by Leisa Rayven
If you have specific problems or objections to anything contained in this correspondence, please let me know by return email immediately. Lack of response will be interpreted as a tacit verbal agreement to abide by this document.
I look forward to seeing you soon.
Regards,
Max.
As I finish reading, I shake my head. How the hell do women find this process romantic? There are so many rules about how to behave and what to think, it must suck all the joy out of being spontaneous. I know I should keep an open mind to get the story, but I’m still skeptical that going on these dates will achieve anything except reinforce my idea that what Max does is tacky and unscrupulous. I don’t care how attractive he is. There’s no way he can create a real, meaningful connection with someone while being constrained by all of this nonsense. I’d be willing to admit that women fall in lust with him, but not love.
I look up as Joanna knocks on my door. “Hey! You might want to get dressed. We’re heading out soon.”
I look down at my skinny jeans and gray V-neck T-shirt. “I am dressed.”
Joanna raises her eyebrows and gives me one of those smiles that has a definite edge of, Oh, God, really?
She smiles at me, and I smile back, until she finally says, “Okay, then. Let’s go get our party on!”
Asha calls out that our car will arrive in ten as I pack away my computer and pull on my boots.
Conscious that Ash and Joanna look like they just stepped off the set of Young, Hot, and Hip in Manhattan, I slap on some smoky eye makeup and clear gloss before the girls drag me downstairs and out into the street to meet our car.
Half-an-hour later, we pull up in front of The Rock Shop, one of NYC’s trendier live music venues. Even though we’re an hour early to see the headline act, the building is already teeming with people.
“God, I’m soooo excited,” Joanna says as she bypasses the huge line waiting to get in and leads us straight up to the two enormous bouncers. “This night is going to rock!”
The bouncers barely glance at Joanna before lifting the velvet rope and ushering us inside. Asha and I exchange a glance.
“How?” I whisper.
Ash shrugs. “I have no idea, but the more time I spend with her, the more I realize she knows everyone. Maybe all those tall stories she’s famous for are true after all.”
We push through the heavy door and are immediately hit with a wall of sound. Within five minutes of stepping into the packed space, I remember why I rarely see live bands. If the ear-splitting noise, sticky floor, and huge crowds weren’t enough to turn me off, then the faceless ass-grabbing as we push toward the bar is.
“Let’s line up for shots!” Joanna yells over the music. “I’m buying!”
We’ve all downed two cocktails already, but I’m still feeling stone-cold sober. I smile when Joanna gets the bartender to line up shots of Patron.
I lean into her. “Now we’re talking!” I figure that if all else fails, switch to tequila to let the good times roll.
We all slam back a shot, and I shudder as it burns in all the right ways.
“Wow, these guys are really good!” Asha says into my ear as she points to the guys rocking it out onstage. “They’re just one of the opening acts, but they’ve really got the crowd pumping!”
I look out over the sea of bodies in front of the stage. They certainly seem to be having a good time.
After I down my second shot, I start feeling no pain. Then Joanna suggests we get closer to the stage, so we all hold hands and push our way through the gyrating throng.
I must admit, this music is growing on me. With some alcohol in my system, I can understand how the energy of this kind of event could turn people on. The lights, the sound, the seething mass of passionate people. It’s all working for me.
I have a brief look around for Max, but I can’t see him anywhere. In fact, there are few guys here tonight, and those that are seem to have taken up permanent residence at the bar. There are several women nearby who look high-end enough to be among Max’s clientele. I edge close to one who seems to be wearing way too much diamond jewelry to be here just for the music.
“This is great!” I say to her, and she smiles and nods. “Are you here with someone?”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Oh, sweetie, you’re very cute, but I’m waiting for my boyfriend. He’ll be here in ten.”
I sigh in mock-disappointment. “Oh, well. Bummer for me. Enjoy your night.”
Okay, so she’s a potential.
I move away but make sure I still have a clear view of her, just in case.
Asha pokes me. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Then stop hassling strangers and dance with us.”
I continue scoping the room as I dance with the girls, but I still try to have good time. When we’ve pushed to the front of the stage, we join everyone in throwing our arms above our heads in time with the music. I don’t think I’ve ever done this before, and right now I can’t figure out why it’s taken me so long. Max may have had a point about me not having enough fun in my life.
I scream and clap along with everyone else as the band finishes their set. The M.C. comes onstage to chat to the crowd and cover the next setup, and we silently agree to have a well-deserved rest.
“Do you guys want water?” Asha asks.
Joanna and I nod vigorously.
“I’ll come with you,” Joanna says.
They look back at me to see if I want to follow, but I’d rather scope the room for Mr. Riley.
“I’m good,” I say. “I’ll wait here.” I keep my eye on my mark, who’s now talking to a couple of other luxe ladies. Perhaps they’re all a part of the exclusive M.R. fan club.
While they chat, I push my fingers through my hair and move to lean against the giant stack of speakers, so I can catch my breath. There’s a flurry of movement onstage as they swap over equipment for the next act.
After a few minutes, the M.C. comes back on to address us. “And now, we have one of our most popular singer/songwriters here to take us up to show time. Please give a huge Rock Show welcome to Caleb Sykes!”
