Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
When Cashton and I parted ways, I spent my first two years in school trying to forget about him. That was impossible when all I’d do is stalk him on social media.
It’s why I had to block him. No, not just block him but delete my online life completely.
I had to live a normal college experience. Go to parties. Date. I needed to be the grown-up I promised him I’d be when we broke up.
I told myself if he didn’t make it to Death Valley by the time I got my MBA, I’d reach out to him and explain my absence.
I figured I had a few years to get being young out of my system, and then I’d go back to Cashton.
The closer graduation loomed, the more excitement bubbled in my gut, along with a sense of dread.
What if we weren’t the same people anymore? What if he’d fallen into the world of rock and either drank, snorted, or shot up so many times he wasn’t my Cashton anymore?
What if he didn’t like the person I’d become? Or … not become. I was exactly the same person I was when I’d left high school with marginally more dating experience.
And then? A few short months before my hooding ceremony, Cash Me Outside exploded. Everywhere.
That made me want to contact him even more, but when I went looking for all his old social media profiles, I realized they were all deleted. It made sense. He was a superstar now, so he’d have PR-controlled accounts.
When I looked those up, I thought about the thousands of people who must be randomly messaging him. The thousands of fans who’d want him for being famous.
I’d just be another person wanting him for what he was, not who he is.
We’d agreed that when he made it big, we’d catch up, but in the moment, it felt like I’d only be contacting him because of his fame.
I didn’t want that.
I might have always appeared confident around Cashton, but it was all an act. I was faking it. I wasn’t sure I could have faked it anymore.
Seeing him in tabloids with other celebrities, seeing his rumored love life in countless online articles, I realized how different we were.
How different we always were.
I was sure that even if we were to get back in touch, those differences in our personalities would no longer be cute like they were in high school.
That’s when I turned down my graduate offers for employment and took a gap year. I traveled. I did wild shit.
I backpacked across Europe, slung beers, partied, and saw the world.
Fell in love.
Or … lust.
Fell in … companionship. That’s probably the best word for it.
I do love Shannon, but as two Americans who randomly met in Greece, fell in love in Germany, and got married in the Netherlands, it was all a crazy whirlwind that probably shouldn’t have happened.
What seemed like a great idea at the time was an already tension-filled mistake by the time we got back Stateside.
Not to mention the long-ass divorce that followed with complications from an international marriage of two American citizens.
Dated a few weeks. Married for a year. Separated for eighteen months.
Hell, I’d still be living with them if my boss at Catalina Resort and Casino on the Strip hadn’t heard my story and offered this room for as long as I needed it.
It’s not much, but it has a combined living and dining room, small kitchen, and a bedroom with a nice view and jacuzzi tub in the corner.
This is just another mess I’d have to explain to Cashton if I were to go to Death Valley.
If he was even interested. If he even remembers the pact.
It’s been ten years.
“What famous rock star would remember the nerdy numbers guy from high school?” I say more to myself.
Shannon leans in. “What guy forgets who he lost his virginity to?”
Point taken.
They nudge me with their shoulder. “You should go.”
I should.
But I know I won’t.
Chapter Three
Cash
Deep breath, Cash.
I haven’t experienced these kind of nerves since my first live performance at the VMAs. There’s a lot riding on this festival. Not only for my career but my life.
I’ve waited for this moment since Sherlock climbed out my window over a decade ago.
“You should’ve contacted him,” Seb says beside me.
After the show where we got the news we’d be performing here, I let it all out to the guys.
Seb thinks not tracking him down is stupid because I’m putting all my hopes into the notion that this guy will remember a pact he made when he was eighteen years old right after he’d busted a nut inside me. He thinks I’m setting myself up for disappointment, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought the exact same thing.
But I haven’t had the guts to reach out to the stranger he now is. And other than trying to find his parents, who didn’t want to help me get in contact with him years ago or someone else from our old life who might know where he is, I wouldn’t know where to look anyway.