Founded on Goodbye: A Rockstar Romance

by Kat Singleton

  I bask in the feeling of his lips against my neck and his finger inside me. I’m getting closer and closer to release, but it isn’t good enough for me. The quick movement of letting my leg fall to the ground pushes Nash out of me. I take advantage of him being stunned, spinning my body so our fronts are now pressed against the other’s. There’s no mistaking the hard bulge that now rests against my stomach.

  My eyes find his while my hand snakes underneath his shirt. I’m met with the warmth of his skin. Splaying my fingers across his chest, I let my hand drift lower and lower, getting desperately closer to the waistband of his briefs. “I missed you too,” I admit, without thinking about the weight of my words. Slipping my fingers underneath the band, I watch in fascination as his eyes become hooded.

  “You did?” The vulnerability in his tone sends an arrow straight to my heart.

  I nod sincerely, my fingertips exploring his warm skin.

  “I don’t want to miss you,” he admits to the space between us.

  “Then don’t,” I say, raising to my toes. My lips find his neck. His head tilts instantly, allowing me even more room to explore. I’m memorizing the curve of his Adam’s apple when in one swift motion, he’s lifting me by my hips, my back hitting the cold mirror. My weight rests on the barre attached to the wall. Not trusting the barre to hold me for long, I wrap my legs around his middle, pulling him in close to me and dispersing the weight.

  Picking up where I left off earlier, I slide my fingers back underneath his waistband. Nash helps me balance while I quickly undo the button of his jeans. The fabric falls down his hips. Not wasting any time, my fingers move swiftly underneath his briefs, pulling at them until there is nothing in the way. I’m cascading down the exposed skin on the way to his hardness when he traps my lips in his.

  The kiss is heated, burning a trail from the point our lips meet all the way down to my toes. His moan is lost in my mouth the moment my hand wraps around his length. I didn’t know a kiss could be felt in so many different places.

  One of his hands slaps down on the mirror next to my head, his mouth tearing away from mine.

  My core tightens as he lifts my shirt off, pulling my hand off him in the process. The soft pink shirt lands softly on the floor. His eyes roam slowly over the swells of my breasts.

  Frustrated by the clothes still separating us, I slide my hand underneath the denim of his jacket, coaxing it off. I’m seconds away from tugging his shirt off when he drops to his knees.

  He places each one of my legs so they rest over his strong shoulders. Nash’s hands grab at my leggings, pulling them down in one, swift tug. He traces a wet trail from the inside of my knee all the way up my thigh.

  “That’s the problem,” Nash breathes, his breath hot against me as he continues the previous conversation.

  I look down, trying not to clench my thighs when I see the sight of him looking up at me from between my legs.

  “It’s too late, I already miss you. And I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do with that information, Rose.” He doesn’t give me time to respond. He spreads my legs open with expertise, his mouth landing on my very center.

  His tongue works against me instantly. My body reacting to every lap of his tongue as a small part of my heart becomes his with his admission. A moan echoes off the walls when a finger joins in. My hands twist in his hair, needing something of him to grab. Holding him against me, I feel my muscles begin to clench.

  “Fuck, Nora.” His breath tickles the inside of my thighs.

  “So close,” I pant, my back arching off the mirror as he hooks his finger.

  It doesn’t take long for me to reach a release. My body writhes against his mouth as I ride the waves of my orgasm.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper, my hand reaching toward him as he stands up.

  His fingers wrap tightly around my wrist before I can get my hand down his pants. He groans, his lips pressing softly against my temple. “I have to go.”

  Our chests rise and fall in perfect sync. Nash sighs, bending down to hand me my discarded leggings. Holding them above the ground slightly, he gestures for me to step into them.

  I’ve got one foot into the hole when he speaks again. “Monica is waiting in the car with Bash and Matt. I have an interview for a magazine I agreed to a year ago. I think Monica would wring my neck if we were late. It took me being a pain in the ass for a solid hour for her to let us stop here on the way to the interview.”