The women around me scream their heads off, and it makes me wish I’d brought earplugs like I’d planned.
I head over to the stage just as a driving rock beats starts up, followed by a voice so appealing, it immediately has all of my attention. When I move out to get a better view of the stage, a rush of shock and disbelief hits me. The tall, muscled singer with the dreamy voice, chaotic hair, and two-day scruff is ... Max.
“Holy goddamn Mother of Shit.”
* * *
My mind is reeling. What the hell is happening right now? Maybe this is just someone who looks like Max, and I’ve been so obsessed with him and this story, I’m making myself see things that aren’t there.
I study the guy in front of me. Dark, low-ride jeans with thick belt, snug black T that shows an impressive range of tattoos. Muscled arms strum a Gibson guitar as sensual lips brush against the microphone. There’s no denying it anymore. It’s Max. Just a totally different Max than the version I know.
I look around, desperate for Asha to confirm what I’m seeing, but I can’t spot her anywhere. It doesn’t help that the women around me have taken it upon themselves to swarm the stage, and even as I try to move toward the bar to find my sister, I’m swept forward until I’m standing just a few yards away from Max’s crotch.
I stand there gaping as the first song ends and the next one starts. So, this is the date he had planned for his client? A classic rock star fantasy? Man, Asha was right. Everybody does have one. And judging from how my body is reacting to this whole situation, that includes me.
The luxe women are still in a group, gazing at him with fierce adoration. Max seems completely oblivious to anything but the music. That pleases me, because I have a strong suspicion that if he looks down and spots me, I won’t get a positive reaction. I flat out told him I wasn’t comi
ng so he could work unobserved, and he doesn’t seem to be the kind of man who’d appreciate bald-faced lies.
For good measure, I try to hide behind the girl in front of me. She’s shorter than I am, so it’s not a great fit, but I do what I can. Trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, I turn to the blonde girl next to me, who’s staring at Max like he’s a sexy rocker messiah.
“Do you know this guy?” I ask.
She nods. “I’ve seen him play here a few times. So gorgeous, right? And his voice ...”
“Yeah, he’s great. Have you seen him play anywhere else? Does he have an album?” I want to find out exactly how meta this setup is.
The woman nods. “He sells CDs after the show. He’ll sign them and everything. In my opinion, it’s worth the twenty bucks just to talk to him for a few minutes.” So, he sells furniture and now CDs? How many revenue streams does this guy have?
The woman looks over my shoulder. “Don’t tell my boyfriend, but I’ve bought his album three times in the past few months.” She winks at me, and it doesn’t do a single thing to convince me I haven’t fallen through some sort of weird wormhole into an alternate universe.
I look back at rock-god Max. He seems so comfortable up there, singing and playing like he was born to do it. Nothing about it looks even remotely fake. I thought his speaking voice was sexy, but I have no words to describe his singing voice. It’s rough and smooth at the same time. Black velvet wrapped around sandpaper.
I have no idea if the songs he’s singing are his own, but he sure as hell sells them. He’s one of those people who looks like every word is coming from deep inside. He’s not singing words, he’s expressing emotions.
I continue to marvel over the scope of this illusion, as well as his talent, as he and his band mates play another four songs. By the end, I don’t even care if this whole thing is pretend. I’m a fan of Caleb Sykes and his sultry, heartfelt music.
After they finish up their fifth song, Max pushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles. The women around me scream and clap.
“We’ve only got time for one more. Any requests?”
Without any hesitation, at least a dozen voices yell out, “Deep!”
Max raises his eyebrows. “You want ‘Deep?’” They all scream that they do. “Really?” They scream again. “Are you sure? I mean, we always do ‘Deep’. Don’t you want something different tonight?” They yell that they don’t, and Max shrugs in defeat. “Well, okay then, but you know what that means, right?” They all scream again. God, I’m seriously on the verge of going completely deaf. “It means I need to bring a lovely lady up on stage to be serenaded.” More screaming, louder now as they all throw up their hands and jump, trying to get noticed.
Ooooohkay. Now I’m going to find out who his date is. I grab my phone in preparation. If I can take a quick picture, I might be able to figure out her identity. I doubt someone high profile would allow themselves to be involved in such a public display, but you never know. Some of these society women have influential connections. She may be famous by association.
Max scans the crowd, pretending to consider all of his options.
Yeah, nice acting, buddy.
I keep an eye on the rich chicks. Like every other woman, they’re all holding up their hands and jumping in the air, desperate to be chosen.
Just when the crowd has reached the climax of their frenzy, Max looks me dead in the eyes and points. “You, pretty redhead. Come on up here.”
My jaw hits the floor. “Ah ... I ... uh...”
“Now please, sweetheart. Don’t make me wait.” The crowd whoops and hollers their approval, and I feel hands pushing me forward as voices yell how lucky I am and how jealous they are.
God. This isn’t how I saw this night going at all.
Max walks to the front of the stage and holds out his hand. “Don’t be nervous.” He gives me lusty smile. “I’ll take good care of you.”
Goddamn shit bastard crap. So, I’m his client? Oh, for the love of...
