Never Tied Down (The Never Duet #2)(18)

“Oh, you know, same old. It’s really rainy here, but that’s no surprise. Getting colder. What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t have any. I was just going to stay here, get some Chinese food.”

“Do you get time off?”

“Yeah, I’m off Wednesday through Sunday.”

“You should come to Lincoln City. Ella and Porter are hosting Thanksgiving at their beach house.”

The last time I’d been in that house I’d slept with Riot. I’d fallen in love with him in that house. It would be torture to be there again if I didn’t figure my life out.

“Maybe, I’ll see what I can work out.”

“Okay, well, we all want to see you.”

I smiled because I knew she was being sincere. “I know, Megs. I want to see you guys too. I’ll try to make it work.”

“Okay. I’ve got to get back to the store now, Kal. Do you think you’re gonna talk to Riot?”

“Yeah,” I said softly.

“Good. Call me if you need me after.”

“Will do.”

“Love you, Kal.”

“Bye, Megs.”



It took me three days to work up the nerve to go back to the Coffee Bean I’d found the note in. I was a nervous wreck. I spent an inordinate amount of time picking the perfect outfit, I planned what I was going to say to him, and then I marched into the coffee shop, sat down, and I waited. I waited and I waited, but he never showed. Well, at least not in the two hours I sat there.

It hadn’t occurred to me that he wouldn’t come. He said if I was there, he’d find me. But then I started panicking. Perhaps he’d come the past three days, waited for me, but then assumed I wasn’t coming back. Perhaps he thought I’d chosen to stay away, to avoid him. Suddenly, the apprehension I had about seeing him turned into fear that I would never see him again.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, walking with determination to the soundstage I knew he worked on. I opened the door and stalked down the hallways, looking frantically for Riot. I saw quite a few people, but none of them were the tall, dark-headed, and devastatingly handsome man I was looking for. I turned another corner and collided with a woman.

We both stumbled backward violently, and had I not fallen against the wall, I would have hit the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” I said immediately. “Are you all right?” I righted myself and saw the other woman doing the same.

“I’m fine, are you okay?” she asked, not unkindly.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I was just looking for someone.”

She straightened her blouse and adjusted the pencil behind her ear, gripping her clipboard to her chest. “Maybe I can help. Who are you looking for?”

“Um, Riot Bentley. I think he works on this lot.”

“He does. Are you Kalli?”

My chin came back in surprise. “How do you know my name?”

“Lucky guess,” she said quickly, but then grabbed my elbow and started leading me down the hallway. I followed her through the maze of the soundstage. It looked similar to the lot I worked on, but there were differences. Different pictures hung on the walls, different people roamed the halls, different offices with different people. She led me on set and my mouth gaped a little. Even though I was in the business, even though I’d worked on movies, television, music videos, I never got tired of seeing a set in person. Something about a soundstage with the lights off, set unlit, almost like a page in a book not being read, gave me goose bumps.

“He’s got to be on set in a few minutes, but I’ll see if I can track him down.”

“Um, okay. I don’t want to get him in trouble. I can come back later.”

“It’s fine,” she said, leading me back into a hallway, then turning into the first door on the left. Once inside I was overcome by his scent. It had to be his dressing room. It was almost annoying that my nose could identify him. It smelled spicy and clean, warm. Like Riot. I realized that, if given the opportunity, I could probably identify his smell in a blind nose test, and that was pitiful. “Wait here. I’ll go find him.”

“Wait, no, it’s okay,” I said to vapor as she disappeared down the hallway, walking faster than I thought was necessary, with purpose. I took a moment and slowly turned, looking around the room, trying to take it in. My eyes drifted from the couch against a wall to the brightly lit vanity, to the old-school coatrack with a familiar leather jacket draped over it. I knew if I walked to the coatrack I would not be able to keep myself from burying my face in his coat. So I didn’t move.

I saw a pair of Converse sitting on the floor under the vanity and I smiled, thinking about how I loved him in those shoes. He wore them almost ironically. He wasn’t trying to be a hipster. I knew he was trying to put off more of a rebel vibe, but he’d fallen victim to the hipster movement. He wore them before it was cool.

I heard loud, running footsteps coming down the hall, and my head snapped to face the doorway. When Riot appeared, hands braced against the doorframe, breathing heavily, a gorgeous and familiar smile across his face, my heart started beating triple-time.

“You’re here,” he said, panting.

I nodded, stuck standing still in the middle of his dressing room. My eyes took a moment to travel up and down him, taking stock of him, and my heart wondered if he was real, if he was truly just standing feet away. If my heart were in charge, my arms would be around his shoulders, my face buried in his neck. But my brain was currently in charge, so my eyes were the only part of me allowed to move.