  Once both my feet are in, I steady myself by grabbing his shoulders as he pulls the black fabric up my legs. Shivers run down my spine as I feel his knuckles on the side of my leg, my body already craving his touch all over again.

  “I’m shocked you’re listening to Monica,” I mutter.

  Nash helps me back into my shirt. Giving me a sideways smirk before answering, “Yeah, it’s part of this whole new Nash. You’re helping me fall in love with my job again. I figured that would be a lot easier if I wasn’t constantly battling with my manager.”

  Before I have a chance to say anything, Nash’s hands find my cheeks. I can smell myself on his fingers, something I thought would gross me out, but the warming in my belly proves exactly the opposite. “Thanks for the pick me up, Rose. Having my face between your thighs was exactly what I needed to get me through another god forsaken interview.”

  His thumb brushing over my cheek, he lays one last, long kiss against my lips. Then, I watch in silence as he swaggers right back out of the room.

  Stopping at the door with one hand on the handle, he turns around to face me. Grabbing at the tent of his jeans, he leaves me with a sentence that has me wanting a replay of what we just did. “We’ll finish this later, Rose. I’m not done with you.” He gives me a wink and then he’s out of sight.

  I’m not sure how long I stay with my feet planted, eyes glued back on the door as if he would reappear. All I know is that singing is not the only wonderful thing he can do with his mouth.

  I want to feel it again.

  “Fuck no,” I tell Poe, throwing the nearest thing to me (an empty water bottle) at him.

  The fucker catches it easily, wagging his eyebrows at me. “Oh, just admit it, asshole. You have a thing for the dancer!” He looks over to Landon, bumping him on the shoulder. “Tell him, Land.”

  Landon shrugs, biting at his lip before answering. “I mean, you do seem to really like her, Nash.”

  Scrubbing at my eyes, I let out an audible groan, pissed off at them for calling me out like this. It’s been a week since I had my first real taste of Nora, and apparently, it’s fucking obvious that all I want is more. I’ve had a busy schedule on top of the tour the past week, so I haven’t seen her as much as I would like to.

  It’s completely out of character for me, but I haven’t let her finish me off yet. I can’t fucking explain why, it’s not like she hasn’t tried—and tried she has. I haven’t let her go further because deep down I know shit is different with her, and I’m absolutely terrified about what happens when—if—things go further between us. I’m not strong enough to be in control of my feelings for her, if I’m even doing that now.

  When I told her in that dingy dance studio that I don’t miss people, I was being completely honest. I don’t want to fucking miss anyone. I don’t want to be put in the place where another can take a bulldozer to my heart. Deep down, underneath the Nash Pierce the world sees, I’m just a broken guy who puts too much value in a relationship.

  It’s part of the reason Taylor and I broke up. I was too obsessed with either her or the music, unable to balance both. My self-worth was dependent on what kind of boyfriend I was to her and what kind of music I was putting out in the world. There was no in-between for me, and it wasn’t the least bit healthy.

  I’m not naïve enough to think the downfall of our relationship was completely her fault. Some of it was on me, for sure. I had trust issues a mile long, and they only got worse when we weren’t together. Which, with my life, was a lot. But trust issues and self
-esteem problems be damned, it didn’t mean she had the right to fuck my best friend behind my back.

  After walking in on her riding Collin’s dick like it was a damn mechanical bull, I swore I would never put my self-worth in another’s hands. And part of that promise was to never do another serious relationship at all.

  Now I find myself wondering if I’ve healed enough since Taylor to be able to do a normal relationship. If I wanted to, that is.

  Could I date Nora without becoming so obsessed with her that it drove us both crazy? Would my shitty self-esteem and trust issues get in the way?

  I’d love to say I think I’ve healed since the betrayal. But I’m not completely sure I have. Now that I’m faced with the reality that I might want to let someone else in again, I’m wondering if I even can. I’m afraid all this time I may have just been putting band aids on my wounds in the form of alcohol and sex.

