3. Old Flames, New Fires

Winter took one look at Gavi and immediately pulled out his phone.

She crossed her arms and pouted—her signature look. "Oh, come on. Don't bother Claire at this hour. You're not even going to let me rest in your room for a sec before kicking me out? After the night I had, I'm positively exhausted…" she said, wagging one of her lacy Ferragamo stilettos.

He lifted an eyebrow. "How did you even get up here?" he asked.

She ignored his question. "It's pouring buckets outside, and my hotel's on the other side of town. Just thought I'd stop here for a bit. Aren't you happy to see me?"

Winter sighed. He knew her games too well. He and Gavi had been on and off for years, though the last time they spoke was over a year ago, several months before his mission with Panacea. But every time he thought they'd broken up for good, Gavi would show up on his doorstep. Somehow, she always knew where he'd be—and when his defenses would be down.

It was his own fault. No one was forcing him back to her, and yet he always went.

"Go back to your own hotel," he said as he swiped his keycard. "I'll book you a car, if you need me to."

"No chivalry at all," she said, shaking her head at him, jeweled earrings flashing. "I just escaped my date at a movie premiere, and I don't feel like rushing back to sit in my room all alone."

"Who, Rory?" he asked incredulously. "I thought you two were head over heels for each other."

"You of all people should know better than to believe the tabloids, Winter." She looked down at her heels, letting her perfect highlights fall softly against her face. "Turns out the fairy-tale romance has been a little one-sided."

Winter felt a pang of guilt—she was right. He should know better. With Gavi, things were never as they seemed. Now he vaguely remembered the big movie premiere in town this week, and if there was a lavish event, Gavi would be there. As an It Girl on the social scene, even a five-minute appearance from Gavi could boost an event's publicity tenfold. The world couldn't get enough of her. But apparently her current fling could.

Or so she said.If there's one thing Winter knew, it was to take Gavi's words with a healthy dose of skepticism.

"I'm sorry," he said politely, without asking for more details.

She looked up at him, her doe eyes soft but hungry. "Judging by the news spreading online, I'm guessing you're not having the best night either."

Winter entered the open doorway, put his hands in his pockets, and leaned back into the frame. He had worked so hard to distance himself after their last epic breakup, had done so well staying away.

You need to say no,warned the voice in his head. Right now.

But he knew he was weak tonight, and when he looked back into Gavi's upturned eyes, he couldn't help himself. So instead of saying no, he uttered a different word. "And?"

"Figured you needed the company as much as I did," she answered, a sly smile playing on her lips.

In spite of their history, Winter felt himself waver. His relationship with Gavi had been completely different from the one he'd had with Sydney; he and Sydney had loathed each other at first sight, a tension that turned into something he'd call friendship, maybe more. But Gavi—he had fallen for Gavi too quickly. They'd found each other irresistible and funny and fascinating before they both realized that they were awful for each other.

And yet here he was, about to make that mistake again. Even now, Gavi drew him in, lulled him into the feeling that perhaps, with one more try, they could work out.

Gavi was still studying him with a coy look that he knew he couldn't refuse.

"Well?" she said. Her eyes turned down. "Don't make me beg."

He sighed. Looked into his suite. Looked back at her.

"Just until the rain lets up," he said, recognizing the lie before the words even left his lips.

"That's all I was hoping for," she replied with a shrug.

He stepped aside and held a hand toward his suite. "Claire's sending some tea. Should I ask her to make it for two?"

Gavi walked past him, the dangerous smell of jasmine and vetiver trailing behind her. "Tea sounds perfect."

By the time their tea arrived, sheets of rain were slanting down across the nightscape outside his window.

Gavi took her cup and went to stand by the glass, her gaze fixed on the palm trees swaying against an ink-black ocean.

"So," Winter said, coming to stand beside her with his own mug. His eyes stayed on the scene outside, too. "How bad was the premiere?"

She shrugged. "About as bad as finding out some mystery person is going to reveal your darkest secrets in an unauthorized tell-all."

He snorted. "I'd much prefer a terrible movie to my reality."

Gavi laughed, in that easy way of hers, and pulled her lustrous hair over one shoulder. "So, you don't know who's behind it?"

