Nova

The next few hours passed in a blur of work and unspoken tension. The studio was my sanctuary, but the walls felt thinner than ever, the ghosts of what-ifs whispering in my ear. I threw myself into editing the track we had worked on together, my eyes glued to the screen as I tweaked the levels, desperate to hold onto the connection we had created.

I received a call as the sun began to set, casting an orange glow through the studio windows. It was Artis, his voice a welcome balm to my frayed nerves. "Hey, baby," he said, the sound of LA traffic in the background. "How's your day been?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to keep my tone light. "It's been good," I said, my voice a forced casualness. "How's the trip?"

"It's... interesting," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. I just miss you, Nova. This isn't the same without you here." "I miss you too," I whispered. "Come home soon."

"I will," he promised, his voice a gentle caress. "I'll be back tomorrow. "I love you, I gotta go baby." the call ended.

The quiet after the call was deafening. The studio was a stark reminder of his absence. I took a deep breath, willing the doubt to dissipate. It was just a business trip, I reminded myself. Nothing more. But the whispers of insecurity remained. I hate to get them in my head. I sat there and tried to rationalize why he didn't tell me about his ex traveling with him. I willed myself not to let insecurity creep into my psyche.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I turned my attention back to the music, letting the beats and melodies consume me. Hours ticked by, the nightfall casting shadows across the studio. During one of these solitary moments, the door swung open, and Romie poked his head in. "Hey, Nova baybay," he called out, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me. "The crew's heading to a small gig in New York tonight. You should come."

The idea of escaping the confines of the studio was tempting. The thought of losing myself in the city's pulse, surrounded by the people who understood this life, was exactly what I needed. "okay, I'll come," I said, a spark of excitement lighting up my voice. "Just let me get changed."

I rushed home, my heart racing with the thrill of the unexpected. The penthouse was eerily quiet without Artis's presence, but I didn't have time to wallow. I threw on a designer dress that accentuated my curves and paired it with the red-soled Louboutins.

The dress was short enough to show off my legs, but the high neckline kept it classy, although the entire back of the dress was a wild tapestry of stings that showed off my Virgo tattoo that covered my entire back. A spritz of my favorite perfume—his favorite—and I was ready to conquer the night.

Back at the studio, the engineers and staff were already waiting, dressed to the nines. The excitement was palpable in the air, a potent mix of anticipation and camaraderie. "Damn, yah, look good!" I praised.

Krossroads, ever the gentleman, opened the passenger door to his sleek, red Cullinan and led me to the seat with a knowing smirk. He slid into the driver's side without a word. The lopsided grin on his face never faltered. I have to admit his silent confidence was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the boisterous personality he donned in the studio.

The leather interior was warm, enveloping me like a lover's embrace as the scent of his cologne filled the cabin—a heady mix of sandalwood and something faintly spicy. "Tobacco Vanille," I said."Tom Ford," his eyebrows shot up, and he nodded. "you have a good nose, Nova." "Yes, I do."

The ride to New York was a blur of neon lights and city sounds. Late 90s R&B instrumentals played through the speakers. It was a nice vibe.

Cory's car pulled around to the back entrance when we arrived at the venue. The cool night air kissed my skin as we stepped out, the city's pulse beating around us like a heart. The bouncers nodded in recognition, the velvet rope parting like the Red Sea for the legend that was Krossroads. He offered me his arm, and we strode through the backstage area with a confidence that could only come from years of being at the top of the music food chain.

We bypassed the chaos of the main floor, the cacophony of voices and the thumping bass a distant promise of the night to come. Instead, we were led up a flight of stairs to the VIP section, a world apart from the sweat and energy below.

The walls were lined with plush velvet, the floor gleaming underfoot. The air was cooler here, the scent of expensive alcohol and cologne mingling with the faint hint of excitement.

The VIP lounge was like a penthouse in the sky, all chrome and leather, gleaming surfaces reflecting the frenetic lights of the city outside. A private bar stocked with top-shelf liquor stood sentinel in the corner, a bartender in a crisp white shirt and bow tie ready to serve at a moment's notice. The bathroom was luxurious, complete with a clawfoot tub and a wall of marble tiles that looked like they'd been ripped straight from a Roman spa.

But the view stole my breath away—a panorama of the city that never sleeps, the lights stretching out to infinity like a sea of stars. Cory handed me a glass of champagne, the bubbles tickling my nose as I took a sip. "This is how the other half lives," I murmured.

He chuckled, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're not so bad yourself, Nova." His voice was a low rumble, a bass line to the quiet symphony of the city outside. We stood there for a moment, the weight of our unspoken words hanging heavy between us.

The tension grew, a silent crescendo that had my heart racing. I could feel the heat of his body, the electricity that crackled in the air every time we were close. I tried to keep a comfortable distance from him.

"You don't have to be nervous around me, Nova," Cory murmured, his eyes never leaving my face. He took a step closer, the warmth of his breath a gentle caress against my cheek. "I'm not going to eat your pussy, not unless you ask me to," he said softly, with a wicked glint in his eye as he wet his lips.

I sipped my champagne, ignoring the shiver that danced down my spine. "I know," I replied, my voice steady despite the tumult within. "I know." "We are just hanging out, existing in each other's presence, " he said gently. Suddenly, the bartender left, leaving Cory and Me.

I sat on the chaise lounge by the window, my legs crossed demurely. The fabric of my dress hugged my skin.

He sat beside me, the cushion sinking slightly under his weight. His presence was a comfort, the familiar scent of him wrapping around me like a warm blanket. We were silent for a moment, the music from the club below a distant throb that seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

"You know, Nova," he began, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to resonate through my very soul. "I never thought I'd find someone like you." He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving the horizon. "Someone who understands the chaos, who can stand in the eye of the storm and not flinch."

I turned to face him, the light from the city casting shadows across his handsome features. "What do you mean?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

He set his drink down and leaned closer, his gaze intense. "I mean that you're different. You're not like the others." He paused, his hand reaching out to trace the line of my jaw. "You're not here for the fame, the fortune, or the games. You're here for the music. For the love of the art."

His words were a balm to my soul, a gentle reminder of why I had taken the risk and moved to New Jersey: for the music and for the chance to be artistically free. "Thank you, Krossroads."

He took a step back, the tension between us palpable. "Please," he said, his voice a whisper. "Call me Cory." He leaned back against the bar, his leg swaying from side to side in a rhythm that matched the thumping bass from the club below. I could see his internal battle, the struggle to keep his feelings in check. It was a dance we had performed before, a dance of attraction and denial.

I knew this wasn't a good idea, being here with him, so close yet so far from the reality of our situation. But I couldn't help the way my body responded, and my heart skipped a beat every time he looked at me. His eyes devoured me as if he were a starving man and I was the last meal on earth.