Epilogue
Two months later…
Crystal
London. Amsterdam. Berlin, last week.
I sighed and curled up on the couch in Kit’s dressing room on the lower floors of the big stadium. We were in London for the third concert. We’d already visited all the tourist traps. He’d bent me over the couch in our hotel room last night and blown my mind, all the while talking dirty in a British accent that drove me wild. He had a knack for adapting his voice to wherever we happened to be. I teased him that he should have been some kind of CIA language expert or spy instead of a rock star. Tomorrow, we were flying to Dublin. Irish whiskey, green everywhere and Kit promising to get me naked and talk to me with a sexy Irish accent.
That might be interesting.
The loud bass beat of the concert speakers thrumm