He shook his head. "Whoever it is, Claire probably already has our lawyers drafting up a lawsuit."

Gavi smiled, then leaned sideways to bump her hip lightly against his. "Too bad. Should have been me."

"Drafting the lawsuit?"

"Writing that tell-all. You know I have lots of interesting stories."

"Please don't," he replied dryly.

"What? I wouldn't embarrass you." She reached up to rub his shoulder lightly, and his skin tingled. "I'd tell only the good stuff."

"That would be impossible, because every good thing in our relationship was poison."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic."

"We were nothing but dramatic, Gavi. Drama defined our entire relationship."

"Not the entire relationship."

"You seriously don't remember the headlines? ‘Drama Defines Winter and Gavi's Entire Relationship.' Ring a bell?"

"Fine. Maybe. But we had fun too, didn't we?" she said, smiling into her mug.

He knew she was baiting him, so he didn't answer.

She turned to face him, biting her lip. "Mm," she said. "Of course, my stories about you would need a content warning."

He raised an eyebrow. "Would they?"

"Like our first time?"

Baiting him. Winter's jaw tightened, even as her words beckoned the memory back. A party hosted by a mutual friend, followed by a series of increasingly rowdy games. Gavi had gone, giggling, into the bathroom where Winter was washing his hands, and when he'd tried to go around her, she'd stumbled right into him and knocked them both against the sink. Gavi had blurted out a ridiculous swear that caught Winter off guard and made him laugh so hard he cried. They'd teased each other about it all evening, had gotten touchy. They'd gone back to her place, and Winter could only remember the rest of that night in pieces—their clothes in a pile by the door, a lamp knocked off her nightstand, her legs straddling him and his hands gripping her bare hips, her labored breathing hot against his neck as she gasped his name, the shudders that racked his body in response.

It would be so easy to fall back in, he thought as he looked down at her. Too easy to relapse.

"What are you really doing here, Gavi?" he asked her.

"Same reason you let me in," she replied. "Can't we just let it be that?"

"Be what, exactly?"

"Selfish for a night." She shifted her weight to one hip so that she brushed against him again. "No strings attached."

He laughed humorlessly. "There are always strings attached with you."

"The undatable Winter Young," she whispered. "Always so wary."

"Am I wrong?"

"Are you afraid people are going to find out we hooked up again?"

"I'd prefer not dealing with a fresh round of headlines about us getting back together, if that's what you mean," he said tiredly. "Today's interview was enough."

She smiled and touched his cheek. "You care too much what other people think."

"So do you."

"Wrong." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I don't care at all, as long as people are talking about me."

"Oh, I know."

"Come on, Winter. Let yourself relax for once."

"I wouldn't call you relaxing."

She leaned up toward him, and now her lips were so close to his that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. "Call me whatever you want, then," she murmured, and Winter shivered, remembering all the times she'd ever whispered in his ear. His body leaned toward her, as if drawn purely by muscle memory.

There was no reason, really, for him not to sleep with her. Maybe she was right. Maybe a one-night stand would be a good distraction. Maybe this time, there really wouldn't be any strings attached. They knew each other well, knew how to make a touch turn into much more, and they also knew how to go their separate ways—at least until the next time.

But instead of giving in, Winter hovered there, refusing to close the gap between them. Gavi's eyes flickered over his face, and a small smile of satisfaction touched the edge of her mouth at the way he tensed.

Winter forced himself to pull away and look back outside. "Rain's not letting up anytime soon," he said, nodding at the blanket of dark clouds that stretched across the horizon. "Take the bed, if you want. I've been using the couch, anyway."

Gavi sighed. "Fine, have it your way." As she walked toward the bedroom, she peered at him over her shoulder. "But I can think of better ways to strain your back than sleeping on that thing." She turned and started unzipping her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of sequins before she was fully out of sight. "If you change your mind, come join me. You can have your usual side."

Then, without asking, she grabbed one of the shirts from his suitcase and disappeared into the bathroom.

Shortly before four A.M., a noise woke Winter on the couch.

Immediately, he winced. His back did hurt from the hard cushions, just as Gavi had teased. He sat up gingerly, massaging the sore spots with both hands, and looked over to the bed.

