Free Alluring Infatuation by Skye Turner, Kari Ayasha Page A

the way home. Would you like to come over? To talk?”
    Before I can chicken out, I send it. As I wait for him to reply, I unpack the bags and set a bottle of wine in the freezer to chill rapidly. If Dade is coming over, I’m going to need this wine.
    After ten minutes, he hasn’t responded, so I decide to take a shower to wash off the day’s grime and try to wake myself up a bit.
    I shower for a good twenty minutes, just letting the pulsing showerhead beat on my shoulder blades. I never realized that delivering babies was such a labor intensive job. It’s stressful and it also requires a steady hand and some muscle at times. I’m so glad I work out a little. Well, Zumba counts, right?!
    I’m rinsing the last of the suds off of my body when I hear the ping of a new message over the water. Taking my time and trying not to allow myself to rush, I wring out my hair and wrap the towel around my body. As I step out of the shower, I glance at the phone.
    Do not do it, Melonie! Dry yourself off and get dressed, then do your normal routine. Do NOT grab that damn phone. You are an adult, not a fifteen year old. Don’t let that man make you a crazy person.
    Ha, yeah ok. You are a crazy person. You had insane, wild, out of character sex with a stranger on a tropical island. The stranger is a rock star. He’s freaking famous! And now, you can’t stop thinking about him. You haven’t been able to think rationally since the second you saw him. The first second!
    I am not going to grab the phone. I’m not.
    I manage to get dressed in comfy yoga pants and a tank top and pile my hair messily on top of my head before I swipe the phone and read the message.
    “Dade:
    Are you sure? You want me to come to your house? You’re ok with that?”
    I laugh.
    Am I ok with that?! Seriously? Um, no, not really. You are famous. Like fucking famous man and I am not. I am a well-respected doctor, but I am Baton Rouge and you are like Los Angeles. We are not on the same plane. However, for some insane reason you seem interested in me even after all of the craziness of the past few months, so I am just crazy enough to want to see if what was between us on an exotic island is still here in the middle of Baton Rouge. Ha, screw it.
    I stop my hands from shaking and type a reply.
    “Melonie:
    Yes, I’m sure. I have food if you’re hungry. I didn’t eat today, so I grabbed a few things on the way home. Don’t expect anything fancy, though.”
    I send it and head to the kitchen to heat up the food I picked up at Albertson’s. As I mess around in the kitchen, I plug my phone into my surround sound and turn on Spotify. I didn’t know who Dade was, because I don’t listen to rock. I’m a country girl. I’d heard of Bayou Stix in passing, but I had never heard a song. That has since been rectified, but I still “mainly” listen to country.
    The new Luke Bryan song comes on and I dance around the kitchen as I prepare the meal. Luke Bryan is my dream man… or so I thought. Dade looks nothing like Luke Bryan. Shaking my head at the ridiculous direction of my thoughts, I laugh and mutter to myself, “Melonie Bird, you have issues!” and sing along at the top of my voice.
    As I put the sautéed green beans and grilled salmon into the oven to reheat, my phone goes off again.
    “Dade:
    I could eat. What’s your address and when do you want me to come over?”
    Chuckling, I pick up the phone and call him. I’m not a big phone person, but if we’re going to have a conversation, I’m not typing all that shit.
    The phone rings and I twirl a loose piece of hair as I wait for him to answer. It rings twice.
    “Hey. You called me?!”
    I chuckle. “I did. I hate typing on my phone. The small keys make me insane. If I have a lot to say, I prefer to talk. It’s quicker.”
    He laughs. “Ok, then. Where do you live and when is a good time to come by?”
    “I live off of Perkins.” I give him the directions. “I’ll buzz the gate and let them know