“None like her,” I admitted out loud. Tommy didn’t have a clue. He never really even understood the depth of the feelings I had for Kaitlyn, so to see another woman having this kind of effect on me was of no significance to him.
Tommy was a man-whore. This life on the road was an endless buffet of ass for him. It could’ve been for me too, and it was at one point when I was trying to get over that weekend at the beach with Kaitlyn, but I was over it. No one night stand could compare to this feeling.
Days had gone by and I hadn’t heard from Salem. Not since my last text. I missed the sound of her voice already. Being on the road sucked ass. I endured long, all-night bus rides where I tried to catch up on sleep. I fought through endless crowds of women, all grabbing at me and touching me, but who meant nothing to me. I wished I had time to call her every day, but my schedule just wasn’t always conducive to that.
“What are you gonna do while we’re in NYC?” Tommy asked as he practiced a few riffs with his guitar.
I shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet.”
“It’ll be nice to have a couple days off,” he said, strumming his fingers across the strings. “I was thinking I might head over to Allentown to visit my folks.”
I nodded, lost in thought.
“Hey, you should fly that chick you’ve been texting up here and get her outta your system,” he said with a wink.
I didn’t always listen to Tommy and his crazy fucking ideas, but for once I thought he might be on to something. “Yeah,” I said, nodding, “good idea.” But much to Tommy’s dismay, getting Salem out of my system was the last plan on my agenda.
I was busy repainting the hallway when I heard the knock at my front door.
Wiping my hands on my shirt, I realized I was covered in paint, and I was pretty sure I saw some drops in my hair when I passed by the mirror in the hallway.
I peeked through the window. A man in a suit leaned toward the peephole and flashed his ID card.
“I work for Chris King, ma’am. He sent me here,” his muffled voice called through the thick door.
Recognizing him immediately, I opened it. “You’re Pete, right?” I asked. “I met you in Charlotte.”
Pete smiled. “Yes, ma’am, I remember,” he said, tipping the fedora he wore on his head then thrusting a box into my hands.
“What’s this?” I asked, turning it over in my hands.
“A gift from Chris. He asked that you open it immediately. I will return within an hour.” The man shrugged. “Chris’s orders.”
I looked at him, confused. “Orders?” Hmmmm, what’s this about?
“One hour, ma’am,” he repeated and spun on his heel, retreating to his car.
“Okay, thank you,” I mumbled, looking at the box and closing the door behind him.
I opened the package, lifting the lid carefully. Inside the box lay beautiful, black sleeveless dress, with lace across the shoulders and back, a pair of designer black, strappy heels, and a very expensive matching clutch purse. A handwritten note was sticking out of the handbag.
New York City? The whole weekend with Chris? Although my immediate response was a backflip in my head, the adult in me mulled the idea over for a minute. I wondered if I’d be back in time to pick up Alexis from volleyball camp or what I would do if she needed me while I was gone. Of course, her dad was only a phone call away, and she could always ride home with Olivia if my plane was delayed. Then I questioned all those tabloid pictures I’d seen. Did I really want to spend time with a man who couldn’t keep it in his pants? Actually, yes… yes I did… but not necessarily for that reason. Or is it?
I returned the note to the box and pulled out the dress. Holding it up to my body, I wondered what he had planned. The dress was from an expensive designer. One I could never afford. I held it up to me, admiring it in the mirror, suddenly feeling very pampered.
Then, it hit me… I am going to New York City to see Chris!
Since Alexis was away at volleyball camp for the weekend, Chris couldn’t have timed the trip more perfectly. I quickly typed out a text to let her know where I’d be, that I’d see her on Sunday, and if she needed anything while I was gone that she should call her dad.
I stared at Chris’s note and his handwriting, that same messy scrawl I remembered from his journal all those years ago. It was then that I remembered the paint in my hair and my unshaven legs. I grabbed the box and flew upstairs to my bedroom, tossing it on my bed along with my suitcase. Time was ticking.
I showered, shaved my legs, and blow-dried my hair in record time, then stood at my closet door longer than I wanted to, trying to decide what to pack. I hadn’t seen Chris in a while, and I wanted to look young and sexy, but not immature and easy. There was a very fine line between the two. Tearing through my dresser, I stuffed items into my suitcase as quickly as I could, running down my mental checklist when Pete rang the doorbell.