But it’s not just my hands that are touching the glass. I’ve had my nose glued to it hiding behind the curtains all day awaiting his arrival.
Hendrix Hart.
He’s the lead singer for A School of Sharks. They’re like A Flock of Seagulls but without keyboards and with tans.
I shoot Harley a dirty look reminding her I’ve got dibs.
She knows Hendrix has been my secret crush for the last four years now.
Only one problem. He’s not here to visit me. He’s my dad’s best friend and he’s here to recharge his batteries with his boyhood buddy.
Which explains why the forty-two year old blonde haired and blue eyed heartthrob will be staying at our house for an entire week in-between finishing up the international leg of his world tour and starting the U.S. portion next week in California.
And Hendrix is definitely a California guy.
I watch as he steps down onto the sidewalk in front of our house and watch as the door to the bus closes and the air brake releases.
The bus slowly rolls down our street as Hendrix cooly makes his way up the sidewalk to our home.
He’s got that laid back California swagger in spades at least on the outside. My dad always says don’t let his easy-going demeanor fool you. When he sees something he wants he goes for it with everything he’s got. It’s one of the reasons why his band has been so successful for so long and why their tour is on pace to break the concert records set by the Rolling Stones.
I’ve been following along every day. They rocked Rome. Sold out Sydney in seconds. And blasted their instruments in Barcelona.
Even with my subscription to their website which allows me to watch all their concerts live online I still can’t get enough of Hendrix. And with the time change I’ve found myself taking naps so I could stay up at all kinds of weird hours this summer.
Just to see him perform.
There’s just something about the electricity in his voice. The way he makes you feel like you’re there…like you know him. And when he sings I feel like he’s singing to me.
Me and probably about a billion other girls have the same feeling I’m sure, but I’m the one who gets to have him in my home all week and that’s way more than I could have ever hoped for…if I’m being realistic.
“You’re still hoping he’s going to notice you and something’s going to happen?” Harley says.
“Shhh!” I say slapping her on the arm.
I watch Hendrix scale our front steps with my dad’s arm around his shoulder. I just can’t take my eyes off of him.
When I hear the front door open I quickly scurry out from behind the curtains just in time to see his eyes pick up the sounds of my movement.
I watch as his guitar case falls from his hand like it’s in slow motion. It hits our cheap carpeting and then the hinges pop open and the guitar falls onto the floor.
“Oh!” my mom, Samantha says, and bends down to quickly put the guitar back in its case.
Hendrix doesn’t even seem to notice or mind that his priceless possession has fallen from his hands.
All he seems to notice is…me!
Chapter Two
Hendrix
Steven’s wife Samantha is doing something at my feet right now, not that I notice.
I should probably bend down and pick up the guitar I dropped, it’s not her fault or her job to be doing that. It’s mine. Plus the thing is tuned just the way I like it and it’s easy to get it out of tune by handling it.
But right now there’s something a lot more out of tune than my guitar probably is.
Me.
And the only thing I want to handle is her.
“Hope,” I say, still staring at her. I can’t take my eyes off hers, not that I’d ever want to. Those are the kinds of eyes that drive a man to write songs that sell out stadiums and move mountains. The kind of eyes that you never forget. The kind of eyes that serve as a songwriter’s muse.
The kind of muse I’ve always wanted but have never ever had. I was starting to think the idea of an artist’s muse was only a myth…until right now.
“Hope?” my buddy Steven says.
“Hope you’ll…forgive me for dropping that. The case might leave a dent in the floor.”
“It’s carpet. Don’t worry,” Steven says.
I can feel Steven’s eyes on me but I don’t turn to meet his. I’m still focused on her.
“You remember our daughters Hope and Harley,” he says.
That’s definitely not how I remember Hope.
Four years ago she must have been what? Eighteen.
She was a cute kid for sure but she had braces and her legs were too big for her body. She was either going to be a super late bloomer, especially for a girl, or just be a bit clumsy. I remember her practically tripping over her own two feet.
But now I’m the one who’s about to fall over flat on my face.
Good god!
“That’s Hope,” he says pointing to her. “And this is Harley,” he says motioning to her sister. At least I think he did. No way my eyes are coming off Hope right now.
She’s got on a light summer dress that hits mid-thigh and a neckline that’s a little too plunging. To anyone else it’s probably fine, but I can just make out a hint of cleavage even though I’m not trying to look and just that hint of cleavage has my pants stretching really quickly in the groin area.
“Hi Hendrix,” Harley says.
I don’t respond. I can’t respond.
“Hendrix?” Steven says.
“Hey Hope,” I say.
“Hey yourself,” she says and takes a step towards me. She bends slightly at the knees and extends a hand to me like a real lady.
I take her hand and shake it, but something comes over me and I turn it over and kiss her on the back of her knuckles. Her skin smells of vanilla and is completely flawless. She must be drinking gallons of water a day to keep her skin that soft and perfect.
