Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1

by Charli B. Rose

  A quick look around revealed that Lila was still within earshot. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” I murmured.

  Izzy squeezed my hand. Her touch communicated understanding and acceptance.

  “Why not?” Brooks’s lips turned down in a frown.

  “Because Dawson and I aren’t supposed to be photographed together. We’re supposed to be discreet for the sake of the band,” Izzy parroted words that no doubt had been said to her at some point during our show.

  “Fuc… I mean screw that,” Brooks thundered. “The place we’re going is upscale. All celebrities and wannabes. There won’t be any cameras there. They don’t even let you bring your phones inside.”

  Leaning back slightly, but still keeping my hands on her hips, I said, “What do you say, flutterby? Want to go dancing with me?”

  “I’d love to.” My girl loved to dance. And dancing with her was a delicious form of foreplay.

  Joe parked in a darkened alleyway. As soon as the car doors opened, the air reverberated with a heavy thump. The bass was so loud, it was impossible to discern any hint of the melody.

  Ty and Blake led the way to a hidden door and knocked. When it opened a crack, a quick conversation was had before the door was thrown open and we were allowed inside. Joe hovered behind me and Izzy, making sure we were safe in the middle of our pack.

  Next to me, Izzy's body started swaying to the rhythm lacing the air. She’d never been able to resist an addictive beat. I paused a few seconds, letting her get a couple of steps ahead of me so I could appreciate the view. The swing of her hips was hypnotic. My fingers twitched, itching to grip her body and move in time with it. She threw a smirk over her shoulder, knowing exactly why I'd slowed down. She tugged my hand forcing me to fall in step with her.

  When the front of our group emerged from the long hallway into the large open room, a hostess greeted us. It was impossible to hear the words coming from her mouth, but the accompanying hand gestures let us know space had been reserved for us in a corner of the upper level.

  The pulsing crowd parted as we moved toward the staircase in the center of the club. A bar ran along the wall behind us while private booths lined the far wall. To the left was a DJ booth suspended above the masses. Tables were scattered to the right. Most of the available floor space was being utilized for dancing.

  There were so many famous faces in the crowd that no one seemed to pay attention to a few more adding to the mix. Some of the tension in my shoulders relaxed with the knowledge that we could just have fun without being "on" for once. We had dressed to blend in, just in case. Plain t-shirts, jeans, ball caps. Izzy had even twisted her hair up into a bun that only allowed the pink to be seen, all the other beautiful hues were hidden within. Lila seemed mollified by it.

  When we reached our designated area, a waitress in a skimpy outfit introduced herself to us. Apparently, she would be tending bar in our little corner of the club. I ordered a mint tea and a water. There was no way in hell I planned to let my senses be dulled by anything. Izzy and I were fighting against a ticking clock and every moment was to be savored. Plus, I wanted to make sure I was fully capable of taking care of her while we were out. After the bartender talked up her specialty drink, a Porn Star Martini, Izzy decided to try it.

  The young girl quickly got everyone in the group’s drink orders and then took her place behind the bar. Efficiently, she began mixing and pouring. We all watched in amazement as she twirled and flipped bottles, creating concoctions like Tom Cruise in Cocktails.

  Izzy moaned when she took the first sip of her drink, a combination of passionfruit juice and champagne. “The drink’s living up to its name already. You’re moaning like a porn star after one sip,” I teased.

  “I’ll be moaning for you later,” she whispered in my ear. Her lips grazed the edge, sending a shiver down my spine.

  The track changed. The DJ’s smooth voice came over the speakers, “We’re going oude school now.” Then that unmistakable, guttural utterance of “Oh… Oh…” followed by the addictive beat of V.I.C.’s dance song filled the air. Everywhere bodies scrambled to organize themselves into lines.

  ♪ “Wobble” by V.I.C.

