Dream Lover

by Aubrey Wright

  Finally, I was able to break away from them, but only with promises that I’d fill them in on all the details. Then they were gone, and I was alone, just me and whatever the hell it was that I’d gotten myself into.

  I started backstage, and after making my way down the hall, I was soon up against a massive, burly security guard with a shaved head and a gut that looked like he had an air conditioner smuggled under his too-tight shirt. He peered down at me with beady eyes, waiting for me to explain myself.

  Part of me felt like I totally didn’t belong, like this dude was about to throw me out on my ass the second I tried to explain myself.

  But I was no weak chick—and aside from that, I’d gotten a personal invite from the man himself. So, I cleared my throat and stepped up to the guy.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m meeting with Noah Mack.”

  I realized how silly my words sounded the moment they came out of my mouth. I was in total professional mode, speaking like I was telling a secretary that I had a meeting.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll bet.”

  He glanced back up, suggesting that this was the end of the conversation.

  Not a chance.

  “Excuse me,” I said again. “I spoke with Noah himself, and he told me personally to come back after the show. Now, if you’ll let me past…”

  I began to move around him, but he quickly, with surprising speed for a dude his size, shot out an arm the size of a freaking love seat, and I slammed right into him. The dude didn’t budge, and I stumbled backward just as surely as if I’d walked straight into the side of a bus.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked. “I told you, I’m meeting with Noah Mack.”

  “Listen, lady,” he said, his accent more Staten Island than Silver Lake. “You and every other chick in this place wants to meet with Noah. And it’s my job to make sure none of you all get past. So, you can be a sweetheart and get out of here, or I can pick you up and carry you out.”

  Yeah, the guy was just doing his job. But that didn’t mean I cared one damn bit for being called…

  “Sweetheart?” I asked. “Did you seriously just call me ‘sweetheart’?”

  “Sure did,” he said, not bothered in the slightest by my anger. “What, you prefer ‘honey’? ‘Babe’?”

  He was really getting my goat, burning my biscuits, grinding my gears. Sure, he had a job to do, but that didn’t mean he needed to be a sexist pig in the process.

  I stuck a finger in his face, which meant that I had to point upward at his towering frame. “Listen, bud,” I said. “You’d better let me see Noah now, because if you don’t and he finds out…”

  “He’ll get over it,” he said. “Not like he’s hurting for chicks.”

  Now I was angry and jealous—not exactly the peanut-butter-and-chocolate of emotional combos.

  “Now,” he said. “I’m going to ask you nicely one last time and—”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish.

  “There you are!”

  The two of us shot our eyes in the direction of the voice, which belonged to none other than Noah. Still dressed in his totally silly but totally hot leather and snakeskin boots, he sauntered over, his face looking shockingly sexy in that makeup.

  “Mick!” said Noah, approaching the guard and giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “You making my guest feel welcome? Of course you are—you’re just a big teddy bear, right?”

  For the first time since our little encounter, the guy looked nervous. “Just, ah, clearing her first,” he said.

  Sure, I could’ve said something about how this guy could stand to take a gender studies course or two at the local community college, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “I’ll bet,” said Noah.

  Then he turned his attention to me, his dark eyes like little pools of melted sea-salt-caramel ice cream set among the wild blue of his eyeshadow.

  “Come on,” he said.

  He turned and was off, and I gave one last “see?” look at Mick before following him along. Moments later, I was at Noah’s side, not able to give the slightest shit about what had just happened.

  “Like the show?” he asked as we made our way down the hall to wherever he had in mind, stage crew making their way all around us.

  I cleared my throat and did my best to compose myself.

  “It was great,” I said, keeping my voice even and calm.

  “Dang,” he said. “I can tell by the tone of your voice that you got knocked on your ass.”

  He flashed me a grin to let me know he was just messing around. We kept on moving, and all the while I stared at him like I was hallucinating. I took him all in, from his lusciously toned arms to his broad shoulders to the way those leather pants hugged his round, round booty. And you could tell just by the way he walked that he knew how to move.

  “Where are we going?” I asked as we went up the stairs to the second floor. “Dressing room?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Come on.”

  Looked like there was only one way I was going to find out. I continued to follow Noah, eventually reaching a large door on the second floor, the words “manager” written on the front on a silver plaque. My gut tingled like I’d just swallowed a gallon of Pop Rocks. He opened the door, revealing a gorgeous office decked out in sleek furniture. Noah strode in and hopped onto the couch, the city glittering in the window behind him.

  “Manager’s office,” he said. “He lets me use the joint when he’s not here.”

  And that’s when it hit me. The room, the view, Noah—it was my freaking fantasy. And not just some far-off fantasy that I might’ve had at some point in the distant past. No, it was the one I’d taken care of business to earlier that same day!

  “Come on in,” said Noah. “Get comfortable.”

  I entered, still not sure what to make of everything that was happening. Noah, moving as slinky as ever, sauntered over to the bar and made a couple of drinks.

  “Name’s Noah Mack,” he said as he handed one over to me.

  “Pepper,” I said.

  “Pleasure, Pepper,” he said. “That’s a unique name.”

