by Mia Kayla
“I cannot wait to see my Sunshine.”
My heart skipped a beat at the my. I wondered if he’d meant that or said it as a slip, but his nickname reminded me of that classic childhood song. The way he’d said it, however, was anything but innocent.
Chapter 6
Tilton picked Chloe and I up exactly at eight. I stepped into the stretched limo in jeans, a pink top with a large flower embroidered on the side, and my favorite yellow Converse. Chloe, on the other hand, was dressed to the nines in her sparkly tank top and designer DKNY jeans.
The limo was fit for a party of ten. Wraparound leather couches spanned both sides of the vehicle. Sporadic white LED lights on the ceiling created an ambiance, as though we were sitting under a dark night filled with stars.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I bit all my nails down to the flesh, and by the time we strolled into the United Center, I was about to throw up.
When I’d done the walk of shame this morning, never in a million years had I thought I’d ever see him again. Never, ever. But here we were, being ushered past two sets of double doors and through security by Hawke’s head bodyguard himself. The bald white man had shoulders bigger than boulders. He was a walking brick wall.
Tilton did not smile, nor did he speak or make eye contact unless Hawke gave him orders. The most I ever got from him was a tip of his chin, as if that were his way of saying hello.
“What time’s the concert?” I asked. You couldn’t say I wasn’t trying to crack this guy’s wall of silence. “Are they backstage? Or are they on the stage now?”
Chloe rolled her eyes, as if telling me there was no point in trying.
Chloe and I were two steps behind him. She walked with a smoothness to her step while I was trying not to trip in my Converse. It was amazing—what Chloe could do in heels. I bet she could run a marathon in stilettos.
“So, what’s the next leg of their tour?” I pressed.
Still no response.
Despite our efforts, Tilton forged forward, and we trailed behind him and into the massive arena.
The crowd was chaotically loud, almost deafening.
The lights from the stage blinded me, and when he led us up the aisle to the front, my pulse ticked up in tempo.
Here we were, front and center of the action, and I could see everything—the huge speakers, the amps, the microphones on stands. The stage was lit with multicolored spotlights shining at the crowds of thousands.
The third act was already onstage, and everyone was waiting for the main act—Def Deception. Though the room was cool around us, the scent of sweat permeated the air from the amount of people packed into the huge venue.
Chloe tugged my arm and screamed into my ear, “We’re here! Can you believe this?”
I winced at the way her nails were digging into my arm but laughed at her giddiness.
No words came out of my mouth. I was shocked and silent and still. Although I had been at one of his concerts last night, I’d been sitting in the far corner of the arena, at the tippy top. Any higher, and my nose would’ve bled. But this? This was unreal.
Lights from camera phones and the strobes from the ceiling lit up the room. This was insane. My thoughts of Def Deception’s star power were only amplified by taking everything in. The screams of adoring fans filtered through my ears. When everything went dark, the crowd roared.
Chloe jumped up and down in a continuous motion. “Oh my God! They’re coming out!”
I’d been the same way last night but not today. Today, my hand flew to my heart as I waited for their entrance. I knew why I was nervous. It was because of last night. Because I was here on his special request. Because I was seated in the front row, and he could see me, really see me, this time. I was no longer an adoring fan from afar but an invited guest, close and personal.
Last night, I’d been more excited, screaming at the top of my lungs, almost losing my voice.
Today, I was silent. Waiting with bated breath.
And then it happened.
It was like hearing them for the first time. One spotlight focused on the lead singer—my lead singer. Though he wasn’t really mine, mine.
He belted out one single line, soft yet clearly and distinctively Hawke. The crowd’s roar drowned out his voice, but it didn’t matter because I could recite the lyrics to their Grammy-winning song by heart.
“Her face…is all I see.”
God, his angelic voice…I still had yet to meet a living being not moved by his voice.
Then came the strings and the next line sung by Hawke. His tone was packed with emotion and slowly dragged out, as though they were drawing out the concert on purpose to torture their adoring fans.
Then, percussion chimed in. Cofi banged on the drums, and the music halted. If I’d thought the arena couldn’t get any louder, I was dead wrong. I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts.
My heartbeat raced in my chest in anticipation. My breaths became slow and impatient as I waited with the herd of thousands.
Then, the lights flashed on, and the whole band rocked the stage.
I was up on my feet, on my toes, straining my neck to see them, looking up instead of down. All my inhibitions disappeared, and I joined in the fun. I was jumping and dancing and singing with Chloe, like we were one with Def Deception and were onstage as their backup singers.
Her wide smile matched mine. I was in utter awe. Pure wonder at how talented they were. Their music forced you to move, and Hawke’s talented voice oozed everything masculine and sensual and rock star.
Suddenly, the noise quieted to a buzz, like a bee in my ear, yet I couldn’t move because I was entranced with Hawke walking toward our side of the stage. His eyes found mine through the crowd, through the darkness, like the spotlight was on me instead of him.
In his cool and suave way, he bent down and sang to me. It was as though we were the only two people in the room, and no person or thing, even the chaos around us, could break our connection.
