by Mae, Amelia
“This is my friend,” Cora says, not really answering. Normally, I’d give her some shit for being so starstruck, but today I give her a break. She’s on pins and needles thinking about Ian.
The green-eyed sex god looks at her funny. “Does she have a name?” he asks.
“You could just ask me,” I pipe up, “I’m Aya Park.” I might be melting into a puddle of lust at his feet, but I’m not shy. And I hate people talking about me like I’m not right there.
I give him my hand and we shake.
I turn to face Cora. “What about him?” I ask her, pretending to ignore the guy because two can play at this game. “Does he have a name?”
He gives me a lazy grin. “Shawn Kinney,” he tells me. Then he leans in a little closer. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
He pulls away, leaving me with chills.
Cora and I are escorted to our spot, front and center, in a room full of Say Yes fans at the Anonymous Bar.
The lights go down.
The energy rises.
The girls scream. The guys scream too. Everybody fucking screams. The energy here is crazy. The fans are about to blow the roof off this place if the guys don’t come out soon.
Ian Brooks takes the drums and the crowd roars. I’ll bet anything that Cora has a mini-orgasm at the sight of him. I mean, Ian’s totally hot, but a second later, Shawn Kinney strides on stage. And for me, the world goes into technicolor.
He takes his place at stage left, right in front of us. He’s still partly in the dark, but his silhouette is tall and proud and manly. He stands with his legs spread and the strap of his bass guitar tugging down the neck of his shirt.
He’s in full-on rock star mode, powerful and intimidatingly sexy.
No trace of the hurt I saw in his eyes earlier.
I wonder if he’s confided in anyone. Or am I the only one knows that Shawn Kinney is standing on this stage, playing for his fans while heartbroken.
Do he and I have a secret?
Right on cue, the guitarist, Jack Cordero, and singer, Dylan Cotter, take their places and the band launches into Her Name in Stars. That song is golden. I love the words. I love the flow. I love the energy.
I look up at Shawn. He’s completely lost in the music, the corner of his mouth turned up into a small smile, despite everything.
He looks down at me and winks.
I feel my face get hot and my palms are slick. He’s getting sweaty. I immediately picture him bare chested again and feel that familiar throbbing between my legs.
Here it comes.
It’s official, I’m in lust with Shawn Kinney.
Which means that I have to get the fuck out of here.
Now.
Two encores later, Cora and I head back to meet the band, passing scores of insanely jealous fans. Well, some are jealous, which is totally understandable. Others glare at us with that what does she have that I haven’t got look.
“Why is she so special?” some girl asks, loudly and rudely.
I ignore it.
We hit the bar and wait while the guys make their way backstage.
“You okay?” I ask Cora as the bartender hands us another round of beers.
Her nerves are getting the better of her, but she nods anyway.
I don’t know what she’s so nervous about. Even from the stage, the connection between her and Ian was palpable. His smoldering eyes were on her. He was totally fantasizing about what he wanted to do to her later.
The audience was intruding on one long, private moment between the two of them.
I’m jealous.
Not of Cora and Ian and whatever’s about to happen there. But I just… I want someone to look at me that way.
The temperature rises. I feel eyes on me. The same beautiful green eyes from before. Attached to the same beautiful man.
Shawn Kinney. I keep hearing his name in a sing-song voice in my head. Shawn Kinney. Shawn Kinney.
I hear words. In his voice. He’s talking to me, but nothing is sinking in. I’m just watching his soft lips move and reveling in the attention.
“Aya?” he asks. “Do you want to come?”
Aya? Earth to Aya?
“What? Sorry,” I answer, “I just heard ‘come.’”
Shawn laughs and it takes me a minute to figure out why.
“Shit,” I mutter, trying to fight my blush.
He takes pity on me and doesn’t tease. “Do you want to come to a party tonight?” he repeats.
“Oh, um…” My no is on the tip of my tongue. All I have to do is decline the invitation and go back to my apartment where it’s safe and I won’t say or do something stupid because of my stupid, raging lust for Shawn Kinney.
But the word is out of my mouth before I can control it.
“Sure.”
“Great,” he says, “Meet me at the valet in a few minutes. I’ll give you a ride.”
“Great.”
My hands are shaking, so I slam the rest of my drink to keep my nerves at bay. I’m just going to a party, I tell myself. Just going to go to a party with a famous rock star. In his car, no less.
No reason to get nervous.
None at all.
My little pep talk doesn’t work.
Who am I kidding? This is no ordinary guy. I haven’t had this kind of physical reaction to someone in a long time. Maybe ever. Ugh, Shawn Kinney does something to me. Something I can’t articulate.
I look over at him as he says goodbye to a few people and he smirks.
He can tell.
I head outside towards the valet stand just as a cool black sportscar pulls up. The passenger side window lowers and I see Shawn’s face looking back at me. He doesn’t say anything to me. He just winks and I melt as I climb in.
He smiles. He has a little dimple on his left cheek that I try very hard not to like.
This is no big deal, Aya. It’s just a ride. It’s just a party.
