After the concert was over, Molly hung around the front of the stage. She was replaying different moments from the hours before: the way he kept glancing in her direction as he sang, the little winks he sent her way each time he took a break to talk to the crowd, the heat that had spread through her body as he sang.

Oscar had been right; Andrew got more and more wild and bold as the night went on, thumping his chest emphatically at times and getting lost in the music at others. But eventually, it was time for the show to end.

When he had done his final bow with his band and given his last wave, he leaned forward and mouthed See you in a bit directly at her. She nodded back. Oscar headed for the bathroom, promising to meet her by the stage door in the lobby when he was finished.

As the crowd filtered out of the theater, Molly felt several people from the pit staring at her and she could hear their whispers. She ignored them and pulled her phone out.

"Best Forest Daddy concert ever," one of them declared.

Molly fought the urge to burst into laughter. Forest Daddy. I have to give him shit for that.

She meandered through the theater, enjoying the architecture and the adrenaline rush that still coursed through her veins. She had to give it to Andrew, he knew how to put on a show. By the end, she was almost a full convert to his music. A heat had spread through her body igniting nerve endings and she felt like she could climb a mountain.

The stage door was situated at the end of the lobby and was guarded by a security officer. He looked her over as she hovered nearby, her arms crossed over her chest. She gave him a polite nod and tried to look busy.

Fifteen minutes passed and Oscar still hadn't appeared. Sighing, she called him. He didn't answer and it went to voicemail. A second later he texted her.

Met someone in the bathroom. Headed back home with him.

Molly sighed heavily and let her hand fall. Of course he would meet someone in the toilets and leave her. Now she was on her own. Whatever.

Remember what you came here to do, she thought.

She dug into her pocket and produced the envelope. Inside were two thick cards with GUEST emblazoned on them in bold black writing. She handed one to the security guard who took it, looked her up and down, and then gave it back before calling someone on his radio. About two minutes later, the door popped open and a young brunette man greeted her.

"Molly?" he asked, clipping his radio to his collar. Molly nodded. "Come with me."

She walked inside and followed the young man down a long hallway lit with harsh fluorescent lights and decorated with posters from different acts that had played the theater in the past.

"Andy is still outside greeting fans, but he should be done soon," the young man said. He stopped outside a door with a sign that read "Hozier Male Band" taped to it. He swung the door open and gestured for her to walk inside. "You can wait in here until he's back. Please don't wander off."

"Thanks," Molly replied, but the young man was already gone by the time she turned around.

The dressing room had several arm chairs scattered around and two long sofas facing one another. A wall of vanity mirrors was still lit on one end, casting the room in a golden glow. Instrument cases were leaning against the wall and a clothing rack held several pieces of clothing, some halfway out of their garment bags.

A guitar stood on a stand in the corner, the strap hanging down to the floor. It had a nut brown body and a well-used bridge. She reached a finger out and strummed a note on the neck, jumping slightly when it rang louder than she expected in the empty room. She was greeted by memories of Andrew playing the same guitar for her, sitting on his bed or as they watched a TV show while a cool summer rain poured down outside.

"Bring back memories?" a voice asked, startling her.

Andrew stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a grin on his face. He had slid a pair of round glasses on and put his hair up into a bun at the back of his head. These subtle changes were enough to reduce the onstage giant to a quiet, bookish man. She was taken aback by how different he suddenly seemed.

"Oh - uh..." should she admit that she had been thinking about their time together? He clearly remembered, or else he wouldn't have said anything. Go for it. "A few, yeah," she chuckled nervously.

"Only good ones, I hope," he remarked.

She tucked her hands into her pockets and bit her lip, unsure of what to say. He came in and shut the door behind him. The first thing he did was grab a bottle of water from a table in the corner.

"Do you want anything? They'll refresh it in the morning, so take whatever you want," he offered.

Molly nodded and crossed the room, grabbing a bottle of water herself. She twisted it open and took a sip, aware of his eyes on her. He was leaning against the back of one of the sofas, arms and legs crossed lightly.

"You were great tonight," she said. "Thanks for the great tickets. We really enjoyed it."

A smile spread across his lips as he pushed his glasses up his nose with a knuckle. "Thank you. I'm glad you had fun."

So much was going unsaid between them and Molly could feel her stomach in knots. The way he had been looking at her during the show had almost made her forget her rehearsed speech. His gaze brought back memories of him on top of her, underneath her, around her, looking at her with so much intensity she felt like she might burst into flames on the spot.

