My Night with a Rockstar

by Mankin, Michelle

  I push the door open, and my snarky comment stalls on my lips.

  “Eli?” My stomach drops at the sight.

  He’s doubled over on the edge of the bed, his fists clenched in his hair. His chest inflates in rapid succession, and I forget all about our feud as I rush toward him.

  “Hey,” I say gently, kneeling in front of him. I look up into his face, but his eyes barely react. Glazed and haunted, they stare off into some distant place I can’t see. I tug his wrists, forcing his attention to me. “Eli, listen to me. You’re having a panic attack. You need to control your breathing. Look at me.”

  His gaze flickers to mine, and my stomach clenches at the terror there. “It’s okay. Hey, it’s going to be okay. Just focus on my voice. We’re going to breathe. I need you to exhale now. Let all the air out through your mouth. Good, yes.” I squeeze his wrists as he follows along. “Okay, now close your mouth and breathe in slowly through your nose. One. Two. Three. Four. Good.” His eyes clench shut, and I tug his arms until his hands loosen in his hair. “Hold it there for several seconds. Let’s count to seven, okay? One. Two. Three…” I count slowly, lowering his hands until I can hold them firmly in mine. “You’re doing great,” I say, forcing my voice calm. “Now, let that breath out just as slowly. Let’s count to eight this time.”

  He obeys my steady commands, and I run soothing strokes up his arm with my fingertips as we work through another cycle of deep breaths. After a third round, he seems to be relaxing, at the very least, getting the right amount of air. My fingers find his again, entwining in an instinctive knot. He’s gripping hard, and I pull gently until his pretty eyes rest on me. The smirk is gone now. The cockiness and swagger. For a brief second he looks young, like a terrified child, and I have to resist the urge to pull him into my arms. We’re strangers. In a high-stress, unusual situation, sure, but still strangers.

  But then he licks his lips. Stares at mine. Am I doing it too? Staring at his?

  No. That’s crazy. I force myself to let go of his hands.

  Clearing my throat, I shift back to the mattress beside him. “You hungry? I don’t keep much food down here because of ants and mice, but I have a few snacks I could dig out.”

  “I’m okay,” he says. “I have some stuff in my bag too.”

  I glance over at his backpack. “That’s good. When’s the last time you’ve eaten a real meal?”

  His gaze lifts to the ceiling, and my stomach clenches as he considers the question. He can’t even remember? Without thinking, I reach over and squeeze his knee. “I’ll see what I can do. Will you play again while I look?” That’s as much for him as it is for me. He was different when he played. Ethereal and free.

  He swallows, his eyes darting back to the guitar on the floor. “Sure,” he says, scooping it into his arms. I love the way he handles that old piece of crap. Like it’s sacred or something. He makes it sacred the way he’s able to pull such beauty from it. It’s never sounded like that in all the years I’ve owned it. The familiar intro to “Greetings from the Inside” fills the room, and it’s everything I can do not to go running back to hover like a desperate fangirl. When he starts to sing again, I might melt a little. A lot. I melt a lot. He’s halfway through the second chorus when I realize I’m still standing in the middle of the room watching him. Good thing he said he wasn’t hungry.

  One of my responsibilities at the theater is stocking the artist lounges and green rooms with provisions. Having just gone to the store yesterday in preparation for our A-list visitors, I feel good about my promise to feed Eli, until I realize all the tasty treats in my memory are locked upstairs. I meant to bring a few items down for myself but got tied up. I’ll do it later is now a phrase I’m regretting in so many ways. Once we get out of here, I’m buying that boy the biggest, most obnoxious steak dinner I can afford to fill his stomach before sending him on his way, but for now… half a box of dry cereal? Yep. That’s what I’ve got, apparently. Maybe some carrot sticks in the fridge.