  I know that eventually, maybe soon even, I’ll either have to walk away from Nora or go all the way with her. I also know that either option could lead to my demise.

  I’m running through the possibilities when something bounces off my head. Shaking away the thoughts, I look toward a wide-eyed Poe.

  “Dreaming about Nora?” he teases, unknowingly right on the money with his assumption.

  “We’re just getting to know each other,” I grumble, standing up and reaching for the ceiling of the bus. I stretch out my arms, the boxing workout from this morning leaving me sore.

  Poe lets out a cackle, Landon quietly laughing next to him. I get annoyed enough to consider firing the two assholes and just finding new bandmates.

  “Getting to know each other, my ass,” Poe continues. “You look at her differently, Nash.”

  Rolling my eyes, I start to walk away from him. I’m about to walk off the bus altogether when my curiosity gets the best of me. “How do I look at her differently?” I ask, feeding right into the palm of his hand.

  “It’s hard to explain. You just have this look when you’re truly happy. Sometimes it appears when you’re on the phone with your little brother, sometimes in the midst of a songwriting session, and often when the crowd sings your song back to you. You look at her the same way. When you look at her, you look happy.”

  I stand there dumbfounded, still staring at him when a soft knock breaks my focus.

  Slowly, the door opens, a mousy assistant on the other side. She has two coffees in her hand—one for me and one I ordered for Nora.

  “Your coffees, sir,” she says, hesitantly looking from me to the guys and back.

  It isn’t hard to miss the loud rumble of laughter coming from both Landon and Poe. “Case in point!” Landon jokes from behind me. “Nash Pierce is a simp!”

  I don’t spare either of them a second glance when I rip the coffees from the girl’s hands.

  “Thanks, Layla,” I say, breezing past her before those two fuckers can get any more of a rise out of me.

  “It’s Lauren!” she yells behind me.

  I turn around and smile, feeling a little guilty. “Thanks, Lauren.”

  Weaving in and out of the parked buses, I make it to one of the stadium entrances. My eyes track the empty seats until I spot her. I find her pretty high up, her eyes glued to the crew members that are setting up for tonight. It’s looking like it might be a rain show, which requires a few extra steps for setup.

  Taking advantage of the moment, I watch her, trying to see the setup through her eyes. Stage members in black shirts are scattered around the different stages. The lighting crew is behind the stage pit, a pile of members fiddling with a spotlight. I remember the first time the boys and I had our first stadium concert. We were all amazed at the amount of work it took to get our stage set. Years later, my stage setup and production are way more complicated, meaning a lot more people are involved.

  When my eyes find Nora again, I find her doe-eyed gaze already on me. My feet start to make their way to her of their own accord. As I get closer to her, I find a beaming smile on her face.

  “I was starting to think you forgot about me,” she says, greedily taking her coffee as I hand it to her. She grabs it so quickly that I almost drop my own. The moan that escapes her lips as she sucks on the straw makes the shit I got from my bandmates almost worth it.

  I take the seat next to her. “And deal with you later with no caffeine in your veins? I’m not trying to torture the crew.”

  Her hand thumps me on the arm playfully. “You don’t even know what I’m like without my coffee,” she counters, proceeding to take another slurp of her iced coffee.

  Running my hand over my mouth to hide my smile, I shake my head. “That’s false. During one of our rehearsals for our solo you had mentioned how you didn’t have time to grab coffee. You were crabby the whole damn day. I was close to having my assistant fetch you a coffee just to get you to stop criticizing my dancing.”

  She narrows her bright eyes. “If I remember correctly, you weren’t exactly pleasant that day either.”

  Thinking back on it, I remember the massive hangover I was nursing as well as the scratches I had down my back from the woman I slept with the night before. I don’t remember her name, despite her obvious attempt to mark me as if the gashes down my back would make me want to call her the next day. (It didn’t.)

  Between the hangover and the sore back from the talon marks, the last place I wanted to be was at a dance rehearsal. Nora’s out of character attitude that day didn’t help the situation. Choosing not to bring attention to the reason why I acted like a prick that particular day, I throw my arm around her.