"Where's Oscar?" he asked suddenly, looking around. "He was here with you, right?"

She inhaled sharply, remembering. "Oh - he, uh, I guess he met someone in the toilet," she said, waving her hand toward the door. "Went home with them."

Andrew chuckled. "Well, glad to have facilitated that."

She knew he found the absurdity of the situation funny and she had to smile too.

"You look fantastic, by the way," he said.

She blushed. "Thank you."

He shifted on his feet, uncrossing and re-crossing his arms. "You said you wanted to talk to me about something?"

Now's your chance. Just say it so you can be done.

"I did -," she started.

Then a knock came at the door.

"Come in," Andrew called, looking past her at the door.

Another man - the one Molly recognized as the bass player in the band - stuck his head in. Upon seeing her there, a look of surprise covered his face.

"Shit, sorry," he apologized, moving to leave.

"Its fine, Alex, what did you need?" Andrew asked, looking to him.

"Just needed to grab my bag," Alex said, nodding to a blue backpack sitting on one of the vanities.

He glanced at Molly as he rushed in and she was aware that this might look like a hook up to outside eyes. She shifted her weight, glad that there were at least five feet between her and Andrew and they were obviously fully clothed.

"See you tomorrow, Andy," Alex said, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

"Oh - great show tonight," Molly said as he pulled the door open. "You're really talented." She felt the need to say something to fill the awkward silence.

"Thanks," he said, giving her a smile and looking at Andrew with a knowing grin.

"See you tomorrow, Alex," Andrew said with a chuckle, scratching his head. When the door shut, he looked back to Molly. "Sorry about that. You were saying?"

"Yeah," she blinked rapidly several times to refocus. Her heart was pounding faster than it did the first time she ever argued a case in court. She took a deep breath and dove in. "Seeing you again made me realize that...I...I definitely owe you an apology for how I left....back...then."

He lifted his chin and surveyed her in silence. It was hard for her to read his face, but she powered through.

Too late to stop now, she reminded herself.

"I'm sorry that I left without saying goodbye," she started slowly. Her entire speech had gone out of her head during the concert and she couldn't seem to find the words any longer. "You deserved much better than that. It was selfish and immature. And I'm sorry."

He was chewing on his tongue while he listened.

"I - goodbyes were hard for me back then," she stammered. "Fuck, they're still hard today," she said with a sigh. "But I just...I know you're only here for a few more days and I thought it was a good chance to apologize before you were gone."

He uncrossed his arms and stood up, inhaling deeply. "It was really painful for me, Molly. We had four amazing months and this great night out and then...You just disappeared."

"I know, I'm sorry," she said softly. "You didn't deserve it. You were so wonderful to me the entire summer and you deserved the chance to say goodbye properly." Several seconds of silence passed between them and she thought she had overstepped or said something wrong.

He took a step closer to her. "Do I still get that chance?"

"What do you mean?"

He cleared his throat. "Do I still get the chance to say goodbye properly, like I wanted to?"

"What - like now?" she asked.

"Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?" he asked with a smirk.

It was easier than she thought it would be. They'd shake hands, say goodbye, and move on with their lives. Elation coursed through her.

"Not that I can think of, no," she chuckled.

He cleared his throat again. "So can I...?" he asked, gesturing between the two of them.

"Uh...sure," she said, not believing how well he was taking things or how easy the whole process had been.

He stepped closer to her and took her hands in his. She allowed it to humor him. He stared into her eyes and then brought his hands up to hold her face. The callouses on his fingers were rough against her cheeks. Then he kissed her, long and deep, as if he was trying to force five years of desire and aching into her mouth. He kissed her firmly, but achingly slow. She stumbled slightly as he sighed against her lips and he caught her, holding her tightly against his body. Just when she felt like she might run out of air, he released her.

She gasped softly and blinked, her mind completely addled by his touch. "That - uh.... That was some...goodbye," she stammered, bringing her fingers up to touch the kiss-stung flesh of her lips.

He smiled and sighed. "Its about five years' worth, to be fair."

Molly could only grin dumbly. You are a lawyer for fuck's sakes! You argue cases for a living. You work to set people free. Get it together! She reprimanded herself.

"I - I should...I'm gonna...go," she said softly, though her body was telling her to stay, begging for him to touch her again.

"Bye, Molly," Andrew said, a bemused smile on his face. "It really was lovely to see you again after all these years."