  I waited for what was next—a terrible joke about my name. But it didn’t come.

  “You look surprised,” he said.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just waiting for the inevitable pun on my name. Like, ‘Hope I can be the salt to your pepper’ or something awful like that. I don’t think I’ve met a guy who’s been able to resist.” I knew I was nervous and spitting out some serious TMI, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Like, every guy I’ve been on a date with has done the same thing. And I’m just like, you know if someone has a funny name then they’ve heard every possible joke you could ever make about it a million times before you, and even if they’re funny, well, I’ve met plenty of funny people and they all beat you to it and—”

  My eyes went wide and I finally got a hold of myself. Thankfully, Noah didn’t look to be as shocked as I might’ve thought he would've been. If anything, he looked amused. Which was good for me, because as many times as this fantasy had played out on my mind, complaining about my ex-fiancé sure as shit had never been a part of it.

  “Easy, tiger,” he said. “Deep breaths.”

  “Sorry,” I said, collecting myself. “Just that…this is all so much.” Then the real question of the night formed in my head. “Why am I here?”

  Noah stepped back to the couch and plopped onto it. “You’re here because you want to be here,” he said, all charm and confidence.

  “I mean, I get that,” I said. “But you could’ve picked any girl in the place to come hang out with you tonight after the show, or hell, dance with you like a lunatic on stage. Why me?”

  “Because you’re hot as shit?” he asked, not missing a beat. “How about that?”

  He was so direct about it that I couldn’t help but be taken aback. But I liked it. I was so used to guys who seemed more scared by women than attracted to them—Noah’s
upfrontness was something of a relief.

  Noah patted the leather couch. “Come sit with me,” he said. “I want to know all about you, Pepper.”

  I did as he asked, my butt sinking into the couch as I sat down next to him, my legs flying up into the air and my purse sliding off my arm and onto the ground, spilling out everywhere. And, of course, I fell right over into Noah’s lap, the VPN staring me right in the face. I was mortified and turned on all at once as Noah bent over to collect the contents of my purse and help me put them back.

  “Oh my god!” I said, pretty much yelling into his package.

  Noah laughed.

  “You OK down there?” he asked.

  Uh, I was OK. Mere inches from my face was the thing I’d pretty much bought my Hitachi Wand as a stand-in for.

  “I think so,” I said.

  Noah laughed as he slipped his arm around me and helped me up into a normal-person sitting position. And we were close—very close.

  “Now,” he said. “I was asking you all about you.”

  I could feel the electricity between us. Our lips were mere inches apart. The last thing I wanted at that moment was to talk.

  “You want to know about me?” I asked. “Why…do you want to know?”

  “Because, Miss Pepper,” he said. “I find you very, very interesting.”

  Fuck conversation. Fuck everything else. I was alone with Noah Mack, and it was clear as damn day what we both wanted. Who cared why he picked me? The important thing was that he had, and I was there with him.

  “That’s good to know,” I said, trying my best to put a sultry tone to my voice. “Because I find you very, very, interesting too.”

  His glammed-up face in all its glory was right there, those lips crying out for a kiss.

  Fuck it.

  I moved in, and he did the same, my lips moving closer and closer by the second to the mouth of a rock god. But right before they touched, I heard something off in the distance, like what I imagined a very angry herd of animals would sound like storming across a plain.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Not a thing.”

  I moved closer and closer to his face, more and more eager for the kiss.

  I’m going to do it, I thought. I’m really going to have a one-night fling with Noah Mack.

  But the more I wanted to lose myself in the moment, I couldn't—the noise kept growing louder and louder, now sounding like dozens of footsteps coming closer and closer.

  “Are you sure that’s—”

  I didn’t even get a chance to finish. The door to the office burst open, noise and cheering and everything else filling the small space as a dozen people poured into the room. It was a totally crazy scene, but I could see among the crowd the rest of the guys in the band, a ton of gorgeous young women around them.

  “Noah!” shouted Will as he grabbed Noah by the arm. “Party in Venice Beach! Come on!”

  Before either of us could do or say anything, Will yanked Noah off the couch and into the crowd. I watched as he disappeared into the blur of arms and legs and hair, vanishing as if he’d gotten sucked into the Blob. Once Noah was among them, the crowd left just as quickly as they came.

  And there I was, all alone, horny as hell and wondering what the fuck had just happened.

  9

  NOAH

  The party was one-hundred percent LA. In fact, I don’t think I could’ve dreamed up a more LA party if my life depended on it. Back when the rest of the Lover Boys were but mere students at Berklee College of Music, we’d spend hours after practice going on and on about the wild parties we’d go to, how we’d tear up LA just like Guns N’ Roses and Crüe and Poison and all the other bands we couldn’t get enough of.

  There’d be girls and booze and drugs and swimming and bikinis and all the debauchery we could handle. And the party I was at that night? All that, to a T.

  And I couldn’t have been having less fun.

  There wasn’t a single reason why I should’ve been feeling that way. Sean was blasting some tunes at the DJ booth, the dozens of gorgeous girls there were making very good use of the pool, and there was enough booze to get the entire county wasted. Hadn’t checked the drug situation, but those hadn’t been my thing for a long while. Hell, I could even spot at a glance at more than a few of Will’s famous Hollywood friends in the crowd, and a few very, very well-known musicians Sean was tight with.