Gavi was still asleep, breathing evenly, dressed in nothing but her underwear and his shirt, one bare leg curled up over the blankets. The rain had stopped some time ago, and the night had just barely begun to transition from pitch-black to muted grays, the weak light outlining the curves of her body.

In sleep, she looked like the girl he'd once fallen for—stunningly pretty, serene, and a little amused, a girl secure in her identity. He could still remember waking up beside her the morning after their first time together, staring down at that face, and thinking she was still asleep. Then she'd opened one eye and grinned at him, and he'd laughed, daring to think that maybe, just maybe, he had found someone he could wake up next to for the rest of his life.

Then he'd discovered that she'd leaked their story to the tabloids, and by lunchtime, their tryst had been on every news outlet.

It was an accident, she'd told him with a cute laugh, and he'd believed it. Even worse, he had forgiven her.

That had been followed by months of exhausting social games—bringing him to events just to be photographed together, intimate conversations suspiciously reported by "anonymous sources," and an endless parade of lies, lies, lies, lies. About things that didn't even need to be lies: what brand her shoes were or where she grew up or what her favorite meal was, so that she could mutter later on that a gift from him wasn't what she had in mind. She'd once told him she was allergic to shellfish after a decadent, uni-filled omakase. He'd rushed her to the hospital and stayed with her for hours, fended off news reporters at the entrance, only to find out later that she wasn't allergic after all. Another time, she'd locked him out of his own house as a game and let the media assume that he'd been kicked out for upsetting her.

Winter would show up haggard and defeated at rehearsal, and Dameon would just shake his head.

Why do you like that girl?he'd ask.

All Winter could do was put his hands up in despair. I know, I know, he would reply. And then the whole thing started all over again.

Because. Gavi… She was an addiction. She could start a conversation with anyone, could become the life of a party just by showing up. She was the kind of person who always left an impression, who always found reserves of energy, no matter how late in the day it was, who could convince anyone to fall for her with just a wink and a gentle touch. Gavi craved attention in the same way Winter craved love, would seek it to the ends of the earth, and she was unapologetic about it.

Something about that drew him to her. Maybe he envied her, thought that life was easier for people like her. Maybe he was just vulnerable to her bold flirtations, admired how direct she was about getting what she wanted. But most likely, maybe he thought they were similar, that she was what he deserved, that she represented a world that he understood. Sure, she used him. But he used her, too.

And, well, they had fun in bed. A lot of fun. That didn't hurt, either.

A buzzing phone knocked his thoughts back to the present. That was what had woken him up. He grabbed for the glowing screen on the coffee table, wondering for a moment if Claire was texting him and if he'd forgotten about some early morning interview.

But when his eyes fell on the screen, he saw that it wasn't his phone at all, but Gavi's. The screen lit up, and despite how quickly he looked away, he still caught enough of the messages waiting there.

Here now. Take ur time.

Babe u still coming?

Babe where r u? U missed the red carpet?

The name of the sender was Rory Jones. Gavi's terrible date.

Now her agent was texting her. Rory said you never showed?

Apparently Gavi stood up her date, spending the night with Winter instead. Not the story she'd told him, of course. Her words came back to him.

Turns out the fairy-tale romance has been a little one-sided.

She'd conveniently left out that it'd been one-sided… for Rory. The poor guy didn't know what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

Winter shook his head and laughed a little. Gavi knew every trick in the book, every way to use her private life to advance her public one. This, she had always been honest about. She had never promised him the kind of honest relationship he seemed to want, had always warned him that they needed different things.

I'm not here to be your emotional support,she'd told him early on. I just think we could be fun together. That's why you like me too, isn't it? She'd leaned toward him. You know I'm fun.

Even last night, she'd warned him.

Selfish for a night, no strings attached?

She'd told him exactly what to expect. By now, he should know this better than anyone.

Still, he felt a familiar ache as he glanced across the room at her once more. Then he got up and went to his suitcase, pulling on a fresh pair of briefs and sweats. He left a note for Gavi on the dresser.

Gone to practice. Order whatever you want.

Without a sound, he pulled on his shoes and left the room—the smell of jasmine following him into the hallway.