She started toward the door, her mind clouded over.

Holy fucking fuck he's still a good kisser, she thought absentmindedly. Then: Fuck the fucking kissing! Focus on walking without falling the fuck over! Her brain snapped at her, forcing the butterflies and haze away and refocusing her.

She turned to him one last time. "Bye, Andrew."

She walked out of the dressing room with a spring in her step, happy to have closed that chapter of her life. She apologized, he said goodbye, everything was perfect. It was easily the best goodbye she'd ever had. He had accepted things far easier than she thought he would. And her conscience was free. Now she could go home and focus on work.

Home.

Shit.

Molly stopped in her tracks. Oscar was at home with his date. There would be fucking, lots of fucking, and she didn't need to be there while it happened. Where else could she go? She checked her phone. Midnight. Most restaurants had closed. Bars and clubs would be packed with people and she didn't feel like going by herself. She didn't even have a car to sit in since Oscar had driven them to work this morning and they took a LYFT to the Wiltern that night.

Son of a motherfucking bitch.

She had two choices: get a car back home, sneak into the loft, and try to ignore the two men having raucous intercourse. Or sitting in a bar for a couple hours and fending off pervy drunks trying to feel her up.

Or.... Her brain told her, turning her head over her shoulder toward the dressing room.

No. Absolutely not.

I said goodbye. We did the thing. Its weird as fuck to just go back in now.

But was it weirder than sitting at home trying to ignore Oscar and his latest conquest or having to come up with polite quips to turn down overeager and overserved entitled men? Neither option sounded appealing.

You'll embarrass yourself, she thought, wavering in the hallway.

What else was there to do though? She wasn't dressed warmly enough to wander through the streets and she didn't have enough money to pay a car to drive her around aimlessly for hours.

Fuck it.

She took a deep, steadying breath and turned back toward the dressing room. With one final sigh, she knocked softly.

"Yeah, I'm almost done," Andrew said as he opened the door, pulling a shirt down over his pale midriff. He stopped when he saw her, surprise on his face. "Hi."

"I can't go home," she said quickly. He gave her a confused look. "Oscar is at home. With his date." The confused look now included raised eyebrows. "We live in a loft. There are no walls," she explained. "Its either go home or sit in a bar and wait it out, neither of which are great options."

He pushed his glasses up the narrow bridge of his nose. "Do you...want to come inside?" he asked, tossing his thumb over his shoulder.

"Only if I'm not interrupting anything," Molly said. "I can go if its too much trouble."

Andrew opened the door wider in an invitation. "Not at all," he said, returning to his previous task. "I was actually headed back to the hotel, if you want to join me."

Her eyes went wide. "What? Oh - I didn't mean -,"

He smiled a gentle smile. "I have to leave so the theater  staff can go home. But we can hang out at the hotel bar for a bit until it closes. I promise I won't try anything," he chuckled. He zipped his guitar up in a soft sided case and slung it over his shoulder.

Her heart slowed a few beats. "Fine," she accepted.

Stop assuming the man wants to fuck you, she told herself. So what if he was eye fucking you the whole night. Keep it professional.

"Does this mean I get to say goodbye again?" he teased, zipping up his backpack.

She ignored his flirtatious jibe and tried to find something, anything, to change the subject. "Did you know your fans call you Forest Daddy?" she asked, knowing the nickname would embarrass him.

He ducked his head and laughed as a blush rose. "Ehm... yeah."

"How did that one come about?" she asked, enjoying how he squirmed slightly.

And just like that, the dynamic shifted. Her confidence was back and balance was restored.

Andrew shrugged. "Ehm, I'm not really sure to be honest." He slid his backpack on his free shoulder. "Shall we go?" he asked, zipping up his sweatshirt. He grabbed a coat off the clothing rack as he walked toward her. "Here. Its pretty chilly out there."

She took it begrudgingly. A cold snap had blown into the city in the last week or so and it had brought uncharacteristically cold nights, an insult to the sunny and carefree California lifestyle. She tried to read his face, to see if he would betray any emotions from their earlier interaction, but all she could see was his pleasant neutral expression.

The coat was made of a thick army green fabric, almost burlap, and was at least two sizes too big. The sleeves were too long for her arms and it hung down past her butt in the back. But when they emerged from the bowels of the theater onto the street, it was warm and she was grateful. Most of the fans had cleared out and a cleanup crew was working to restore order.

