He sits down next to me on the bed and then presses the cool cloth on my forehead. “This should help. Sleep. You’ll feel better.”

The bed coils lift me back up as he pushes himself off the bed. Birdie still stands guard outside my bedroom door with the look of concern etched on her face. Ace steps in front of her, meeting her stare head-on.

“Trust me,” he says to her with a sweet voice.

There’s a long pause before she finally sighs. Birdie makes eye contact with me, looking for confirmation that I’m okay with her leaving, so I nod and she gives me a halfhearted smile. “Call me if you need me.”

“I will,” I answer, allowing her off the hook as my protector as she heads to the front door.

My eyes dart to Ace, who grabs the garbage can and holds it away from his body as he leaves the room so he can dump the contents in the bathroom.

“Just leave it in there and I’ll clean it tomorrow,” I order.

I hear the toilet flush and then the water running in the bathtub, followed by the sound of the toilet flushing again. Ace quickly returns and sets the newly clean trash can back beside my bed. “All clean in case you need it again.”

When his tall frame sits back next to me on the bed, the warmth of his body radiates off him, and it feels nice.

He readjusts the rag on my forehead. “Feeling better now?”

I lick my dry lips. “Believe it or not, throwing up helped. I don’t feel as queasy.”

“It usually does. Throwing up is your body’s way of ridding the alcohol from your system.”

“Had plenty of drinking experience, I take it?” I ask as I stare up at him.

Ace sighs. “Let’s just say I’ve done my fair share of partying in my day, and the aftermath of a good time is something I learned the hard way.”

I reach out and touch his wrist and then rest the palm of my hand on top of his as a thought occurs to me. “Tell me more about you. I want to know you.”

Ace stiffens like telling me any bit of information about himself is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but after what seems like an eternity of internal debate, he relaxes a bit. “There’s not much to tell, Iris. I’m a relatively simple guy.”

“I don’t believe that’s true. You’re a complete mystery to me,” I whisper.

He reaches out and traces his fingers along the lower portion of my jaw. “Why are you so nice to me? I’ve been a jerk to you. You should hate me, but you’re always so nice to me. On top of that, I can’t shake the feeling that you need me. All of that put together makes it impossible for me to stay away from you.”

“I wish you would stop trying to,” I say and mean it wholeheartedly.

“I don’t know why you would want me after the way I treated you—the things I said—”

I press my finger to his lips. “These beautiful lips might’ve been harsh, but your actions showed you didn’t mean them.”

For the first time he smiles at me genuinely. “It doesn’t seem like I’m that big of a mystery.”

“You are to me.”

He opens his mouth like he’s about to say more but then quickly closes it and runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it and making it even more sexy. “I should let you get some sleep.”

The mention of sleep alerts me to the fact that I’m exhausted. Sleeping on the way home from the bar isn’t something I typically do, which is how I know I’m completely bombed. I need to sleep this liquor off.

Ace grabs the loose fleece blanket I keep at the foot of my bed and drapes it over me, tucking me in tight, leaning over me so close that we are nearly face-to-face.

Instantly, my eyes zoom in on his lips, wondering if he’s going to kiss me because of the way he’s looking at me, but I know because I just threw my guts up in front of him, that’s not going to happen.

He bites his lip. “Good night, Iris.”

I lick my lips and whisper the same thing to him before he pushes himself back and then heads out of my room.

I close my eyes and sleep.

CELEBRITY POP BUZZ NIGHTLY

The camera zooms in on Linda Bronson’s smooth, angelic features as she brings the microphone up to her full lips. “We’re here live with Wicked White’s tour manager, Jane Ann Rogers, hoping to get to the bottom of where the band’s front man, Ace White, has disappeared to.”

Linda turns toward Jane Ann, who has on a tight leather jacket with trendy ripped jeans. “Jane Ann, can you tell us when the last time you saw Ace was?”

Jane Ann leans toward the microphone while her flaming hair frames her heart-shaped face. “The last time I saw him in person was when Ace walked off stage in front of twenty thousand people.”

Linda brings the mic back to her mouth, poised to fire off another question. “Did you know his foster mother was ill?”

The redheaded woman nods. “Yes, and we’re hoping that’s what’s at the root of his disappearance for the last couple of weeks. The thought of something tragic happening to Ace is unfathomable and not an idea that I even will entertain. We’re hoping that wherever he is, that he’s getting the closure that he needs and will be ready to come back and hit the road.”

“Is it true that his bank accounts and cell phone have had no activity since his disappearance?”

“Yes, and that does concern us. If he’s watching this report tonight, I’m begging him to at least call us and let us know that he’s all right. I want him to know his Wicked White family and I are here for him.”