“Could we talk for a minute?” Bristol’s eyes drop to Qwest’s hand on my dick before popping back up and staring just past my shoulder. “I just need to go over a few things for tonight.”
We’ve hardly spoken this week. All the hard work we both poured into this release over so many months, and when the project is colossally successful, we can barely look at each other.
“Sure,” I mutter, not bothering to check if she’s finally managed to look at me. “Pull up a seat.”
“I need to go find Will anyway.” Qwest kisses my cheek and steps away. “See you backstage.”
She and Bristol exchange polite smiles on her way to climb the stage steps and disappear in the wings.
Bristol shifts from one foot to the other, touches the silky bare skin at her throat, bites her lip, moves her iPad from the crook of one elbow to the other. I sit in silence, waiting for her to settle and tell me what this is about. Finally, she sets her hip against the edge of the stage beside me.
“I know it’s been a crazy week.” She clears her throat, long lashes lowered and eyes fixed to the floor. “How are you?”
“Good.” I keep my tone brusque. “What’d you need?”
She hesitates, probably still unused to the indifference I’ve displayed since our confrontation at Rhyson’s house. Since the Spotted post.
“So for tonight,” she says, glancing at her iPad. “We have you slated to do three songs.”
“Yeah, we just rehearsed them.”
“About that.” Bristol sets her iPad on the stage. “I know you’re doing ‘Queen’ with Qwest, obviously.”
“Yeah, and ‘Bruise’.”
“For the third song,” Bristol says, tracing the edges of her iPad without looking up. “The Target executive was wondering if you’d perform a song from their Exclusive deluxe version.”
I already know where this is going, but I stay quiet, waiting for her to gather the audacity to ask me to do that song.
“They want ‘Top of the World’,” she says softly, hazarding a glance up at my face.
“I’m not doing that song.” I give an adamant shake of my head. “Not tonight.”
“Of course tonight.” Bristol huffs an exasperated breath. “It’s the perfect fit obviously. Your album is at the top of the charts. The song is called ‘Top—”
“Do I look like I need you to break it down for me, Bristol?” The only thing moving on my face is one brow lifting. I’m barely breath- ing. “I understand why they want it. I’m just not doing it.”
“We have a track for it. The band—”
“My not doing that song has nothing to do with having a live band or a track, and you know it.” I hold her eyes captive with mine. “You didn’t even want the song on the album in the first place.”
“I know, but it’s so good,” she admits grudgingly. “It’s their favorite of the ones we added. They want people to hear it and know they can only get it there.”
“Too bad.”
“How long are you going to do this?” Bristol asks.
“Do what?” I fold my arms across my chest, a physical barrier over the heart she jerked around like a kite for years.
“You know what.”
“No, I wouldn’t have asked if I knew what.”
This feels good. This is my first real opportunity to growl and snarl at her since the album dropped. She’s been so deliberately ghost, and I resent it. That she made this dumb decision with that dickhead and drove this wedge between us when I want to share all of this success with her. But I can’t stand to look at her for more than two minutes without working myself into a rage.
“You’re letting this thing with Parker color your decision making.”
She dared to actually bring it up. To actually say his damn name to me.