"Thank you!" Andrew called, giving them a wave and a smile as he passed by.

"Do you know how annoying you are?" Molly asked, crossing her arms as they set off toward his hotel a few blocks away.

He gave her an insulted look. "How am I annoying?"

"You're always so fucking nice to everybody," she explained. "Like I don't think you ever said a single negative or mean thing to anyone the entire time we were together. It makes it really hard to be mad at you," she tsked.

He gave her a look of mock indignancy. "I can remember at least one time where I almost punched the fuck out of a guy who was bothering you. I can get angry and I can be rude."

Molly remembered the night in the club when Andrew had pushed a guy away from her in jealousy. It had been kind of hot to her at the time. Now it seemed a little ridiculous.

"Why would you want to be angry with me?" he asked as they waited for a traffic light to change.

"I don't," she said. "But if I did, you make it fucking hard." A gust of wind blew up the street making her gasp. "Jesus fucking Christ! Did you bring the cold with you?" she exclaimed, shoving her hands deeper into her pockets and shivering.

"Here," he said, reaching over and putting the jacket's hood up over her head. "Its barely even cold."

She turned her head and glared at him. "Oh I'm sorry, this is L.A. We don't get air colder than 70 degrees," she intoned.

The light changed and they crossed the street and continued walking. Molly barely realized she was practically jogging to keep up with his long stride because she was freezing. She just wanted to get inside again as quickly as possible. Another light turned red, forcing them to stop. She let out a low whine and shifted her weight on her feet, trying to keep her body warm.

Andrew moved closer, blocking the wind with his larger frame. They stood in silence as the world passed around them. She stole a glance around the edge of her hood and caught his eyes on her. Her face heated up and she turned it away. When they finally reached the hotel, he held the door open for her as she rushed inside. They stood in the lobby for several seconds, gathering themselves after the mad rush.

"We've a few options," he said, leading her away from the door.

"I don't care where we go as long as I get booze," she answered.

He led her through the lobby to a room off to the side. A large dark wood bar dominated the space with plush red bar stools lining its front. A few tables filled the area in front of the door and a couple booths were empty in each corner.

"Could you take this?" Andrew asked as he handed the guitar case to her before turning toward the bar. "You want anything specific?"

"Surprise me," she called over the din of the crowd as she moved for the booth in the far corner.

The leather was buttery and a small lamp hung from the wall above her head cast a soft glow over the table. Molly slid the guitar case onto the bench next to her. She checked her phone, hoping to see a message from Oscar, but nothing had showed up.

"Anything from Oscar yet?" Andrew asked, appearing with a glass in each hand.

"Nope," she replied, taking the glass of amber colored liquid he slid toward her as he sat down.

The light from the wall lamp gave his beard an auburn glow and he looked at her over his own glass. "Good. I was afraid you'd have to leave and I'd have to say goodbye again."

Her heart fluttered slightly at the thought of him kissing her like that again, but she shut it down quickly. No way was she letting anything beyond drinks happen. Right?

"So is this normally what its like after a show on tour?" she asked, lifting her glass.

"Ehm, no. Its usually a lot more chaotic after. We play, say goodbye, and then pack up and get on the bus to head to the next city," he said. He took a sip from his own glass. "But when we're stopped in a city for multiple shows, its much easier to relax after."

"Does that happen often on tours?" she asked. "Multiple dates in the same city?"

She took a swig from the glass and winced as the golden liquid slid across her tongue and down her throat, leaving a distinct apple and alcohol taste behind. He smirked at her reaction.

"Not usually. We only do multiple dates in the big cities - New York, Los Angeles, London, Paris," he explained. "And Dublin, but then I just get to sleep in my own bed," he added with a wink.

"You've gotten so much more confident," she said suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"I remember when we first met, you were awkward as all hell and now you're like this unassuming sex symbol with a commanding presence and a shit-ton of confidence," Molly said.

"Unassuming sex symbol?" he repeated with a laugh. "Jesus, was I ugly as all hell beforehand?"

She laughed and took another swig from her glass, this time enjoying the slow burn as it settled into the pit of her stomach. "No. Its just...its hard to explain. You seem a lot more comfortable in front of people these days, I guess. Its a good thing."

You've also been flirting your ass off with me all night, but I digress, she thought.

"I'll take it as a compliment," he said, downing his glass. "Want another?" he asked, gesturing to her own half-drunk glass.

"Oh, no. I'm fine," she said.

