The Fall Up (The Fall Up, #1)(16)

“Oh God,” she groaned.

I tugged her back against me. I wasn’t letting go no matter what her reaction might be. Not after that small sampling.

“I’m kidding! Jesus, lighten up.”

“I’m sorry. About…” She dropped her head to my shoulder.

“Stop apologizing and grab a drink with me. I’ll even find a place with really bright lights so you won’t even have to take the shades off,” I joked, and she rewarded my efforts with quiet giggle.

At the sound, an unfamiliar high whirled through my mind. It rivaled anything tobacco could ever give me.

“Sam, I need to go. But I promise I’ll be here tomorrow night. Okay?”

It was my turn to groan.

No name.

No eyes.

Just a promise I didn’t want her to keep.

I wanted her to be absolutely anywhere but on that bridge tomorrow night.

But I also just wanted her to be with me.

“Okay,” I replied, begrudgingly releasing her.

She began backing away, and I could feel her hidden gaze locked on me.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said. “Let me know if you change your mind about the dry-cleaning.”

“How about this? I’ll trade you my jacket for your wig and sunglasses!” I yelled as she got farther away.

A smile lifted one corner of her mouth. A mouth I now knew and desperately wanted to taste again.

“Goodnight, Sam.” She waved her hand before heading to a parked black SUV and climbing into…the backseat?

Interesting.

“Goodnight, Designer Shoes,” I whispered to myself as her vehicle left the parking area with the silhouette of a man behind the wheel.

An unnatural rage flooded my veins.

What the f*ck?





WHAT THE FUCK had I done? Oh, that’s right. I’d kissed Sam.

A freaking stranger.

Who was suicidal!

While standing on a bridge.

While he’d thought I was suicidal as well.

But, worse than all of that, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I’d replayed it in my mind at least a thousand times since I’d walked away from him.

I’d made poor choices with men in the past. I was far from the angel the media portrayed me as. But I had a sneaking suspicion that, if the news outlets got ahold of this little story, it wouldn’t have the romantic spin my stomach took every time I thought about the moment his lips had touched mine.

My steps were a little lighter that night while I was performing for thousands on stage. My thoughts weren’t filled with dread and guilt. Instead, they were focused on the top of that bridge? waiting for the moment I could return.

To Sam.

The show was entirely too long, but I snuck out of the backstage after party about thirty excruciating seconds after it’d started. Like a Freudian slip, I left my wig at home. I should have stopped to pick it up or at least checked to see if my stylist had something I could borrow, but after the concert that night, I just wanted some fresh air and a few moments alone.

And, by that, I meant a cloud of smoke and the sexy and intriguing man who accompanied it.

“You look better as a brunette,” Sam announced as he sauntered up next to me with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

A smile pulled at one side of my mouth.

He was wearing jeans and a black, long-sleeve button-down shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, which drew my eyes down to the colored inked on his arms, and I wondered what they meant. But, seeing as my heart was racing and I couldn’t figure why I was suddenly nervous around this man, I decided to give up on the deeper meaning behind his tattoos and worry about covering my clammy palms instead.

“No jacket again?” I asked, pulling the beanie low over my curls.

“Any chance tomorrow night you’re going to lose the shades?” he replied, ignoring my question.

“Not likely.”

“Your legs are healing up well,” he stated, leaning on the railing beside me.

“They looked a lot worse than they were.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes, which I noticed were the most amazing shade of gold. Not quite hazel, but definitely not brown.

Damn it! Stop ogling the hot, suicidal man!

I flipped my gaze back to the water. “Your hand looks better tonight.”

He paused just before he got the cigarette to his mouth. “You noticed? I was worried you were gonna stop checking me out after you drove off with another man last night,” he said roughly, causing me to swing my head to face him. “Is he the one who gave you the bruises?”

Ugh!

“What? No! Besides, I told you there is no him. I fell down the stairs.”

“Whatever.” He brushed my honest answer off, but thankfully, his attitude also seemed to disappear. “So, you feeling better tonight?”

“Actually, yes. Now, let me see your hand.”

He twisted his lips, but he lifted it for me to inspect his cut.

“What’d you do?”

“Splintered it on a guitar.”

Now that perked my attention. “You’re a musician?” I asked as the idea of Sam strumming beside me made my cheeks heat.

I tried to hide my face by refocusing on his palm, even though I had no idea what I was looking at. I just wasn’t ready to drop his hand yet.