“What are you doing?”

I turn slowly and smile over at her. “I thought I recognized your face.”

Her eyes drop to the book in my hands, then whip up to mine. “That’s private.”

My heart stills as I look her over, from head to toe. She’s in an old white T-shirt and men’s boxer shorts. Her long hair is piled on top of her head in a knot. And her face is completely clean of makeup.

I’ve never seen her look more beautiful, and I’ve seen her in a dozen different looks. But this, right here, is Addie, and she’s so stunning, she takes my breath away.

“Are you going to speak, or are you just going to stare at me?”

“You’re so fucking incredible.”

She stumbles, blinking rapidly. “Excuse me?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” she asks, bewildered. “I’ve been horrible to you.”

I close the book and return it to the shelf, then cross to her, take her hand, and lead her to the overstuffed couch. I sit and guide her next to me.

I want to pull her into my lap, but I’m not so sure she’d allow that.

She pulls her legs up and leans her cheek against my shoulder, holding on to my bicep with her hands.

“I can take it,” I whisper and resist the urge to kiss the top of her head. “You were perfectly professional.”

“I’m cold.”

“You were hurt.”

She snorts.

“And you like me, and that scares you.”

She immediately pushes away, shaking her head. “You wish.”

I smile and tug her into my lap now, holding her to me. Her lips are turned up, but her blue eyes are cautious, just as they should be.

But I’m not going to talk my way into her bed. Not tonight. Tonight she needs a friend, and she needs to be held.

I would never admit it, but after seeing her in danger earlier tonight, maybe so do I.

“Admit it, you like me.”

“I like it when you leave.” She smiles widely and bats her eyelashes.

“You’re a smart-ass.”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.”

“Good?” She leans her cheek on my chest and traces imaginary circles on my shirt. “It usually pisses people off.”

“I’m a smart-ass too, so I speak the language.”

“I like that you’re tall.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m tall.”

And you fit.

“Tell me about the modeling.”

“I don’t do it anymore.”

“You’re kidding.” My voice is dry as I drag my hand down her back, over her soft shirt, to her ass, then up again. “Care to elaborate on that?”

She sighs. “Girls with curves don’t last too long in that industry. I was a size eight, which is way too big to be a runway model.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, it’s true.”

“I know it’s true, I just think it’s bullshit.”

She shrugs. “It is what it is. I’m bigger than that now, so those days are long behind me. But I love fashion. I love playing with different looks. I always have.”

“I’ve noticed. It’s sexy as hell.”

“It’s fun.”

“Who gave you the book?”

“It was a gift from my stylist, Cici. We met early on, and I took her everywhere with me. She’s the best hair and makeup person out there. She still does my hair. All five of us, actually.”

“She lives here in Portland?”

“Yeah. She moved here with her husband and kids a few years ago. We do a girls’ night once a month and get our hair done, waxed, nails, the whole enchilada.”

“That sounds . . . terrifying,” I reply with a laugh, but can’t help but wonder what, exactly, she has waxed. The thought has my dick twitching, so I take a deep breath and think about puppies and baseball, because NO SEX.

“Well, then it’s a good thing you aren’t invited to join us.”

“Do you miss it?”

She shrugs again, still brushing her manicured fingertip over my chest. If she doesn’t stop touching me like that, I won’t be responsible for my actions.

Like bending her over the back of the couch.

Jesus, get a grip, Keller.

“I miss the clothes. God, the clothes were so fucking fun. And I miss the hair and makeup too.”

“You do that for yourself every day.”

“It’s not the same,” she replies, almost sadly. “I miss the people. Some of the designers and photographers. But I don’t miss being told that I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat.”

“In that world I was. I’m a curvy woman, that’s just how my body is made, and I can’t change it.”

“Nor should you.”

“When you’re young, it can really mess with your head. I’m so thankful that I had the experience, and I still have friendships from that life, but I’m fine with it being over.”

God, I can relate to that.

“Why did the band break up?” she asks softly.

“Because I’m a jackass.”

She pulls back so she can look up at me. “The bandmates don’t like you either?”

“Either?”

“Like me.”

“Oh, you like me.”

She simply raises a brow, making me laugh. “Of course they like me.”

“So tell me about your jackassery.”

“This is a story better suited for another time. First, I want you to talk to me about Jeremy.”