“I like your hair,” he tells me. His voice is smooth. Low and deep and a little rumbly. It makes me shiver as I touch a long strand of silvery-blue unintentionally.
“Thanks,” I reply, unable to think of anything more interesting to say. I rack my brain for a suitable conversation topic. You know, something other than so, you got dumped a few hours ago, how was that?
“Are you okay?” I finally blurt out.
He looks confused. “Yeah. Why?”
Maybe I got the conversation all wrong. “Um, I overheard you on the phone with that girl. Sounded like a breakup.”
“It was.”
“How long were you together?” I ask.
“About a year,” he answers. His eyes are on the road, unaffected.
“And you’re just… okay with it,” I wonder out loud, “Someone accuses you of cheating and then dumps you and you’re just… go about your business.”
“I have a job to do. A show to play,” he tells me, “I can’t just drop everything to chase after a girl.”
“Yeah but… you’re not even upset about it. Did you care about her at all?”
“I loved her,” he says with a casual shrug.
“Really?” I ask rudely. The body language does not match the words coming out of his mouth. “Cause you don’t seem like…”
He cuts me off. “I know how I seem. I’m not a wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve kind of guy, Aya. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t care.”
I nod. “Well, if you want to scream and cry and throw things, I won’t freak out.”
He smirks. “Not going to happen.”
“Planning something more devious?” I ask cautiously. Shawn doesn’t seem like the type to do something truly awful.
Then again, they never do.
“What, like, writing a nasty breakup song or mailing her a hundred tee shirts or tattooing Torie is a bitch on my arm?”
I shake my head. Those are really the nastiest things he could think of to avenge a breakup?
He narrows his eyes. “Wait, do you really t
hink I’d do something to, like, physically hurt Torie?”
“No, I don’t,” I answer, “But there are a lot of ways to hurt someone, Shawn.”
He looks over at me, encouraging me to elaborate, but I keep my eyes forward. If I never have to talk about it again, it’ll be too soon.
Thankfully, he takes the hint and changes the subject. “How do you know Cora?”
“We work together at the club,” I reply, “I’m a waitress too.”
“Were you working there the other night?” he asks. “We were out for Ian’s sister’s birthday party.”
“Yeah,” I answer, “I was there. But my section is on the other end of the room.”
“Oh. Interesting,” he says.
No, it’s not, I think.
God, he must really regret asking me to go out with him. First I’m badgering him for details of his breakup and now I’m boring him half to death.
“Shawn, why the hell did you invite me to this party?”
“Cause I wanted to. Is that so hard to believe?” he asks, “You’re crazy pretty.”
“Thanks. I guess.”
He blinks. “That came out wrong,” he backtracks, “I mean, you are really pretty… Wow, I’m doing a bang-up job explaining myself here.” He sighs out deeply. “I just got dumped.”
“Yeah. I was there, remember?”
He looks amused. “I could see you through the gap in the door.”
“Perv,” I say, playfully smacking his arm. “What if I had been peeing?”
“You weren’t,” he responds, “You were watching me change clothes.”
I blush. “Sorry.”
He shrugs it off. “If I minded, I would have left.”
“So you’re looking for a rebound?” The blunt question is out before I can stop them.
“No.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just got dumped and you’re the only one who knows. And at least for the time being, I’d like it to remain that way.”
“So you invited me out tonight to make sure I’d keep my mouth shut,” I tease.
“Kind of,” he answers, teasing me right back.
He pulls onto a quieter street as we get closer to our destination.
“I’m glad you’re here, Aya,” he says, more seriously.
“And here I thought I was boring you.”
“I’m driving through our fair city in a flashy car with a beautiful woman. I’m plenty entertained,” Shawn says, “Doesn’t matter to me if you stay quiet all evening.”
“Well, get a couple drinks in me,” I say, “I’ll loosen up.”
“Me too. What do you drink?”
“Whiskey.”
“Really?” he asks, amused.
“Yeah. Never met a girl that likes whiskey?”
“Not often. Girls who like whiskey are a rare breed. Straightforward. Simple, but know what they want,” he says.
“You sound like you had that assessment ready to go,” I say.
“I tend to size people up by their drink orders,” he explains, “Comes from my bartending days.”
He pulls into a garage and parks.
A torturously slow elevator ride later, we arrive at a palatial apartment in Hollywood. A small party is underway. Nothing too out of hand.
All eyes are on Shawn and I expect him to run off and mingle with the pretty people, but he doesn’t leave my side. Instead, he leads me to the makeshift bar, pours two large shots of whiskey and hands one over.
“Cheers,” he says.
“Cheers,” I repeat. I take my shot and look around. “You live here?”
Shawn nods. “Me and Jack.”
I look over at the black-haired guitarist who has appointed himself DJ for the evening, as he fiddles with a laptop and ignores a girl who’s clinging to his arm.
“Cora said you two were brothers, but you guys don’t look alike at all,” I say.
“We’re step brothers,” Shawn clarifies, “My dad married his mom when we were in high school.” He refills his shot glass and hovers the bottle over mine. “Another?”
I nod.
I like the way that whiskey burns, but I’m actually kind of a lightweight. I’ve had a few beers at the show and I haven’t eaten much today. Another one is a bad idea.