She watched as he maneuvered through the crowd back to the bar. There was an ease about his body movements that was different from before. He was more confident in his height and the space he took up than he used to be. Less apologetic. He had stopped making himself smaller to make others more comfortable. And it was damn sexy.

"Are you sure you don't want anything else?" he asked, when he came back. "The bartender just told me he's making the last call."

She shook her head. "I think I'm done after this one, to be honest." She twirled the glass on the table in front of her. "My drinking days have come and gone."

The bartender announced last call and the bar started to empty out. Andrew downed his drink and waited as Molly nursed hers. She felt the warmth from the alcohol spreading through her body and his gaze from across the table was helping it along.

"Well, is it safe for you to go home yet?" he asked, leaning forward, his thin forearms resting on the edge of the table, long fingers steepled.

"Honestly, I don't think I'm heading home until the morning," she sighed. "At least not for another few hours anyway."

"Come to my room then," he said simply.

She tried to find a hint of intention from his tone, but found nothing. Just the usual nice-guy generosity that made him so hard to hate.

"I don't want to bother you or keep you up," she replied.

"I'm not planning on sleeping anytime soon," he chuckled. "It takes me time to come down from shows. Usually I stay up reading for hours afterward."

You could take your chances with Oscar or take your chances with Andrew, she thought. At least with Andrew, there won't be nudity.

"As long as you're sure," she said.

He stood and swung his backpack on before picking up his guitar case. Then he led her out of the bar to the elevators. The lobby had quieted down considerably and they had a car all to themselves. The silence around them was punctuated by mechanical humming as they were carried upward. She felt his finger tips whisper against hers, but she didn't move. When the doors opened, he let her get out first.

"This way," he said, leading her down the hallway.

Their foot steps echoed in the quiet space and the only other sound was the jingle of his backpack as it hung from his shoulder. When he reached his door, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and slid the keycard into the lock.

She followed him into the dark room and blinked rapidly as he flipped on lights while kicking off his boots. The suite was very similar to the lobby with exposed concrete walls and luxe furnishings. She could see a bedroom off the sitting area. Following his lead, she kicked her own shoes off next to the door.

"Make yourself comfortable," Andrew told her, sliding his bag off and setting his guitar down.

"Can I use your toilet?" she asked.

"No. You have to hold it," he intoned, sitting on the sofa.

"Too bad," she said, ignoring his sarcasm and heading into the en suite in the bedroom.

After taking a quick pee, she washed her hands at the sink, checking her reflection in the gold-framed mirror.

Thank fuck for long wearing mascara and eyeliner, she thought.

She took a deep breath and dried her hands before turning off the light and returning to the sitting area.

"So," he said softly, gazing at her intently.

"So," she replied, meeting his stare from the other end of the sofa.

The heat between them had returned and it was growing. He turned to face her, tucking one of his ankles under his leg. He took a deep breath and tilted his head. Molly felt her inhibitions start to slide.

"You were flirting with me all night," she said softly.

He smiled. "I was. Can you blame me?" He brought his hand to the back of the sofa and leaned his head against it. "I haven't been able to get you out of my head since I saw you at lunch the other day, if I'm honest."

She inhaled sharply at his revelation. "Oh?" she asked in a shaky voice. "Are you hitting on me?"

"No," he replied softly. "I said I wasn't going to try anything and I meant it."

Lies and deception, party of one, her inner voice told her.

"That's very gentlemanly of you," she smirked.

"I try," he smiled. "You can stay, you know."

Its been so long since you last had a guy touch you, she found herself thinking. At least you know him. At least you know what you're getting into. Just give in. Enjoy yourself. You deserve it. Fuck, if Oscar can hook up with a guy he met in the toilet you can hook up with the guy you were with for four months.

She stood. The entire evening had been full of stolen glances and rising heat. The adrenaline was disappearing and she didn't even notice its absence.

"Say goodbye to me," she said quickly before she changed her mind.

He looked at her in surprise. "I - I didn't mean...you don't have to go. I'll sleep on the sofa."

She looked at him intently. "Say. Goodbye. To. Me. Andrew," she repeated slowly, staring him down, waiting for him to catch on before her bold streak disappeared.

And he did. He stood slowly, closing the gap between them. His eyes were so dark, they were almost brown. His hands came up to her face again and he pressed his lips against hers, tentatively at first. That familiar spark was back again but this time she greeted it like an old friend.