  She easily leans into the crook of my arm, the silence between us comfortable as we take in the view below us. My fingers rub absentmindedly over the fabric of her shirt.

  “They’re saying it’ll probably be a rain show,” she finally says, nestling her head into the crook of my neck.

  “It’s looking like it.” The weather forecast is calling for a high chance of rain starting at five and going through the night. Our openers go on at seven and by the talks of my team, it’s a good chance all of us will be playing with heavy rain.

  “Do you like rain shows?” she asks, setting her coffee in the cupholder to her left.

  “They’re my favorite,” I answer honestly, recalling a vivid memory from my first rain show. It was the wildest experience. There’s something about the devotion of the fans, still there to watch you perform even in the pouring rain. Every rain show since I’ve made sure to give my all and then some, letting myself get soaked from the drops just like the fans.

  “I’m excited. Except I hope I don’t fall.” Her second sentence is said as an afterthought, as if it only just occurred to her that was a possibility.

  “They’ll put something on the bottom of your shoes for more grip,” I assure her.

  One time I put on the wrong pair of shoes that wardrobe left out for me and completely ate shit while performing. The video of me busting my ass replayed on gossip sites for weeks. Of course, they questioned if it was because I was so hammered that I couldn’t even walk without biting it. Trying to sell the best story possible, they failed to leave out the details of the pouring rain and the soaking wet stage I was performing on.

  Her fingers play with the threads of my ripped jeans, the occasional brush of her fingers against my exposed skin making my dick stir. “That’s good,” she says softly.

  “I’m psyched for you to have your first rain show. There’s nothing like it.”

  “Oh, I bet.”

  Our conversation dies down then. People are constantly trying to get my attention, always needing me for something, so the comfortable silence we can fall into means more to me than I could put into words. I’m not used to silence. In fact, I used to be under the impression that I couldn’t handle silence, not wanting to be left alone with my thoughts for too long.

  With Nora, I can be left with my thoughts and have them not be dangerous.

  It’s a feeling I want to chase and run fro
m all at once.

  “Thank you, Nashville!” I shout, pushing wet strands of hair out of my face. My white T -shirt is completely plastered to my body. The soaked, white sleeves doing nothing to hide the string of tattoos going up both my arms.

  The crowd erupts in cheers. There are screams and yelling coming from every direction. The show is coming to a close, the rain beating down on us for the duration of it.

  In front of me I see thousands of drenched fans, all with smiles on their faces as they chant for an encore. Soggy poster boards wave in the air, the words bleeding down the boards from the rain. Through the chants and the cheers, one word starts to become more and more pronounced.

  A smile tugs at my lips when their cheers clearly make out her name.

  “Nora! Nora! Nora!”

  Their screams are relentless, and after taking in what it feels like to hear them say her name, I throw them a bone. Walking down the catwalk, I pull out both of my earpieces.

  “Do you guys want Nora for an encore?” I tease, knowing exactly what they want. An encore of Preach. It isn’t my normal encore song, the slow tempo not typically how I like to end a show, but these fans have really stuck it out in this weather. Who am I to deprive them of what they want?

  “Preach!” they scream.

  I make eye contact with some of the fans in the pit, their hair sticking wet to their faces as their hands thrash in the air with excitement. They’re wearing merch from different phases of my life—clearly dedicated fans.

  “Let me see what I can do,” I hint, my voice lowering. I turn toward my band. “What do you guys say? Should we end the night with Preach?”

  Troy answers immediately, hammering his drum set as a clear yes. Poe and Luke both nod in agreement. Landon is the last to respond, sliding his hand down the keyboard and giving me a thumbs up.

  Turning from the band, I look back toward the audience. “We’re getting warmer,” I tell them, placing only one of my earpieces back in my ear. “Can somebody bring me my acoustic? And a headset?” I ask over the mic, knowing somebody from the stage crew will oblige.