Either that or it’s just natural.
But what’s not natural is the, “Hey,” that I repeat, but this time a full octave deeper than my already gravelly voice. This girl is turning me into a feral beast.
All I can think about is how badly I want her and my mind and my body are responding to that desire.
We get girls trying to come backstage, on to the tour bus, all that stuff all the time.
It never phases me one bit.
I’ve always focused on my one and only love…music.
That and surfing which comes in a close second, but music always wins out in the end.
I never thought it would be right to write songs about love and passion and then just give myself to some random woman. I hate hypocrisy and no way am I going to practice it myself.
That and I never felt like it anyways.
I don’t want shallow nights with shallower souls taking my soul to depths which it could never be retrieved from. Once you indulge in hedonistic pursuits there’s no coming back.
Luckily that’s not in my nature.
And falling hard for a girl never was either until right now.
My lips linger just a bit too long on the back of Hope’s hand. I feel like a prince or something and that I should get down on one knee right now and ask for her hand in marriage. Scratch the prince idea. This girl makes me feel more like a knight who just rode into town looking for the princess of his dreams.
And boy did I ever find her.
And she’s my best friend’s daughter.
The week ahead just got a whoooole lot more interesting.
Chapter Three
Hope
“What do you think?” I ask.
I watch as his eyes scan my bedroom before he decides whether or not he’s going to enter. His eyes pick up on his concert picture on the wall and freeze there for a second before continuing across the room.
“I can sleep on the couch like I told your dad. Really. Please,” he says.
“My dad insists.”
Hendr
ix exhales hard.
“And he picked up this extra long mattress online for your visit so you kind of have to sleep on the bed. It just arrived yesterday and he’s really excited he found one big enough to suit you.”
“And you’re going to sleep in your sister’s room? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It’s only for a week. Plus I usually fall asleep on the couch almost every night while watching some movie,” I say.
I imagine cuddling up with him on the couch and eating popcorn and drinking Cokes as we binge on Netflix before we “Netflix and chill,” which has become the slang term for hooking up amongst people my age these days.
And Hendrix is my absolute ultimate hookup. I’ve been thinking about him for four years. Four freaking years. And I can barely believe he’s going to be sleeping in my bedroom, the only bad part is I won’t be joining him…unless there’s some sort of miracle this week. It would take a huge miracle for a guy like him to notice a girl like me.
I’ve seen the girls in their music videos. They’ve got famous actresses, models, and just a bunch of beautiful people in general.
And my dad has a framed photo of them surfing together in Newport Beach, California when they were kids. You can literally see the girls in the background just waiting to pounce on the two of them. More so Hendrix than my dad, even back them.
My dad’s put on a few pounds and has an office job now. He also met my mom and moved away from California so I never got to experience that beach lifestyle like he did.
Oh how I’d like to experience it with Hendrix.
And while my dad has started to get a bit more of a dad bod with every passing year, Hendrix has somehow managed to stay just as fit if not fitter as time passes by. It’s like he’s Benjamin Button or something, but he’s not necessarily getting younger…just getting better and keeping that same beach bod of his in tip top shape.
Even today, twenty years after his musical career started, his music still connects with my generation…and he’s not performing Katy Perry or Justin Bieber kind of pop music. It’s man music, as the magazines call it, but the girls my age love it too.
Or maybe they just love him. His voice is captivating. I literally caught myself drooling listening to his concert online last week. The words are so intense I forget to breathe sometimes. Now that’s the work of a true artist.
“I still feel bad about taking your room,” he says.
“Nonsense. You’re not taking it, you’re just borrowing it. And plus all my stuff is in here so I’ll have access to it during the day when you’re doing stuff with my dad.”
“Okay then. Anything I shouldn’t touch?”
“Well,” I begin and feel my face turning red. “The dresser has my…um…ladies garments in there so maybe you won’t want to open that,” I say.
His eyes dart toward the dresser and I feel like I’ve just told a five year old where the cookie jar is five minutes before dinnertime.
“Yeah,” he begins. “That would…wouldn’t be right.”
His eyes move from the drawer and meet mine, which I’ve had fixed on him since we first arrived at my room.
My parents and sister are in the kitchen bringing the snacks and drinks out that we prepared in anticipation of his arrival. Right now it’s just the two of us and I swear I can feel it.
Or is that just that charisma and electricity that rock stars give off all the time?
“But please make yourself at home. And try and mention to my dad that you really like the bed. He’s got high hopes for it.”
“I’m sure I will. Anything beats sleeping on a bus. Plus those buses are lonely, unless you like sleeping in what amounts to a bunk bed with a bunch of rockers above, below and next to you all of the hours of the day you’re not performing.”
“That sounds fun,” I say.
“It can be, and it was when I was…your age.” He pauses. “How old are you anyways?”
