs to a ghost. Girl, don’t tell me you’ve been gettin’ some ghost dick!”
“Ew, seriously, Haze?”
“I swear, it’s a thing. I saw this special on TV where this crazy ass chick was letting some spirit hit it. Homegirl was into it too. Casper must be slinging a ten-inch ding-a-ling.”
“Haze,” I assert. “Focus.”
“Oh, sorry. So, yeah, it was a dead end.”
“Shit. Well, I guess I could always call it.”
“Tried it. No answer or voicemail. Probably just a wrong number anyway. I don’t even know why you’re stressin’ it.”
She’s right. I am way too obsessed with some silly one-word text that doesn’t even mean anything. I can’t even count how many misdirected dick pics I’ve deleted and never thought about again. I even got a message from a guy who wanted to break up…over text. And when I informed the douchebag it was a wrong number, he had the balls to ask me if I knew Kayla and could I let her know.
I sigh. “I’m not stressing. Just frustrated and ready to come home.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be rushing back too fast. It’s supposed to get hotter than Satan’s buttcrack this weekend and I know you livin’ it up with A/C.”
That was a nice perk. Plus, the private terrace, the closet, the bathroom, the chef…
“I’m going to ask Riot when I can invite you over. I’ll call you later, ok?”
After we say our goodbyes, I decide it’s a good idea that I put on some decent clothes, take my hair out of its messy bun and actually put some heat on it, and slap on some makeup. I should have known better than to leave my room without a fully beat face and a fresh blow out, especially with cameras everywhere. Lucky for me, they all seem to be trained on Riot and Poppy. Maybe I should give some thought to Haze’s ghost D comment, since apparently, I’m invisible. Which definitely isn’t a bad thing here.
I step out of my bedroom and look down the hall, realizing that I don’t even know which room Riot’s is. The square footage in this place is insane, and I know there’s a game room, a study/library, and probably half dozen other livable spaces. Maybe if I can coax him into stowing the attitude long enough to give me a tour. After he gives me my interview, that is.
“Hey, Rox,” Kaz beams from the kitchen island as I step into the living room. Now I’m glad I spruced myself up. Kaz is looking as dashing as ever in destroyed denim and a white tee that molds to his biceps and shoulders and hugs his chest. There’s a little more scruff on his jaw too.
“What’s up, Kaz?” I greet, making my way to the kitchen. I slide onto a stool.
Kaz holds up a glass of something green and thick. “Can I get you a smoothie?”
“No thanks,” I grimace. “I’d rather not drink my salad.”
He shrugs. “Haven’t had time for much else lately.”
“Oh?” I raise a brow.
“Yeah. Been dealing with security shit all morning. Someone tipped off the press about RB’s location. Shit is insane out there.”
My eyes go wide. “Out where?”
“Outside. Downstairs. Paparazzi, screaming fans, crying girls. We had to beef up the security detail and ensure all entrances are secure at all times. New key code too.”
“Damn.” Technically, I am the press, but overzealous paparazzi makes me ragey.
“Tell me about it. Guess it comes with the territory, right?”
“Right. Where is Riot, anyway? I was hoping we could continue the interview.”
“He left about twenty minutes ago.”
“Oh? Outing with Poppy?” The second the question flies out of my mouth, I regret it. I have no right to ask nor do I care.
Kaz shakes his head. “Nah. Alone, no cameras. Won’t tell us where he’s going and turned off his phone. Refused to even take security with him, which really wasn’t that big of a deal a few days ago before people knew where he was.”
“So he does that a lot? Just go out alone without even telling his team? Isn’t that weird? And dangerous?”
Kaz nods. “It can be, especially now. These fans get crazy as hell. And if he’s out of pocket, it’s kinda hard to have his back, ya know?”
So Riot leaves without telling anyone where he’s going. Interesting. Could he be cheating on Poppy? Living a double life with another girlfriend, maybe even a wife? Or maybe he pulled a Drake and has a secret love child stashed away. Shit, if I got a scoop like that, Bari might jizz all over his raggedy ass desk chair and promote me.
I store that bit of info away to delve into later. I’ve missed out on a chance to get any scoop. Hell, right now, I’d settle for Riot’s preferred brand of toothpaste.
“Dammit,” I curse quietly.
“Something wrong?” he lifts a questioning brow.
“No, just need to get to work on this story. I don’t want to take up too much of his time.” Or waste anymore of mine.