  I glance over as Eli hits the bridge of “Greetings,” surprised by his ability to pick out the intricate lead line. Sweat dampens the hair at his temple, his shirt clinging to his back. I notice the shading of a few tattoos through transparent spots in the fabric. The heat isn’t just affecting him. It’s freaking hot in here. The controls are tied to the main heating system, which can only be accessed from another part of the theater. I’ve been meaning to get that thing fixed for months, but like always, I’ll do it later. I didn’t, and now I have to watch with startled awe as my guest stops playing and lifts the edge of his shirt to his face again. He wipes briskly before shaking his head and ripping it off altogether. Oh shit.

  I can’t tear my gaze away as he picks up the guitar again and resumes playing like he didn’t just stop my heart and send all my girly parts into a frenzy. The muscles in his back and arm move in sharp groves with every strum, and sure enough, there are tattoos everywhere. Gorgeous, intricate art done by a skilled hand. Tattoos like that are expensive. Again, if he’s homeless it must have been a recent hardship. Now, I really want to know his story.

  He must sense the attention when he glances over, that adorable smile slipping over his lips as he watches me watch him. “Sorry. It’s hot,” he explains unnecessarily through the chord progression. Yes. It is. So very hot. His hands continue to play, but his gaze remains fixed on me. Is it because I’m staring at him? Or… his eyes drift over my body, and a fresh wave of heat blasts through me. I swallow hard, suddenly very interested in a bottle of cold water. Does he need another? I cross to the mini fridge and grab a couple.

  He has to stop playing to accept my offering, which I regret a little. But maybe it’s okay when his fingers connect with mine again at the transfer. Our hands linger like that for a second. Long enough to know we both want them there. That we’re both enjoying the sparks firing through the seam of our touch. I pull the bottle out of his grip and toss it on the bed. Turning his hand in mine, I trace the callouses on his fingertips. No wonder he’s so good. With callouses like these, he must play a lot.

  “Where did you come from?” I murmur, more to myself than him.

  “The parking lot,” he quips with that crooked smile I love so much. I want to touch it. My other hand lifts and stops. I’m standing just inches in front of him as he looks up from the bed, waiting, watching. Does he want me to touch him? He hasn’t pulled away from our connected hands. In fact, his strong, toned fingers knit with mine again. He tugs just enough to force me a step closer. Our knees are almost touching now. Me, standing; him, still seated. I let my brave hand go free to find out if that smile feels as amazing as it looks. I literally sigh at the contact.

  Eli

  Shit. What are you doing, Eli? The inner voice of my conscience is shouting at me. Loud and obnoxious, it warns that Marina isn’t some random groupie who signed up for a quickie with a rock star. Hell, does she even know who I am? I don’t think so. It’s never come up, and at this point would be weird to just blurt out like an arrogant douche. I have no interest in embarrassing her. I also have no interest in hurting her because this weird situation has convinced her she’s attracted to me.

  But when her fingers brush over my lips, the quiet warning voices blur into an equally strong need to be touched. To feel anything except fear in this moment. To relieve some of the tension coiled in my body since the second this cute girl in her underwear threatened me with a broom. My life has been a series of meaningless hookups for as long as I can remember. And now that Luke and Casey have settled down, Sweeny and I get even more action as the only single guys in the band. But this feels different. There are factors involved that have changed the rules, and suddenly this player doesn’t feel so good about playing.

  I catch her wrist and lower it from my face, searching her eyes. She stares back with raw fascination I’ve seen before, but never like this. Never because I was me and not a member of Night Shifts Black. The fact that she doesn’t know who I am bothered me a second ago
. Now it fires strange sparks of awareness. In a weird way, it makes this moment more real than if she did. Still…

  “We’re reacting to circumstances,” I say, testing the response of her deep blue irises. If anything, they darken with hunger when she senses my compliance. “These feelings—this attraction—probably isn’t real.”

  “Yes, I’m aware,” she says, licking her lips. Her gaze drops to my mouth again. I can’t stop staring at hers.

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Are you a consenting adult?” she teases, taking another step closer. Her hands slide up my arms and close over my shoulders. Her knee wedges between my legs, and I hiss in a breath at the direct contact.