And then I died. I died and went to heaven in eternal bliss because the most famous rock star in the world had just sung to me.
I was sure he had done this a million times as he toured around the nation, around the world. And those women had probably swooned, and some might have fainted as he played the part and sang to them. Maybe it was all a part of the concert—the practiced, orchestrated part. But I hadn’t seen him sing to anyone last night.
When he took my hand in his, my insides melted like milk chocolate.
Every part of me believed that, this time, maybe he wasn’t playing a part. It wasn’t just an act, and he was seeing me for real. Just maybe.
Before the last song, Tilton tapped my shoulder and nodded toward the door. It was our cue to leave, but I wasn’t ready. I wanted to see Def Deception’s grand finale.
He tapped my shoulder harder and leaned in. “We have to go,” he said in his you’d-better-listen-to-me tone.
His bald head shone against the flickering strobe lights, and I wondered if he shaved his head or if he was just plain bald.
I glanced at Chloe. She looked oblivious, engrossed in the music and dancing. I reached for her hand and tilted my head toward the exit.
“Why?” Her pout could rival a three-year-old’s sullen face.
“Because Daddy says we have to go.” I pointed to the bodyguard, who was already standing by the exit, his eyes expectant. If we stayed in our spot, there was no doubt he’d carry us out, flailing and kicking and screaming.
“Don’t get Daddy mad.” My comment seemed to lighten Chloe’s mood.
With one final boom and Hawke’s clear voice thanking Chicago for their love, the concert was finished.
Insane was an understatement. We proceeded to the exit. Everyone rushed behind us, pushing to get out, like the place was on fire.
Someone shoved me forward.
“Hey!” I lost my footing and almost tripped.
Chloe gripped my hand as a stampede of fans charged towa
rd the doors. “Oh my God, really? We’re all headed the same way.”
I tilted my head up to find Tilton a few feet ahead, in front of the door. He tried to make his way toward us, but it was like swimming against the craziest river current.
When he finally reached us, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders and one around Chloe, and then he led us toward the exit. His massive upper body was able to get us out, and he flashed his tag to another Hulk Hogan-looking guy, who let us pass.
Once we entered another set of double doors, everything turned eerily calm. It was as though, one second, we were running with the bulls in Pamplona, and the next, we were on the beach in utter silence with only a few people walking around.
Four people walked down the narrow hall, wearing the same VIP pass. I could only assume we’d made it backstage.
“I’m glad we made it out alive,” Chloe sighed. “I mean, the concert was over. What the hell did everyone have to get back to?” She swaggered behind Tilton, trying to get his attention.
“They’re going outside to wait for them,” Tilton said.
I cast Chloe a look of victory, and she shrugged.
This was the most I’d heard him say without Hawke around. She had cracked the Hulk.
“Figures,” she huffed, casting Tilton a look of camaraderie. “They’re waiting to follow Def to their hotels. But they’re not leaving anytime soon, right, Tilly?”
I laughed at her nickname for the seven-foot giant.
He ignored her comment, but she kept going. “I’m sure they have a secret passageway or some getaway car tucked underneath the arena, right, Tilly Willy?”
When she slipped her arm through Tilton’s, I widened my eyes.
Balls. Chloe had balls.
He stopped and turned toward her, and for the first time in my life, I saw Chloe cower.
“Do not call me that,” he said in an even but surly voice.
Her face blanched, but when he turned back around to lead us down the hall, giggles escaped her.
I bit my tongue to prevent a laugh from escaping. My girlfriend was crazy, and I thought that was one of the main reasons I loved her.
When we rounded a corner, we stepped into what seemed like their dressing room. Clothes were scattered on the tables and on the couches and on the floor while others were neatly hung up on a rack. Against one wall, there was one long mirror and chairs, where I assumed the band got their makeup done or whatever they did to get ready.
“They’ll be back. Stay put,” he said with a flat and even tone, opposite to his eyes that said, Cross me and die.
When Tilton shut the door behind him, Chloe sprawled out on the couch and threw her feet up, like she was in her own personal living room. “So, this is where rock stars get ready before their concerts? We should totally write their documentary.”
“We’d make millions.” I smirked.
Everything was white—from the walls to the couch to the round lights above the long mirror. Their dressing room was a large contrast to the beautiful artistry they created onstage.
When the door flew open, I jumped. One by one, the band filtered in—AJ, the bass guitarist; Max, the lead guitarist; Cofi, the drummer; Carl, on piano; and finally Hawke.
My heart beat so loudly in my ears that I thought it would bust an eardrum. When our eyes met and his sexy smirk was thrown my way, I was a goner.
His hair was slicked back and he was shirtless since he’d tossed it into the crowd. Some woman was one happy fan tonight.
He went straight for me without hesitation, and in front of everyone, he wrapped one arm around my waist, brought me in, and kissed my lips so deeply, I felt it to the tips of my pinkie toes.
My whole body tingled. There was no lead-in. Nothing. No words exchanged, just a slip of his tongue.
After a moment, he pulled back. “Hello again,” he said, his tone suave, sexy, and smooth.
“Hey.” Goodness gracious, I was not only starstruck; I was Hawke-struck. Sounded stupid, but it was true.
