Page 55 of Icebound

Digging through my cabinet, I pull out an orange bottle. Alprazolam Tablets, USP. 1 mg. Rx only. I stare at the label, debating.

I’m always hesitant to pop one since I don’t want to rely on my medication to function. If I take it, my mind will feel foggy for the event, and I don’t want to risk a worse rebound. I need to be on tonight, so I think I’m fine. I shove the bottle back in the drawer.

Gwen floats back into my room, dangling a silk dress on the tip of her finger. “Okay, what do we think of this?”

The ice-blue fabric glimmers like morning light dancing on fresh snow. With a lace V-neck and a slit up the thigh, the dress has the understated elegance of a French slip.

I balk. “Okay, I can’t remember the last time I put on a dress, but that is gorgeous. Look at the details. How much was that? Actually, I don’t want to know. I bet it cost more than my arm.”

She drapes it across my bed. “It did. I ordered it from a boutique in Paris, but you should wear it because it’d make you look beautiful and less like you’re headed to live in the desert for two months.”

“You’re the queen of the backhanded compliment.”

“I’m nothing if not consistent.”

I nibble my thumbnail, my eyes fixated on the gentle shine. That fabric is going to show so much sweat if I spiral out of control, but the dress really is gorgeous.

I could use a boost of confidence if I’m going to be stuck in a room making small talk about stocks and yachts all evening. “Okay, it’s perfect. Thanks, Gwen.”

She smiles. “Of course. Now, let’s fix your hair, so you don’t look like you’ve been electrocuted.”

Gwen spends the next twenty minutes re-curling my hair while I focus on not sweating through this dress. It’s been two weeks since I walked out of Rhode’s apartment, and other than me sending him a text to thank him for the box seats for The Peaceful Mind Project, we haven’t talked much.

He’s the opposite of Micah, who sends random memes almost daily to try and convince me to come to their hockey games. He’s the clingiest guy I’ve met, but I don’t mind it because it makes me feel needed when all I’ve ever felt like is someone’s accessory.

Micah’s also been teaching me Spanish slang words since that’s all he knows. Thanks to him, I know exactly how to ask an Argentinian for a one-night stand.

I’m trying not to let Rhode’s silence bother me, but I’m second guessing everything I said at his apartment. I have no idea what I did to piss him off, but if we’re going to be at this event tonight, he better flip on his charming switch because he can’t be his new brooding self.

The doorbell rings. “Okay, we’re leaving. Bye, Gwen!”

“Don’t eat any shellfish,” she calls back. “You got that weird rash last time you tried them and used all the aloe vera!”

“I told you never to bring that up again!”

I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror, and the woman staring back looks ready to walk a red carpet. The only sign of the battle raging beneath her made-up face is the flush on her cheeks.

I swing open the door to find Rhode leaning against the porch step railing, bathing in the sunset glow of the early March chill.

My breath stutters.

Damn him for looking like the definition of seductive in his classic black tux and tousled dark curls. The fabric barely fits over the span of his shoulders. I’m shocked his biceps aren’t splitting the sleeves.

He’s wearing a tie with tiny cats all over it, and that one little quirk that’s so undeniably him has my lips lifting to the tangerine sky. I’ve never seen him do an interview without one of those patterned ties, and it makes him feel less like Nashville’s Naughtiest Bachelor and more like a normal man.

Looking at him, I’m tempted to squint.

His eyes travel down my body, pausing on where my nipple piercing is poking out through the delicate silk, and his fists ball up at his sides before he rips his gaze away. A muscle quivers in his jaw.

Okay, he’s still pissed then.

I wait, but when he doesn’t say anything, I hold out my arms. “How’s this for tonight?”

The slowest swallow in the history of swallows makes its way down his throat. “It’s fine.”

My arms drop. “I didn’t spend two hours getting ready for fine.”

Rhode dives a hand through his hair and then seems to remember it’s styled in messy perfection, so he shoves it into his suit pocket.