se we’re both close to choking, not because I’ve got enough of him—and he rolls off me.
“All my clothes are downstairs,” I mutter. “Can you give me a robe? And some panties would be good.”
He grins. “New rule for today: no panties allowed in the house today.”
“I’ll be staying in the yard, then.”
“Watch it, or I’ll add bras to the list of banned items.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and ban all clothing?”
“I might do just that.”
As he hauls me up from the bed, he wraps his arms around me from behind, planting small kisses on my neck. “I’m not even gone, and I already miss you.”
“Oh, Alex.” I turn around, kissing his mouth, fashioning a plan of attack for the next three days.
Step one: I shall smother him with enough kisses so they last him while he’s gone.
Step two: I shall not make this harder for him by admitting how much I’ll miss him too.
And then I’ll brace myself for twenty days without him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Summer
“Yes, yes, yes. Nailed it!” I clap my hands, feeling on top of the world. I just talked the Tate museum into lending little old us a collection. It took me three months to seal the deal, but I can nag like nobody’s business. Pardon my French, I meant convincing. Yeah! That’s the word. Ha! I could sing for joy, but I don’t want the windows cracking from my terrible tunes.
I check my clock and hop off my kitchen counter right away. It’s almost time for my daily phone call with Alex.
The live events started two days into his tour, and there’s no pussy-footing around it: they’re a shitshow. Alex told me that all moderators and presenters have been warned to avoid the topic of their breakup, and still they ask about it.
Fan events are the worst. I watch every single one that’s broadcast online. Alex fills me in on the events that aren’t broadcast. They don’t go any different. I want to make things better, but I have no clue how.
I brainstorm like crazy as I pour extra whipped cream on my hot chocolate. Ten minutes until our call. Eleven o’clock in the evening isn’t the best time for such a caloric bomb, but I need reinforcements. I can’t be expected to talk to my boyfriend, whom I miss like hell, and not have something hot and tasty to devour. He’s been gone for one week, but it feels more like one month.
I curl up in my bed with the hot chocolate, willing a brilliant idea to strike, so I’ll cheer him up. He and Amy finished a Facebook live video chat one hour ago with fans, and it had gone about as craptastic as the rest.
My phone rings at eleven o’clock on the dot.
“You know, I was admiring your punctuality in the beginning, but now it’s a little scary,” I say.
“In some parts of the world, it’s considered rude not to be punctual.”
“I’ll make sure to avoid those parts, then. Are you in your room?”
“Yeah. Just came up.”
“But your event finished an hour ago.”
“Yeah, we had an emergency meeting with our managers and publicists.”
I stop in the act of spooning whipped cream into my mouth, my stomach tightening.
“Oh?”
“The studio is pulling the plug on the rest of the live events and interviews. They only bring bad publicity.”