The Complete Rockstar Series
“Where are you, four twenty-five?”
I circle the garage, looking for the parking spot assigned to Hawke’s condo. My phone beeps with an incoming text right as I pull into the space and turn off my car.
Hawke- you lost? ;)
Laughing, I get out and push the button for the elevator. Once inside, I respond.
Me- on my way up. Space 425 was hard to find
A new text immediately follows.
Hawke- you’re smart. I knew you’d find it.
By the time the doors open on Hawke’s floor, I’m grinning like a fool. Yes, we had a lot of problems in our relationship, and yes, I’ve spent the last few years focusing on the negative. But it wasn’t all bad. It’s things like this this that made me fall in love with Hawke. He’s funny, charming, and sometimes even a little shy. We had fun together.
When I reach Hawke’s front door, I exhale and run my hands down my front, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from my silk tank and skinny jeans.
“You can do this.”
Even though my stomach is twisted in knots and I want to run in my wedge heels for the safety of the elevator, I lift my hand and knock. The door opens and every single doubt I had, every worry, turns to dust at my feet.
“Abby!” Hawke is grinning ear to ear and it’s so natural when he grabs me and pulls me into a hug, I don’t have to think twice about melting into his broad chest. The door is open and we’re standing halfway in and halfway out of his condo, but I could care less. I bury my face in his neck and inhale his familiar scent.
After an eternity, yet not nearly long enough, Hawke releases me and steps back. “So, ummmm,” he fumbles for words and his cheeks turn pink. “What did you want to do? We could get lunch or go to the beach.”
I step inside the sleek condo, unsurprised at the sparse and empty feeling of the space. Hawke never owned anything other than what was necessary and wasn’t one for sentimental or decorative objects. Knowing about his family, I now understand why he doesn’t want to get attached to anything or anyone.
“Abby? Did you hear me?”
I jump when Hawke gently touches my arm. “Sorry, I was spacing out.” Now it’s my turn to blush. I feel guilty for knowing Hawke’s past without hearing it come from him, and thinking about it while standing in front of him makes me feel even worse. I paste on a way-too big smile. “Let’s eat,” I suggest. “I’m pretty hungry.”
Hawke smiles back, but it’s not as genuine as the one he gave me a few minutes ago. “Okay. We can figure out where on our way to the car.”
One awkward elevator ride later, we’re pulling out of the garage in Hawke’s humongous Mercedes SUV, headed toward a restaurant he said was really good.
“This isn’t the kind of car I expected you to drive,” I admit, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“What did you expect?”
“Honestly? Either a really fast sports car or a motorcycle.” I caress the buttery soft leather seat. “Not this massive mom-mobile.”
Hawke makes a weird face and bursts out laughing. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve seen in a long time. His head is thrown back and he has to clutch his stomach with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel.
“Hey, watch the road.” I try to sound annoyed, but it comes out as more of a strangled attempt not to laugh.
“Oh god,” he wheezes, still hysterical. Tears stream from his eyes and he’s gasping for breath.
“Hmph. It’s not that funny.” I cross my arms over my chest and jut out my lower lip in a pretend pout.
At a red light, Hawke takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “God, Abby. You’re too much. This isn’t a mom-mobile. It’s a Mercedes G-class and I have to drive this thing because of the paparazzi. It’s big, has dark windows, and drives like a tank.” He puts his glasses back on and turns toward me. The wide grin slowly melts off his face. His gaze goes from playful to intense, holding me captive in the enclosed space of the SUV. Hawke parts his lips, his breath hitching as he speaks. “I missed you.”
A honk lets us know the light changed. Hawke reluctantly pulls away to focus on the road. I put my hand on his leg and give it a light, affectionate squeeze. He gasps almost imperceptibly and the urge to slide my hand up his thigh becomes nearly overwhelming. I snatch my arm back before I do something stupid, like grope my “friend’s” crotch.
“I missed you too, Hawke.”
He nods, but doesn’t glance over in my direction for the remainder of the drive. Just as I did in New Jersey, I study his handsome profile, remembering every part of his face, every silky spot I’ve kissed, the rough stubble I used to drag my fingers over and the nearly invisible scar running through it. Intense emotions swirl inside me, love and lust thrumming hot through my veins.
It’s useless to deny. I’m still just as irrevocably in love with Hawke as I was seven years ago. The only difference this time is we’re friends, not lovers, and this time, I won’t have the strength to walk away.