  “Wobble with me,” Izzy yelled. She set her glass down on the table and grabbed my hand. We found a spot big enough to accommodate us. We got our wobble on with the rest of the club, but Izzy and I didn’t arrange our bodies in a neat line. Rather we moved as a single unit with a miniscule amount of air between us. It was hot as hell, her rear grinding against my crotch as my arms bracketed around her, occasionally anchoring her to me with a palm on her bare abdomen. Back in high school when she taught me this dance, we didn’t move together in such a dirty, sensual way. Good thing, my teenaged hormones wouldn’t have been able to take it.

  One song flowed into another. And another. And another. We bumped and grinded and danced until we were breathless. When a thin sheen of sweat coated our flesh, making us glisten, I asked, “You ready to get out of here?”

  “Yes, I’m ready to dance with you in private. Nothing between us but a slow tempo to last all night.”

  I couldn’t drag her to the car fast enough.

  Chapter 5

  Izzy

  My trip to Amsterdam had been a whirlwind of love and lust. But our time together was winding down. I hated it.

  Yesterday we slept in after the late night at the dance club. Then we toured the Van Gogh museum. Seeing masterpieces in person that I’d only ever seen in textbooks was inspiring. Dawson bought a reprint of my favorite, “Sunflowers” and arranged for it to be shipped to my apartment. Then we visited Vondel Park and had a picnic. With help from Dawson’s stylist, we managed to stay out most of the day without being detected by the press or general public. It was a relief to be able to just be us.

  Tomorrow afternoon we had to pack up and drive to Belgium. Thankfully, we had no plans today. No shows, no appearances, no sightseeing, no sharing our time with anyone else.

  I stretched blissfully. My muscles tingled with that delicious ache I always got when reuniting with Dawson after a lengthy time apart. Generally, it took us a couple of weeks to get past the ravenous state and settle into a less frantic need for each other. My visit wasn’t going to be long enough for us to hit that state, so I’d go home with my muscles still carrying the brand of our intense loving. I smiled at the thought.

  Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I ran my toes through the plush carpet. I reached for my phone to check the time. After lunchtime. No wonder I was starving. As I set my phone back on the nightstand, my heart soared at the framed photo of me and Dawson that he always put next to his bed no matter where he was. I had the same photo next to my bed. It was one of my favorites. I remembered the day like it was yesterday…

  It was early spring, so the weather was nice enough to go to the park, but the air was still brisk. It took me a few tries to find a spot where I could set up my tripod without it sinking in the damp grass. Once I did, I took dozens of shots of Dawson for one of my classes. He was my favorite subject. After much cajoling, he finally convinced me to join him in the frame. With a few setting changes, I arranged for my camera to burst shoot a series of pictures of us.

  As soon as I got within reach, Dawson tugged me against him, just as the first shutter click sounded. When he wrapped his hands around my waist and stared into my eyes, the world faded. And so did the camera. By the time we were breathless from kissing, the burst shooting was long over. But the resulting images were stunning. They couldn’t have been more perfect if I’d been directing the poses. The passion and love that pulsed between me and Dawson in the frozen frame was a living entity, oozing off the photograph.

  Knowing he set that reminder next to his bed no matter where he was, did a lot for easing the doubts which tried to creep into my mind anytime the tabloids decided to target him. With a smile on my face, I stood and snagged Dawson’s discarded band shirt. As the soft fabric settled over my skin, I inhaled deeply, br
eathing him in. Just in case Dawson wasn’t alone downstairs, I pulled on a pair of lacey boy shorts from suitcase. The shirt was long enough to conceal all my important parts. Peeking from beneath some of my clothes was a glittery, red package. I shifted my clothes around to unearth Dawson’s gift. Snagging my zippered art pouch and the package, I headed for the stairs.

  Before I descended, I strained my ears to see if anyone was in the suite besides Dawson. I really didn’t want any more run ins with Lila. And I wouldn’t put it past her to try to ruin our day in with some unscheduled appearance or another lecture about how I needed to make sure no one knew I was Dawson’s girlfriend. For the sake of his career. Whatever. That woman just wanted an opportunity to be with Dawson herself. His image had nothing do with her meddling. Hearing only Dawson singing along with the radio, I started down the stairs. The glass surface of the steps was cold under my bare feet, making me hurry.

