I hadn’t wanted to impose; plus, I had a shoot the next day. So, Xander skipped his family’s plans to keep me company, and we stayed in the city. We bought the saddest plastic tree, which leaned in a corner, and The Year Without a Santa Claus played on repeat.

Then late in the afternoon, he and Roman were face-to-face. Roman gruffly introduced himself as my dad and demanded Xander, “put on a fucking shirt,” before shouldering his way inside. He wrapped me in a hug and told me a video chat didn’t cut it.

By the time he left, he’d relaxed toward Xander but still made him swear to never touch me and promise to keep me safe. I think most of his disdain he feigns at this point, but I kinda love it.

I’m writing the scene list for our first week back on the road when Foster comes out of the bathroom. Steam billows out from behind him, and I flash back to the band’s dressing room in Prague. His dark hair’s wet and messy, hands pushing through it.

My attention quickly diverts to his painfully gorgeous face before sinking to the dips and rises of his abs, then I drift lower to his tattoo, the trail of hair disappearing under the top of his boxer briefs.

“I have a sparkling personality, too.”

I look up to him smirking at me. “It’s not that great.”

“Liar.”

On his way over, he runs his hand over his taut stomach. He grabs a pillow and stretches out on his front beside me, tucking it under one arm. The other hand immediately creeps up the back of my thigh, dragging the bottom of his shirt higher.

“I talked to Roman,” I tell him, lowering my phone.

His blue gaze settles on my face as he reaches the curve of my ass with his palm and stops.

“About you.”

After a second, he cocks a brow. “How much about me? Enough I need to warn Colt to keep an eye out?”

I shake my head. “I skimped on the details, so I think you’re safe for now. He remembered you, though. I told him you know everything, and you make me happy.”

“Fuck,” he rasps. “And I used to shoot for not as sad. Now I need to make you feel consumed by me like I am by you.”

“We’re there, I just skimped on the details.”

I smile when he does, and then he studies me while I study him.

Today was definitely a maybe one day. Maybe tomorrow will be as well. And the way Foster’s looking at me right now makes me believe maybe tomorrow’s tomorrow could become one too.

The sliver of him inside my soul doesn’t feel foreign anymore. Now that he’s here, that part of me healed.

“Foster,” I say.

He hums, running his fingers up my back. “Yeah, Remi?”