I slump in my chair. I'll admit that my plan had some fatal flaws in it that I hadn’t exactly foreseen. I’d thought that Stone was just too noble, too good a person to tell the world the truth, and so I’d stand up for him. I’d tell everyone that he hadn’t meant to streak on stage, that he hadn’t meant to break about 50 obscenity laws, that it was all because he was trying so hard to kick his drug habit.
In retrospect, I should’ve realized that the mean-spirited denizens of the world would latch onto the part where he can’t control, or even remember his actions afterward, and roast him publicly for it. Of course that's obvious now.
Seven days ago? Not so much.
“I kind of feel like this is Blush’s fault,” the “lo” part of Ashlo rumbles. His voice is so deep; I swear to God, our table vibrates when he talks. “I hadn’t realized that you’d grown so close to him, and would care so much about how this article affected him.” Although he’d turned the everyday management of the magazine over to Ash, I also know that Ash runs almost everything by him, just to get his input and thoughts on topics.
Have I mentioned how sickening these two are together? That could’ve been Stone and I, dammit!
The water cycle speeds up.
“Why don’t we help you with your grand gesture?” Ash says.
“Grand gesture?” I repeat numbly.
“Yeah, in all of the Kindle books, there’s always a grand gesture at the end. Usually, it’s the guy doing it to get the girl back, but…” she shrugs. Yeah, no reason to finish that sentence. It's true; there’s not a damn thing that Stone needs to beg my forgiveness for. This is one story where the girl is going to have to play the part of the love-struck idiot, begging for forgiveness.
Kathy jumps in. “I want to help!” she says firmly. “What can I do?”
I forgive her for her harsh questioning earlier. I may have deserved every minute of it, but it was still hard to take. But when it counts, Kathy always has my back.
“I think I know…” Lo says.
138
Stone
I head into the lobby of the W and over to the elevators. Jamming my thumb into the elevator button, I curse under my breath. Another day of trying to convince people that I’m not under the influence of some godawful drug, another day of people giving me sidelong glances, wondering if I’m going to whip out my cock and start shaking it at them.
I jab at the elevator button again, impatient. Where is the fucking elevator? I just want to get up to my room and hide for a while. Pretend like Gisele Taylor doesn’t exist and I’ve never pulled a Slayer and the whole world doesn’t think I’m a freak show and—
Some mornings, I wake up
I roll over and I see
A gorgeous man lying next to me
I whip around and stare. There’s Gisele, strumming a guitar, wearing the same dress and boots as that one perfect night out on the town, that one night when I thought I’d conquered the world, and she’s singing.
Really, really bad singing.
Really, really bad guitar playing.
To be completely honest, I’m not sure which is worse—her singing or her strumming.
My hand falls away from the elevator button and I stare at her in shock.
I love the way his hair smells
I love its gorgeous length
Stone, you give me strength…
It’s my song. It’s the song I sang to her that night in the bar, but she’s changed the words, just like I’d changed them for her.
I want to tell her to fuck off, to go destroy someone else’s life … but I can’t.
A crowd is growing in the lobby, watching and singing along as Gisele sings her little heart out. When she hits a particularly awful note, I cringe and everyone laughs. But she keeps going. Despite her flushed red face, she doesn’t stop.