But, still…
“One more,” I demand.
He raises an eyebrow, but pours me the shot anyway. Shawn abstains this round, switching to water instead.
“Party pooper,” I tease, noticing how much more easily words are pouring out of me.
He chuckles. “One of us has to be responsible.”
“Hey, I’m plenty responsible,” I say as I trip over my heel. I reach out for something to stabilize myself and grab Shawn’s bicep. “That doesn’t count.”
He helps me back to my feet.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
You have really nice arms, I think to myself.
“Thank you,” he chuckles.
“Oh, crap, I said that out loud, didn’t I? I have a tendency to do that. Think out loud,” I explain, “It doesn’t always even matter if I’ve been drinking.”
“You did say that out loud,” he tells me, “But don’t hold back. I have a feeling that Aya unfiltered is going to be pretty damn interesting.”
“Oh, she is,” I tell him, whiskey-confidence hitting me full-force, “I’m hella interesting.”
“I believe you,” he says with a smile that’s all dimple.
Damn, focus Aya.
“I teach pole dancing. Did you know that?”
“Like… stripping?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him, “Though I do know a lot of strippers. And I teach exotic classes occasionally. But I mostly do the athletic, arial stuff. I have some of my stuff on YouTube if you want to check it out.”
He looks amused. “I didn’t know that there was more to pole dancing than stripping.”
“The more you know,” I taunt. I cross my arms over my chest playfully and stroke my chin like I have a beard. “Let’s see, let’s see. What else don’t you know?”
“Everything,” he says.
“I have a dragon tattoo on my left tit.”
Shawn chokes on his sip of water.
“Are you blushing?” I ask dramatically. Shit, I’m completely at the mercy of my drunken self. “You wanna see it, don’t you?”
His cheeks get a little pink. I decide it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen and I want to lick it off of him. I’ve made it my mission in life to get Shawn Kinney to blush more.
“You should give me a tour,” I tell him. I head towards a closed door and go to throw it open, but he stops me.
“That’s Jack’s bedroom. Chances are we’ll walk in on something we can’t un-see in there,” he says, steering me towards another closed door. “This is our practice room. It’s safer in here.”
“You’re not going to show me your bedroom?” I ask, eyebrows raised. Tactful, well-mannered Aya is now a thing of the past. Drunk idiot Aya has taken her place. “I’ll show you mine, you show me yours.”
“Let’s start here,” Shawn says with a smirk as he opens the door and leads me inside.
Shawn
I lead Aya inside to where a couple of Jack’s guitars and my bass are scattered around on stands. There’s not a whole lot to see in terms of decorating, just some do-it-yourself soundproofing, but Jack’s guitar collection could rival some museums.
I’d start explaining some of the more significant instruments, but I’m not sure how interesting that’d be to a non-musician.
Plus, I also don’t think she’d really remember much anyway.
Her eyes go wide when she steps inside. “How long have you been playing bass?” she asks.
“Since I was about seventeen.”
“Why bass?”
“Why not bass?” I counter.
“It’s not…” she trails off, searching for the second half of her comment.
“It’s not as cool as guitar,” I finish for
her. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” she says with mock outrage. “I was going to say that it’s not as common. But I like the bass. It makes the floor vibrate. I think it’s where the power comes from.”
I smile. Where the power comes from. I like that.
“Well, when my dad married Marisol, Jack’s mom, Jack was already playing guitar and wanted to start a band. He found Ian and they started playing with a different vocalist. We didn’t meet Dylan till a few years later. But they needed a bass player.”
“And you just happened to play bass” she asks, “That was convenient.”
“Not at all, actually. I lied and told them I did and since I was the only option, they let me in the band. I saved up some money from my part-time job and bought a bass guitar, but I had no idea how to play it,” I tell her. “It was pretty obvious at the first rehearsal. I couldn’t even plug it in.”
That makes her laugh. Shit, it’s been so long since I’ve made a woman laugh and I love it. Even if it is at my expense.
And Aya has that perfect laugh. Sweet, bright and genuine. The kind of laugh I could listen to every day.
Stop it. You can’t be thinking like that, I tell myself. You’re fresh off of a breakup. You can’t want someone new just yet.
Only, I definitely can.
The last few months of my relationship had been rough. I’d been on tour and, while Torie had visited me periodically, we’d drifted apart. I was in a different city every night and she didn’t trust me to keep my hands to myself. It got to the point where most of the time, she didn’t want to talk to me, let alone touch me.
Aya looks like she wants to touch me. Fuck, she looks like she wants to devour me whole.
But you’ll drive her away like all the others.
“Shawn? You’ve been staring at me and not saying anything,” she says, jerking me back to the moment. “You want to see the dragon tattoo on my tit, don’t you?”
Fuck yes I do. I want to get my mouth on it.
I chastise myself for wanting that. I did just break up with someone a few hours ago and I’m not that gross a person.
“I bet you want to kiss me, too,” she says. She leans in, but stops suddenly, putting her hands up to steady herself. “Hang on. The room just started spinning a little bit.”