  When I reached the bottom, I stepped into the open archway of the kitchen. Dawson’s back was to me. Clad only in boxers, he was a sight to behold. He was doing something at the counter. His hips shimmied as he danced and sang along with Taylor Swift’s “Shake it Off”. I stifled a laugh. He’d never let the guys catch him listening to this. They’d give him grief for days. But Dawson had mad respect for Taylor and was a closet fanboy. As he executed a twirl, he noticed me admiring him. Rather than act embarrassed at being caught like most guys would, Dawson owned it. He danced up to me and took me in his arms.

  ♪ “Shake It Off” by Taylor Swift

  “See something you like?” he teased.

  “Very much.” I pressed my lips to his neck.

  “I was just finishing up and was about to come wake you up.” His hips still continued to gyrate.

  “You mean after you got your fill of pop music?” No self-respecting rocker would ever own up to listening to pop music for pleasure.

  “Exactly.” He planted a kiss on the top of my head and moved back to the counter. “You hungry?”

  “Famished,” I admitted.

  “Good. I ordered flatbread pizza from that place the canal guide told us about.” He moved toward me with a plate in each hand. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes filled my nostrils as he passed on the way to the table. “Come sit. I’ll get the wine,” he commanded as he pulled out a chair for me.

  I settled at the table we’d yet to use, placing the package and pouch in front of me. The song playing through the speakers switched from pop to rock. Dawson’s sensual rasp floated through the air. It was one of my favorites off their last album, “Love Rocked”. He moved around the room, a carnal being hypnotizing me with sway of his torso, the thrust of his hips, the seduction of his voice. My gaze stayed locked on him as he worked the room like he did a stage, only this time he performed for an audience of one instead of thousands. Finally, the notes faded, and I was sufficiently hot and bothered.

  “Whatcha got there?” he asked as he sank into the chair next to me, wine glasses in hand.

  “A gift for you.” I tapped the crimson covered box. “And supplies we need for part of your gift.” I poked the pouch of art supplies. “You want to open it first?” I slid the box closer to him, knowing he was still very much like a child when it came to presents.

  “I’m starving, but you know my weakness.” He was torn. His finger toyed with the taped flap on the end of the box. “I have something for you too. Upstairs.”

  “But you already gave me this trip and the flowers and the Van Gough print,” I protested.

  “Well, I got you something else. And I got something for us. Let’s eat first. Then we can open the presents.”

  “You mentioned gifts for me just so I’d be as impatient as you are right now,” I admonished, smacking his thigh.

  “Hey, fair’s fair.” He took a healthy bite of pizza.

  I followed suit, groaning as the flavors burst on my tongue. It wasn’t New York style, but it was really good. We ate in silence. No need to fill it with chatter or noise. The kind of quiet that can only be achieved when two people knew each other inside and out like we did.

  After we’d downed two pieces each, Dawson seized the red box. His patience had come to an end. Bits of rose paper littered the tabletop as he shredded the wrapping. Running one calloused fingertip along the taped edge of the box, he finally freed the lid.

  “Seriously, flutterby?” he moaned as he took stock of the smaller, wrapped packages within.

  I tried to smother my laugh but failed. “Open this one first.” I handed him a flat, rectangular package. The thin object flexed in his strong fingers. Once he lifted the paper flaps, he unveiled a small leather-bound journal. “It’s handmade. The inserts can be removed, and blank ones added when you fill it up with all the number one hits you’ve yet to write,” I explained.

  He unwound the string keeping the covers closed. “Izzy,” he gasped as he thumbed through the pages. Scattered throughout the book, I’d doodled on the corners of pages, painted various memories of ours and left little messages to him. “This is perfect. I love it.” His fingers reverently rubbed the sketched version of the photo by his bed.

  “It should fit in your pocket, so you can keep it with you for when inspiration strikes.”

  “I’d see if it fits in my pocket, but that would require putting on pants.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “Don’t even think about it.” I nudged the next glossy package toward him. “This one’s next.”