“Well, he’s usually gone for a few hours. We can hang out at my place until he gets back.” When I don’t take him up on his hopeful offer, he tacks on, “Or not.”
I need to keep my interactions with Kaz professional as to not tip anyone off about our night together. And when I say anyone, I mean Riot. He moved on long ago, and so have I, but with our interactions so unpredictable, I don’t want to risk setting him off and blowing the whole assignment.
“I would, but…”
“You don’t want Riot to think there’s anything between us.”
That sounds too much like I care about what Riot thinks. I shake my head and retort, “No, it’s not that.”
“Then what are you afraid of? You’ve seen me naked. I’ve seen you naked.” Fucking hell, don’t remind me. “You know I’m not a serial killer and my apartment is just downstairs.”
I look around the vast apartment. As beautiful as this place is, it feels too cold and museum-like with no one here to fill it up. Without Riot here. It doesn’t seem like a home without him here, even if it isn’t my home.
I look back to Kaz and smile. “Sure. Why not?”
I agree with the intent of just hanging out and Kaz respects that, although I can tell he wants more. His apartment is smaller, more practical, but equally luxurious. He said he was an aspiring actor but is obviously making some serious bank to afford a place in this building. Unless Riot is footing the bill.
“Can I get you anything? Soda? Water? Wine?”
I take a beat to think before answering. “Got any beer?”
A light seems to spark in Kaz’s eyes as he smiles. “Two beers, coming right up.”
I look around his tidy space while he fetches the brews. When he hands me an uncapped bottle, he says, “Didn’t peg you for a beer drinker.”
“And why’s that?”
Kaz shrugs a single shoulder. “Beautiful. Intelligent. Accomplished. I’m not used to being around women of your caliber that are just so chill and… real. The chicks that usually hang around Riot don’t drink anything except champagne that runs two Gs a bottle and would probably spit in your face if you hand them a beer.”
“They don’t know what they’re missing. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m not like most women that hang around Riot.”
“You’re absolutely not.” He stares at me through hooded, sultry eyes as he takes a swig. Just here to hang out as friends, I try to telepathically remind him. But judging by the way he’s looking at me, my guess is that he’s forgotten.
“So…” I begin, trying to change the subject. “Does Riot often have a lot of women hanging around?”
Kaz looks away, but not before I catch his guilty expression.
“Hey, I’m not one to judge,” I insist. “I just thought he and Poppy were pretty serious. I know I wouldn’t want a bunch of random gold-digging groupies try
ing to get with my man.”
Kaz makes a face before saying. “I don’t know. Riot and Poppy are… complicated.”
“How so?”
“They’re together when they’re together. And when they’re not…” He shrugs. I’m getting to see that he does that a lot.
“So they’re not exclusive?”
“Is this for your interview?”
Oh shit. If I say yes, then I’m likely to hit a brick wall with Kaz. If I say no, then he’ll wonder why I’m so interested.
“Never mind,” I shake my head. “Let’s talk about something else.”
We end up watching a couple movies, which Kaz is pretty stoked about and talks animatedly about the actors and directors and whole bunch of other stuff I have no clue about. But he’s passionate about it, and that makes him even more attractive in my eyes. When we look up, I realize that more time has passed than I realize. Kaz takes me back up to Riot’s apartment, along with telling me the new passcodes, which I’m sure I’ll forget.
“So now I get why Riot thought being here would be a good opportunity for you,” I say as we step into the elevator that leads up to the penthouse. “The documentary.”
Kaz nods. “He’s a good friend. The best, actually.”
I can’t really agree with him there, but instead of bursting his little BFF bubble, I ask, “How did you two meet?”
“I was an extra in one of his videos. I played the distinguished role of Bodyguard Number Three,” he chuckles. “Riot was really cool on set. Made it a point to greet and talk to everyone, even the extras that had little to no camera time. Between takes, he’d be joking around, making everyone laugh. Dude was just down to earth as hell.”
I smile, visualizing the guy I used to know. That’s the Riot I remember. Warm, kind, funny. He didn’t care about how many diamonds were on his neck or what designer he was wearing because he knew there were things so much more valuable than material possessions. And considering where we grew up, that lack of pretentiousness was a rare treasure.
I’m jostled from my nostalgic thoughts when we reach the top floor and the elevator doors slide open. We’re not even into the living room when Riot comes storming down the hallway, eyes wide and glassy and jaw rigid. He takes one look at me then Kaz. Then his wild glare settles on me.
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