  I can’t help but smirk at her question. Her sly expression. The whole damn thing is so hot and cute at the same time. “Yes, I’m a consenting adult,” I say with a grin. “Are you?”

  She nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she delivers another lustful glance at the slow movement of her knee against my groin.

  I grasp her waist and pull her in even closer. Her thumbs lock below my jaw and tilt my face up to her. I wait patiently, not wanting to scare her and still not certain this should be happening.

  “We can stop whenever you want,” I say, studying her. But she doesn’t seem to be hesitating out of indecision. No, her gaze has very much decided it wants me. Her hands too. Her knee is already taking.

  I grunt when she shoves me back on the bed, tucking her left knee further against my hardness. Her right leg balances on the other side of mine as I catch her weight on top of me. Her lips meld into mine, as soft and delicious as I expect. She tastes like mint and lip gloss. I shove my hands in her curls, angling her mouth for better access. With a soft moan, her own hands snake into my hair in a firm grip.

  I flip us over, loving the way she gasps at the surprise maneuver. Her legs instinctively wrap around my thighs to scissor us closer. She must feel every hard inch of me, and her hips buck in a silent plea for more. She frees one hand to shove down my back beneath the waistband of my shorts. Her fingertips sink into my skin, guiding our hips in a deliberate, rhythmic dance. I press harder against her tiny shorts, wanting them off, but also wanting to take it slow. We’ve got time. Nothing but time.

  “Eli,” she gasps out.

  “Yeah?” I grunt, sampling the skin on her neck. She groans and tilts her head to give me better access.

  “You’re a really good kisser.”

  I smirk through more gentle sucks until I sense the shiver running through her. “Thanks.”

  “Welcome,” she sighs out.

  Welcome? Man, she’s cute.

  But just when I’m convinced she’s a sweet novice, her toes hook in my shorts and shove them down. Whoa. No time wasted there.

  Surprised, I pull back for a better read of her face. Her hooded eyes flash with mischief. Maybe a slight dare to counter. I push my palm along her side, tucking under her tank top until it bunches above her bra. She lifts enough to free it, and I pull it over her head and toss it on the floor.

  Damn. Now that’s a view.

  It’s not like she was hiding much with those scraps of fabric, but I’d been purposely blocking it out to avoid the fire that’s suddenly roaring through my veins. I’m the one groaning now, all thoughts of going slow laughable memories.

  “You’re so fucking edible,” I mutter, kissing down her chest to the swell of her breast. I yank down the cup and enjoy another breathtaking image before tasting that too. She wriggles beneath me, and soon I see blue lace flying past my peripheral to join the growing pile on the floor. Pushing up on my arms, I stare at her in awe for a moment, still unable to believe that hours ago I had no idea this person existed.

  “You’re sure?” I ask.

  Her eyes narrow as her palms slide down my stomach. I hiss in a breath when she grabs me and begins a steady stroke. “I’m sure. Please tell me you have more than just snacks in that backpack.”

  With a grin, I force myself to extract from her enticing grip and reach for my bag.

  • • •

  Marina

  The temperature is now blazing in here. It’s him. It’s me. It’s us. And yes, probably the broken radiator too. But as I watch him search through his bag, naked and beautiful and so unexpectedly sweet, I realize how much I needed this. To do something crazy. To feel living, oxygenated blood rushing through me. I’ve been a shadow since Evan broke off our engagement six months ago. Literally disappearing into the bowels of my work to escape not just heartache, but the life that caused it. My job was all I had, and I turned to it with vigor it didn’t deserve. I melted into these walls, became a part of this old theater to the point where I stopped thinking about any kind of life outside it. I was trapped here without realizing it. And I never would have broken out.

  It took someone breaking in.

  Eli returns to the bed, his expression probing again. “You okay?” he asks, running his fingers along my cheek. “We don’t have to do this.”

  I grasp his fingers and bring them to my lips.