  Picking up the box, he gave it a gentle shake, sending the contents thudding into the edges of the box. Glad I bubble wrapped them. With less finesse, he ripped into the foil. Once he’d stripped away the layers of paper, cardboard and cushioning bubble wrap, he palmed two glass jars. Rolling them in his hands, he admired the painting I did on both of them—a dandelion made of music notes, floating off in the wind to become songs. In a fancy script, I wrote on the glass surface “Wishes & Hopes for my Love”.

  His face was a mask of confusion. “Open the other package, then I’ll explain.”

  Without further question, he made quick work of the last package. His brow furrowed as he fanned out the long, thin strips of colored paper. “Now, I’m really confused.”

  “So, I know we spend more time apart than either of us would like. And times of distance will probably always be part of our reality for the foreseeable future. So, I thought we could write down hopes and wishes and little messages for each other. Then I’m going to fold them into these cool little wishing stars. And anytime you need to, you can take one out, unfold it and read it.”

  “Ooookay,” his tone was skeptical.

  “Let me show you.” Grasping the metal tab on my art pouch, I unzipped it and removed a black sharpie. Quickly, I wrote on a slip of light blue paper. When I finished, I turned it, so he could read my message to him. I hope you have an epic show. Then I began folding the ribbon of paper into a pentagon. He watched with rapt attention as I pinched the folded shape. With a couple of presses, the flat shape popped up into an origami star. “A wishing star.” I held out the small shape to him. Turning it over and over, he marveled at it.

  When he offered it back to me, I dropped it into his jar. I held out my bag of markers to him. After digging through them a moment, he selected a glittery purple one. “Pink might not show up on all the colors well,” he offered by way of explanation for his choice. After grabbing a rainbow of colored strips, he shifted in his seat so that I couldn’t see what he scrawled on them.

  Two could play that game. I got to work writing every wish, hope and message of love I could think of for him.

  I wish for you to have sweet dreams.

  I hope for our time apart to pass quickly.

  I wish for your music to touch more hearts.

  I pray Lila stops giving you grief.

  I hope you stay positive.

  I hope your dreams are filled with me.

  All the hopes I held in my heart for him, for us, I poured onto little scraps of paper. I scatt
ered in a bunch of I love you’s too. The exercise went much faster than I expected. Soon all the strips carried messages of love. With sure fingers, I showed Dawson how to fold them into pentagons. When he tried to puff the flat shape up into a star, it popped up out of his fingers, flying across the table.

  “I’ll do the star part,” I offered with a giggle.

  “That’s probably best.”

  I made quick work of transforming the two-dimensional pieces into three-dimensional stars. By the time I was done, we each had a jar filled with love to help us get through the times when distance made things harder than love should have to be.

  “Be right back.” He grabbed our jars and dashed up the stairs. While I waited, I carried our dirty dishes to the kitchen. I eyed the bottle of wine. Another glass would taste good. But I didn’t want to tip into that sleepy, leaden-limb feeling. That might interfere with our last full day in a room with total privacy. Tomorrow we’d be on a tour bus with several pairs of ears on the other side of the bedroom door.

  Strong arms snaked around my waist and tugged me backwards against a muscular chest. Dawson planted a sensual kiss in the sensitive hollow behind my ear. “You know, we never did finish that tour when you got here,” he murmured against my skin, sending goosebumps skittering across my skin.

  “Really? You want to show me the rest of your suite, now? On our last full day here?” I glanced over my shoulder at him.

  “Humor me.” He laced his fingers with mine and tugged me through the living room and into a darkened room we hadn’t taken the time to explore.

  With the turn of a knob beside the entrance, the recessed can lights warmed and cast a glow around a room with a huge screen occupying one wall. Wide overstuffed chaise lounges were arranged in a couple of loose rows. “Your suite has a-a movie theater?” I stammered.

  “Yep. Thought we could watch a movie today. Quiet afternoon in. If that’s OK with you.”