He threaded his fingers through my hair with one hand and gripped my waist with the other, embedding his fingers into the span of skin between my jeans and my shirt. I’d definitely have a bruise by morning, but it was worth it.
“What did you think of the concert?”
I feigned nonchalance and shrugged. “It was okay, I guess.”
He pulled back a tad and laughed. “Just okay?”
I caught the sight of his glistening chest. Who knew if it was water or sweat? But, at the sight of him, my mouth fell dry.
“Well, I have to make up for that mediocre concert, don’t I, Sunshine?”
I gasped when he lifted me by my ass and wrapped my legs around his waist.
He tipped his chin toward Chloe as his greeting, all the while walking with me attached to him. “We’ll be right back.”
I locked my hands around his neck to keep myself steady.
When he walked us into the restroom and shut the door, my whole body flooded with warmth, and my breath quickened.
He was going to take me, right here, right now, right away. It felt forbidden, knowing that everyone was just outside that door and they knew what we were doing.
He rested me against the sink, my butt touching the basin.
He nipped at the tender spot on my neck, not quite a bite but hard enough to leave my skin pink. The motion sent a current straight to my core.
“Just okay, huh?”
When my lower back hit the mirror, my legs automatically parted to make room for him. His fingers through my hair, his lips trailing down my neck, and his hardness rocking against me—it all ignited a fire in my belly.
Our lips made contact, and it wasn’t a sweet reunion; it was the clashing of tongues, the hot breaths of mine against his, and the moans of wanting more.
And then I decided I didn’t care about the people outside.
His fingers moved to the button of my jeans. “Why are you making this so hard for me?”
I didn’t know if he was talking about the logistics of getting me out of my pants or his erection pressing against my thigh.
I lifted my bottom, and our lips lost connection for a brief moment as he shoved down my jeans.
Then, with a frenzy, we were back at it—hands on skin and lips on lips.
The rip of the condom wrapper and rustle of his zipper being pulled down was like the sound of the lunch bell.
Ding, ding, ding.
A hunger deep in my innermost being was about to be fed.
“I’ve missed you, Sunshine.”
He entered my body without restraint and filled me with a possessiveness that made my insides quiver.
“Tell me how good I feel.”
If he weren’t inside me, I would’ve rolled my eyes.
Rock stars and their egos.
Loud noises escaped my mouth as he rocked against my body.
“Tell me,” he urged, pounding into my center.
“You feel so good,” I whimpered. It was the truth though his ego didn’t need to be inflated any more than it already was.
As I fell deeper into ecstasy, my head rested back against the mirror as he slammed into my body, taking me higher and higher on one of the best rides of my life.
Chapter 7
My hands worked the torch, caramelizing the top of the crème brûlée order at Sheldon’s Italia. The kitchen was busy with our regular Saturday patrons, but my concentration was shot.
Two weeks.
It had been two weeks since the last concert. Two weeks since the last time I’d seen Hawke. Two weeks since I’d heard from him. The last thing I remembered, he’d had his hands threaded through my hair and his lips on mine, and he’d been whispering lyrics to my favorite song in my ear.
If I didn’t have the secret special cell phone that he had given me, I would have thought it was all a dream. All of it.
“I want to give you this phone. I’ll contact you. One, four, three, one is the code to unlock the phone.”
Then, he’d winked.
In some ways, I sensed he was paranoid. He didn’t want anyone knowing his number. He would have his security check his car and room before he stepped in. I guessed I would be the same way, if I were über-famous and everyone wanted a piece of me.
He had said he’d reach me through the cell, and because I was who I was and because I was like every other stupid, hopeful girl in the world, I’d been waiting for him to call, but all I’d received were random texts.
I tried to read into the random texts he had sent because I was a woman. Women did that—read into things that weren’t there. But they were just that—random.
Pictures of nuggets and fries.
A landmark of the city he was touring.
Pictures of the audience from the stage.
At least he was thinking of me, but what plagued my mind was the not knowing if this was all it was going to be—random texts till the end of time. I wondered if I’d ever see him again.
There was a slight ounce of hope still, that tiny spark that said, even though he had his rock-star status, he’d want to see me again, and maybe I wasn’t just another girl to him.
The sane part of my brain knew that was not remotely possible, given his lifestyle and the amount of time he spent on tour. So, I tried to water down that spark of hope, push it down where I couldn’t dig it up and feel disappointment.
Maybe I had imagined it—our connection.
It was a mindless fling. That was it.
When I placed the desserts on the serving station, Anne, one of the waitresses, turned in my direction. Her eyes were frantic. “Some customer is totally freaking out over the quality of his steak. Good Lord, we have a high-maintenance one on seven. Do you mind taking the crème brûlées to table thirteen? It’s the cutie’s birthday and he requested crème brûlée, not cake.”
I glanced down at myself, sweating and probably smelly. My hair was pulled back, my face shiny from the grease. Sugar covered my station and half of my apron. I was not in decent form to be seen by customers.
“We’re down two waiters today. Please, Sam,” she pleaded, rushing to the back of the kitchen before I had a chance to say no.