Did he pull all that stuff in the market just to reverse psychology me? Tell me I shouldn’t come to make sure I would?
Man, I feel so freaking stupid. And now an entire club of people is cheering as I put my hand in Max’s and walk up the stairs to the stage.
This is insane.
I hover on the verge of hysterical laughter as Max brings me behind the mic stand. Being the center of attention isn’t something I’ve ever enjoyed.
“So, what’s your name?” he asks and tilts the mic toward me. I flash him a glare but he doesn’t react.
“Uh, hi ... I’m ... uh ... Eden.” Everyone screams. Goddamn, none of these women are going to have voices tomorrow.
“Nice to meet you, Eden,” Max says with this slow-lidded blink that makes me feel like he’s imagining me naked, but not in a disgusting way. More of an I’d like to see if you taste as good as you look way.
To reinforce my suspicions, he licks his lips before saying, “So, do you play guitar, Eden?” When I swallow and shake my head, he gives me a mischievous smile. “You do now.”
He pulls me in front of him and loops his guitar over my shoulder. “Let’s get you set up here.” I shiver as he sweeps my hair out from under the thick leather strap. He’s close behind me, and the heat of the stage lights is nothing compared to the heat coming from him. I tense up when he puts a pick in my right hand and guides it over the strings.
“Just like this,” he murmurs as he envelopes my hand in his and makes me strum in an even rhythm. “Very good. You’re a natural.” His head is nearly on my shoulder, and the ladies in the audience whistle in response. I shut my eyes and breathe evenly.
Okay, this is the part where I have to remind myself it’s all pretend. I know Max told me to suspend my disbelief, but that was before I fully understood what the hell I was in for. I thought Kieran was one of the sexiest men I’d ever met, but this Caleb guy makes Kieran seem like a virgin choirboy. He even smells different. Kieran smelled like lemongrass. Caleb smells like pine. Fresh, sexy, phallic pine.
“That’s perfect,” Max whispers as I continue to strum after he takes his hand away. “If you keep stroking like that, I’ll be a very happy man.”
Sweet Horny Jesus.
He takes my left hand and places it on his left wrist. “Now, hold on tight, Eden. We’re going to have some fun together.”
He curls his fingers around the neck of the guitar and changes chords as I continue to strum, and then the drums and bass kick in with a slow, seductive riff. I’ve barely had time to register the thrill of making music before Max’s front presses flush against my back, and he leans forward into the microphone.
“I can feel you on the inside. I lose my fingers in your hair.
Your body’s my religion. Your name’s my favorite prayer.”
God, the sensation of his chest and throat vibrating against me, not to mention the timbre of his voice. His freaking dark, sensual voice.
The ladies in the audience are no longer screaming. Now, they’re all watching in rapt fascination, mesmerized by ‘Caleb’ and his insane sex appeal. The lyrics and music vibrate through me so powerfully, my whole body feels it.
Deep is how I want you.
Deep is where you live.
Wrap me in your legs now
Drown me in your kiss.
Keep me safe inside you.
Let me see your soul
I’m half a monster without you.
When I’m deep, you make me whole.”
The song continues to build, and by the time it climaxes and ends, I’ve never felt the need for a cigarette more in my life. As the final chord dies away, there’s silence for a full three seconds before the audience erupts. My hands shake from the adrenaline firing in my system. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Is this why musicians are so passionate? Because performing makes them feel like they’ve taken a whole crate of high-quality drugs?
Max is still close, mouth near my ear, when he s
ays, “You were amazing, Eden. Thank you.” Then he lifts his guitar off me and steps away, but I can still feel the echo of his body on my skin.
“Give Eden a hand. Wasn’t she great?”
They all scream again, and I look around in a daze. As Max escorts me back down into the audience, I feel lightheaded and groggy, like I’ve woken up from an intense dream.
What the actual hell did I just experience?
I push through the crowd toward the bar as the M.C. says, “Give another hand for Caleb Sykes! If you want Caleb’s album, he’ll be signing them in the foyer in just a few minutes. We’re going to take a short break while we reset for the main event tonight, Kingdom of Stoooone! So, refill your drinks, and we’ll see you back here in thirty minutes.”
The lights come up as pre-recorded music filters through the room, and people murmur and laugh as they wander off the dance floor.
I look up and down the length of the bar, but there’s still no sign of Asha and Joanna. On unsteady legs, I signal to the barman to bring me a beer.
“What kind?”
“Anything. I don’t care.”
He places a bottle of craft beer in front of me, and I drink half of it without stopping. It does nothing to help bring me back to reality.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I’m coming down from whatever screaming cloud of bizarre my rock star experience put me on, and am feeling mostly like myself again. A few ladies come up and gush about how jealous they are of me getting so close to Caleb, and I try to be polite, even though I’m starting to panic that I still can’t find Joanna and Asha. I’ve texted Ash three times in the past five minutes and haven’t received a response, which is worrying considering I know for damn sure she rarely has her phone out of her hand, even when she sleeps. Her not texting me back is a definite red flag.
Leaving the bar behind, I push through to the lobby and search every corner of it. Still no Asha.