She sat up, pressing her hands to her chest, examining herself for physical wounds. There were none, though her throat was sore, and her hair and hands stank. She’d smoked last night, which she hated, but cigarettes always made sense when she was drunk.

Instagram was still open on her phone, and she reread her morning conversation with Willow. Her heart bolted into her mouth. They were going on a date. Or something. Was it a date when a guy who made you come harder than anyone ever had went to your show the next night? She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his bicep, the sweetness of his scent, the feel of his curly hair against her forehead as he fucked his fingers into her pussy…  A throb ran through her, but it only made her feel more disgusting. She couldn’t just lie around playing with herself, she needed to shower, pull herself together.

But no sooner was she up than she’d staggered to her kitchen, grabbed a can of Mother and a half-eaten pack of burger rings, and climbed back into bed. She re-synched her phone to the sound system and put on Amelie Lens, vowing that in thirty minutes she’d get up properly.

She shouldn’t have talked to Willow. She hadn’t even slept when she’d opened Instagram, seen his tagged post, but the generosity of it had blown her away. She’d had minor celebrities post about her gigs before, but they always talked about themselves, or chose pictures where she looked like a drowned rat. Willow’s photo was gorgeous and along with getting her thousands of new followers, when she checked her Spotify account, all her listens had gone up. For a modern gesture, it was super chivalrous. But he was chivalrous. Nice. Healthy. Probably out climbing a tree, while she sat in her own filth.

Cramming a handful of chips in her mouth, Eden considered messaging him and telling him that her Heartbreakers gig was sold out. But that might not stop him from coming. Football players and nightclubs went way back and if Willow had connections, he could get in anywhere he wanted. She should probably find out if he was a big deal. Exiting her profile, she clicked on Willow’s Instagram. His grid was exactly what she’d expected. Willow fishing by some beautiful lake. On the beach with friends. Grinning in a suit at some fancy award night.

She paused on a picture of him, shirtless beside a dusty Jeep in the desert. His shoulders were tanned, a trail of reddish hair snaking down the hard swells of his abdomen. A bolt of heat shot between her legs.

She was attracted to him.