Page 64 of Wild

"I don't know you, Mia," she says suddenly.

Mia tilts her head, not quite following.

"I've seen you every day for over a month and I don't know who you are."

Mia still looks confused, watching her with wide eyes.

"And that's on me," Erin starts. "I put up a wall between us because it seemed logical, and instead of bothering to get to know you, I judged you. I decided what kind of person you were without ever giving you a chance to show me otherwise—that you're not some wild girl who only thinks about sex and having a good time. You're focused. You know what you want and what you don't, which is a lot more than I can say for myself."

"I think that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Mia says with a small laugh, because she's nervous and doesn't know what to say or do without scaring Erin off now that she's finally opening up.

"Honestly, I don't think I've said anything nice to you since we met," Erin admits.

"That's not true," the singer says. "You said you liked my show. That means a lot to me—because I don't usually feel as sure of myself as I look when I'm up on that stage."

"One more thing I got wrong," Erin says quietly, almost to herself. "Because I always assumed that's your natural place—that the stage is where the real Mia Wilder comes out."

"Janssen."

"What?"

"My name is Mia Janssen Wilder. Both of my mother's last names. She gave them to me because she didn't know who my father was, and since she always went by Janssen, I kept Wilder. One more thing you can write down about me, so you don't have to make up my story," the singer says with a small grin.

"What else can I write down?" Erin asks, genuinely wanting to know.

"Hmmm." Mia smiles, tilting her face up toward the stars.

The doctor's heart stumbles. She finds her unbearably beautiful right now—sitting on the floor of a private rooftop, looking up at the sky with those stunning blue eyes.

"I hate the rooms they put me in. All those enormous suites are…" She shrugs. "Not for me."

"Why?"

"Too much space for one person. Why would I want a room the size of an apartment just to spend two or three nights? It's ridiculous. And uncomfortable—the loneliness gets louder. That's why I never ask my hookups to leave afterward. Being alone in a place that big is suffocating."

"Why don't you just ask for a regular room?" Erin asks.

"Jude says I have to project a certain image—that if I stop looking like a star, I'll stop being one."

"I can't stand that guy," Erin says without thinking.

Mia lets out a short laugh.

"Honestly, me neither. But it is what it is."

Erin is about to tell her that no, she can choose differently—but right now she doesn't feel like talking about that man and his obsession with appearances.

"I figured you'd be spending tonight with your stylist's assistant," she admits, pressing at her head again because the pain is getting worse.

"I thought about it. That was actually the plan," Mia says. "But I don't want to sleep with her. I want to sleep with you."

Erin's mouth goes dry. She presses her fingers harder against her head, at a loss for words.

"I'm really bad at all of this, Mia."

"At what? Going to bed with a girl, or letting someone pursue you?"

"Pursue?" Erin can't hold back a small laugh that brightens her whole face. "What century are you from?"