  <div class="flex">
  <div class="item-main">
  <div id="quillEditor" class="episode-content ql-editor">&quot;So, then he moons the cops and runs ten blocks with his pants around his knees,&quot; Avery says, clanking her glass on the side table in the dressing room for emphasis. &quot;And this guy&quot;s running for treasurer?&quot; I reply. &quot;Apparently.&quot; We&quot;re backstage after Frank&quot;s second show in LA. The past two days have been nuts between rehearsals and soundchecks and hanging out with my friend. It feels strange not doing my own material after all my work for the showcase. But I&quot;m working&mdash;as a singer. Frank&quot;s people not only paid for the hotel&mdash;I&quot;m actually getting compensated. &quot;Emily! That&quot;s Emily Carlton. Eddie Carlton&quot;s kid.&quot; I turn to see the guys bent over the coffee table, and Frank waves me over. &quot;You mu

  When Emily opens the door of her hotel room, her face slackens in shock. But what I notice most is how damned beautiful she looks in her gray oversized T-shirt, her hair falling in wet curls around her shoulders. Her face is bare, her lips full and enticing as she takes me in. &quot;You&quot;re not the delivery guy,&quot; she murmurs. &quot;You were going to open the door looking like that?&quot; My gaze drags down her body, the way her damp hair leaves wet spots on her shirt, dripping down across her breasts. Her legs are miles long under the hem, begging a man to sell his soul for the chance to wrap them around his waist. Her lips curve. &quot;I was really hungry.&quot; She moves to let me in, and I follow, the door clicking shut behind me. &quot;I saw your video on Jacob&quot;s vlog,&quot; she says as I take in the modest but tidy room with two double beds. &quot;You were amazing.&q

  &quot;Emily. Open up.&quot; I pound on the door at the end of the hall on the sixth floor. The third time I knock, it swings wide to reveal Rica. &quot;She&quot;s not here, lover boy.&quot; &quot;Do you know when she&quot;s getting back?&quot; She shrugs, glancing over her shoulder. &quot;Few days, I think. She asked me to feed Heath.&quot; The goldfish circles his tank as if everything&quot;s right with the world. It&quot;s not right. I shove both hands through my hair. &quot;I&quot;ve been calling her all day since the showcase.&quot; &quot;Bet it&quot;s hard. Sounds like your phone&quot;s the one blowing up.&quot; She&quot;s not wrong. The thing jumps in my pocket every damned minute. The performance was good&mdash;better than good. But it wasn&quot;t right&hellip; because she wasn&quot;t with me. I head back to my place, my breath huffing in the November air, and find a new slew of

<div class="flex">
  <div class="item-main">
  <div id="quillEditor" class="episode-content ql-editor">&quot;So, then he moons the cops and runs ten blocks with his pants around his knees,&quot; Avery says, clanking her glass on the side table in the dressing room for emphasis. &quot;And this guy&quot;s running for treasurer?&quot; I reply. &quot;Apparently.&quot; We&quot;re backstage after Frank&quot;s second show in LA. The past two days have been nuts between rehearsals and soundchecks and hanging out with my friend. It feels strange not doing my own material after all my work for the showcase. But I&quot;m working&mdash;as a singer. Frank&quot;s people not only paid for the hotel&mdash;I&quot;m actually getting compensated. &quot;Emily! That&quot;s Emily Carlton. Eddie Carlton&quot;s kid.&quot; I turn to see the guys bent over the coffee table, and Frank waves me over. &quot;You must&quot;ve grown up backstage,&quot; one of the guys drawls. &quot;Bet you have some great stories.&

CHAPTER 38