“Me?”
He nods, his eyes narrowing as his pupils dilate waiting for my response.
“I just turned twenty-two.”
“Twenty-two. Wow. So young. So innocent,” he says.
“Compared to a big rock and roll star aren’t we all innocent?” I say. What has gotten into me talking like this?
“You might be surprised,” he says.
“Really?”
He just looks at me and it feels like time stands still. I hear nothing and see nothing other than him. I want to reach out and touch him, or better yet for him to reach out and touch me. I’ve been missing the feeling of him since his lips came off the back of my hand.
And now I want his lips somewhere else, like smack dab on mine.
And what’s making me wonder if I’m imagining things or if there’s something really going on here is how he was polite with Harley, but barely seemed to pay her any mind. He just seems so fixated on me.
But isn’t that what famous people do? They have power and when they see something they want they just become locked on it and know that if they go for it they’ll get it. Their draw is too strong to resist, and I’m experiencing just that right now.
I feel my feet slide in a little closer to him. His body is so big and wide I can’t see around him. He blocks the entire doorway to my room.
And he still hasn’t entered yet. Maybe he’s still considering the couch.
“You gonna be okay in here?” Suddenly I see my dad’s hand on his shoulder but I don’t see my dad. Wow, he’s so big my dad’s invisible behind him. “Or is all the pink on the walls too masculine for you?”
My dad’s the first to laugh at his joke…again. Neither of us so much as smile. Not just because it’s not that funny, but because we’re fixated on each other for the second time already. He’s been here all of about ten minutes, or probably less, and twice we’ve been completely locked in on each other. Fixated. Practically obsessed.
At least that’s the way I feel.
“Come on. We’ve got food and drinks in the living room, but we can take them out in the yard and catch up. A lot has changed since you last saw us.”
“Yeah…a lot has changed,” he says as his eyes break free from mine and very obviously scan up and down my body.
I take the opportunity to do the same. Two can play at this game.
But the real game is just beginning.
How in the world can we get what is becoming more clear by the minute that we both want, but without my dad finding out?
Chapter Four
Hendrix
I convince Steven to give me a minute to take a shower. I was on that bus all night and I need to clean myself up.
But that’s not the only reason.
My skin is running hot, my blood pumping through my veins at the thought of her.
And of course the shower is a shared shower upstairs between the two girl’s rooms.
I step inside and smell the same scent I smelled on her. That feminine vanilla and I exhale hard.
I came here to take a shower and catch my thoughts quickly…to cool down, and all that has happened is that it’s made things worse. Much worse.
I get out of my clothes and look down at my massive erection. All I can picture right now is her face and all I can imagine is how much I want to fill it with expressions of pleasure.
And right now I really need to please myself.
I can’t be walking around in my buddy’s house all day with a massive erection. Not only is it rude beyond belief, but he’s going to see it at some point. And that’s assuming he hasn’t already.
It won’t take long for him to put two and two together and figure out his daughter is the cause.
And then things will get really weird.
I step inside the shower and flip the water handle on.
I feel the cool water rush over my skin, but it does nothing to ease my need for her.
I put shampoo in the palm of my hand and bring my hand to my groin.
Just before I lay my rod in my grip and begi
n to stroke I stop and reconsider.
I can’t do this. Imagining her here in her own bathroom is just as bad as trying to please myself and thinking that’s going to help anything.
I’ve never desired a woman like this in my entire life, and there’s no way a cheap release is going to satisfy me.
Absolutely no way. I need the real thing. I need her.
This isn’t some crazy week in the middle of nowhere story to take with me.
Not at all. And as a matter of fact the thing I need to take away with me from this week here at my buddy’s house can only be one thing.
Her.
Chapter Five
Hope
I bring the cookies, cake and drinks to the backyard picnic table and my eyes wander up to the small window in the bathroom upstairs.
I can only imagine what he might be doing up there. And more importantly is he thinking of me wile he’s doing it.
“You can’t eat soup with a fork,” my mom says looking at the places at the table I’ve set.
“Right. Sorry, those were for the cake and cookies,” I say realizing I didn’t even carry the desserts out like I thought I had. I’d actually grabbed the soup.
I really need to focus. And why are we having soup on a hot summer’s day anyways?
The last thing I need to do is raise my internal temperature anymore. It’s already way too high.
I turn to go back inside the house and when I do I see there’s no way I’m getting through the door. Not with him standing there.
“Is there a big and tall store nearby,” he says? “I forgot my clothes on the bus.”
“You mean my clothes aren’t cool enough for you?” my dad says.
I take one look at my dad and then one look at him and the size difference becomes even more noticeable. It’s not that my dad is small, it’s just that he’s so…huge.
Everywhere apparently. I can see he’s still got a bulge in his pants, but it’s not as obvious as before. I wonder if he took care of it in the shower and it’s back already.
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