  On top of everything the show had been a smash. All the practicing had paid off, and we’d rocked the fucking house. I’d been apprehensive about the whole thing, thinking that the Lover Boys should stay in the past where we’d left them but damn if the fun I’d had wasn’t making me think a small tour wouldn’t be that bad of an idea.

  But thoughts of music and partying and bikini babes were the furthest thing from my mind as I sat poolside, the neon lights underneath the water casting the shapely figures of the girls underneath the water in some very ’80s colors.

  All I could think about was her.

  Pepper. Silly name, but nothing funny in the slightest about what a smokeshow she was.

  The moment I’d seen her backstage I knew there was something special about her. Then I lost her in the crowd, only to spot her right there, front and center. The whole thing with getting the other girls on stage to dance was something I’d thought of right there—no planning involved. I wasn’t interested in the other girls. I just wanted an excuse to get her next to me.

  And that fucking chemistry was like damn. Sure, she was a ten-out-of-ten babe with skin like porcelain and legs that went up into low earth orbit. But there was more to her than that. There was something about her, something that grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go.

  I had sex on my mind when I finally got her alone—hey, I’m a red-blooded man, and she was an LA dream. But I honest-to-god did want to get to know her better. I would’ve been more than happy to have just cracked open a beer or two and shoot the shit.

  Then she was gone, just like that. I got her first name, but not her last. And while Pepper was a name as unique as she was, in a city of millions like LA she’d be impossible to track down. For all I knew, she’d been in town for the show.

  “Yo, Mack! Macintosh! Macklemore!”

  I smirked and looked up, knowing that the endless name jokes meant that Will was good and toasted. Sure enough, he was standing poolside, each arm around a girl so beautiful it was almost hard to look at them. He was still in his leather pants, but nothing on top, and his makeup was so smeared he looked like something out of some weird modern art painting.

  “What?” I asked before taking another sip of the beer I’d been nursing for the last hour.

  He said something to the girls, something that made them giggle and scamper off, before coming over to me and plopping down in the lounge chair next to mine. “Something wrong, bud?” he asked.

  Part of me wanted to say “no” and drop it, but I didn’t have it in me to lie.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I think so.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re having weird vibes about the show,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “Not that. Show was killer.”

  “Then what?”

  “Just this,” I said gesturing to the scene of pure LA hedonism in front of me, the kind that would make Nikki Sixx blush. “I love the music, but I feel like I left all this behind a long time ago.”

  “This?” asked Will. “This is LA, my man! This is why we got in this game, remember?”

  “It was,” I said. “Way back when. But now that I’m right in the middle of it I’m starting to remember why I was over it.”

  Will shook his head. “What about those two?” he asked, pointing with the hand holding his beer toward the pair of girls he’d been hanging with. “One of them might change your mind. Hell, maybe both of them—not like there aren’t enough to go around.”

  He was trying to brighten my mood, but the mention of the girls only made me think of the one I re
ally wanted to be spending time with, and how there was a good chance I’d never see her again.

  “Damn, Mack,” he said. “Haven’t seen you like this in a long time.”

  “Think it’s just the show,” I said. “Sucked all the energy right out of me.”

  Will opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself—I could tell he was about to make a very low-rent joke.

  “Why don’t you head home and get some rest?” he asked. “Might be what you need.”

  I set my barely half-drank beer on the concrete and sat up.

  “I think you’re right,” I said, getting up.

  Will and I said our goodbyes with a hard back-slapping hug and a promise to get together soon. After that, I weaved my way through the party, giving a quick wave to Sean at the DJ booth and Theo, who was going over the finer points of the mansion’s well-stocked library with some cute little thing.

  Once I was back behind the wheel of my Aston I felt instantly better. I decided to take the long way home, taking the 405 south before heading back up on the 110 toward my place downtown.

  Certain parts of LA had lost their luster over the years, but watching the lights of the city grow in the distance hadn’t been one of them. I loved my life in LA, loved my job, loved my mom and little girl. But damned if it didn’t feel like there was something missing.

  I checked my phone and saw that, surprisingly, it wasn’t that late—only a little after eleven. So I decided to swing by In-N-Out for some burgers, fries, and shakes for me and the ladies.

  It didn’t take long before I was in front of my condo downtown, the valet taking my car. A quick ride up to the penthouse via the private elevator later, and I was home.

  My pad was nice—no doubt about that. Three-thousand-square feet, four bedrooms, ultra-modern design (or at least it was in 2005 when I bought it). The place was the first big gift to myself after our first album went supernova.

  At the time, I loved how freaking huge it was, how I could have party after party here, nothing to worry about but getting hammered and getting laid.

  Now, it just felt like a giant, sterile bachelor pad. Granted, Mom had done a pretty decent amount of work making the place feel a little homier, decorating with some throw pillows and knickknacks and a few of those pieces of wall art that have words that describe what the room is for, big letters declaring “EAT” for the kitchen—that type of thing.