  “Oh, yes we do,” I say with a smile. He returns it, and I thread my hands in his hair to pull him back to me. Our kiss is slow and deep, fueling the internal heat with each languid suck and thrust of the tongue. I hook my leg around the back of his again, encouraging him toward me. I want to feel full. To explode with life and human contact. I want to experience this exasperating, enigmatic stranger who has the body of an athlete and the soul of an artist. He’s captured my fascination, and now I want to capture him, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment of connection. I already know this flash of time will have a lasting impact. I’ll carry this strange encounter with me long after we move on with our lives.

  For now, there’s still plenty to enjoy in the present. I gasp as he pushes into me, surprised at how good it feels. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex. Not since Evan, and longer since I’ve wanted it so badly. Evan and I made it work. We didn’t need each other in a rush of animalistic desire that sent two strangers into an insatiable longing to own and be owned. My limbs are already stiffening with tiny explosions of lust. Building. Climbing. My breaths turn to moans, and I grip his shoulders, lifting my hips to take more of him.

  “Eli,” I breathe out.

  Sweat covers his body as he pushes harder, reading me perfectly. I cling to him, loving how we connect in the perfect blend of molten friction. Deeper, heavier, longer we collide until… I gasp his name again. A plea? An exclamation? A victory? I don’t even know. I just need to hear it while I feel, taste, and smell every other aspect of that explosive exhilaration. I want to capture it and hold on. To tuck it away so that after this man returns to the dream world from which he came, I can remember what it was like to experience living again. I can hold up this moment as a banner upon which to build my search for more of it.

  A few seconds later, Eli exhales his own release, and collapses on top of me, supporting his weight on one arm as much possible. The crooked smile on his face is almost shy when his gaze ventures to mine.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “More than okay,” I say, tracing the stubble on his chin. His smile spreads into a grin I feel throughout my entire body.

  “Good.” He sighs and pushes off with his other arm to roll to the mattress beside me. Releasing a long breath, he twists his head to look back over. “Fuck, it’s like a thousand degrees in here. You want to continue this in that weird-ass tub you’ve got?”

  Eli

  She’s up for some tub action. And more bed action. And pretty much anything else we can think of over the next few hours. Not once do I worry about the walls closing in the entire time we’re together, and honestly, there are several moments I find myself selfishly hoping her boss takes his time coming in to work today. The thing is, she’s fun to talk to as well. It turns out, she really loves music. This theater isn’t just a job to her, but a passion. I love the way her face lights up when she talks about the acts that have com
e through here over the years, including many that were well-before her time.

  “I can’t wait for tomorrow,” she says, tucked in my arms, still naked as we stare up from her bed at the thick ceiling beams.

  “Yeah?”

  She nods. “I mean, Night Shifts Black. Can you imagine? Luke Craven, Casey Barrett. Damn. I’ve heard they’re super cool guys. Like really down-to-earth, you know?”

  “Yeah, they are.”

  She glances over in surprise, and I wince at my slip. “They are? How do you know?”

  “Um…” Shit. Do I tell her? I want to, but then, things have been going so well. We might still have hours stuck in this hole. Do I want to spend it with her hating me again? “I just mean, I’ve heard that.”

  She relaxes a bit, but now I feel worse. Up until now I haven’t lied. It never came up who I was. That’s not my fault. But now I’ve essentially deceived her when I had a chance to come clean. Sighing, I pull away and prop myself up to face her. I’ve never been that guy and I’m not going to start now.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I brace myself for war. “Marina, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Her eyes widen for a second and then soften with sympathy. She reaches up and brushes my cheek. “I already know. And it’s okay.”

  Surprised, I blink at her a few times. “You do?”

  “Yes. I suspected it from the beginning. But I don’t believe in judging people.”

  “Oh. Um. Okay?” I drop back to the sheets, staring at the ceiling again. “How did you know?” I mean, it’s pretty obvious, I guess.

  “The backpack.”

  “My overnight bag?”

  She nods. “Sure, whatever you want to call it. You’re not the first to sneak in here, believe me. I’ll admit, I was nervous and upset at first, but I know you didn’t realize this was my home.”