When Stars Burn Out

by Carrie Aarons

  Pax holds out one single red rose, and I blush. The gesture is very romantic, and I let my heart be swept up in the moment. His emerald eyes rake over me, embers burning in them when his gaze falls over my cleavage and collarbone. Stepping into the house, he doesn’t pause before running his big, calloused hands down my bare arms and pressing his lips to said collarbone.

  “You taste delicious. Let’s just stay here.”

  A throaty laugh escapes my lips. “I’m throwing the event.”

  “Farrah can handle it.” He moves to my shoulder.

  “Uh-uh, no. Down boy.” I push him off.

  “I’m not the dog here.”

  “Oh, but you are.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “You look very handsome.”

  “A regular power couple, we are. Now let’s go, you’re going to make us late,” he chides me sarcastically, and I roll my eyes.

  Forty minutes later, we’re on the step and repeat, posing for photos. The press in attendance all wait their turn to interview me, my answers gracious and thorough. I love my job, so I schmooze to keep my business functioning. It’s a necessary evil.

  Moving through the grand ballroom of The Chauncy, a beautiful event space in downtown Charlotte, I take in Gina’s work. Besides marketing, she’s always had the best eye for design. Tonight, she’s outdone herself. The chandeliers glisten above the dance floor, gold and crystal glistening from every corner of the room. Enormous white flower arrangements mark the middle of every table, becoming a conversation piece and centerpiece. The plates are lined with a thin gold, ornate detail, while the water goblets and wine glasses match. The entire gala has a sophisticated, ethereal feel, and it’s easy to get swept away in its romance.

  “Would you care to dance?” Paxton’s hand meets the small of my back, and I want to melt into him.

  Trying to keep a cool head, it would not be professional if everyone saw you make out with your date in the middle of the party, I nod. “I wasn’t aware you had moves.”

  “Sweetheart, being light on my feet is part of my job description.” He moves me to the middle of the dance floor, his arms bracketing my body.

  The twelve-piece band is playing an instrumental Sinatra tune, and I stare into Pax’s eyes as we sway to the rhythm. And then he gets fancy, doing some footwork as he sweeps me across the hardwood. I have to laugh, because he’s being so charming, and my heart won’t stop beating against my ribcage.

  “You’re too good at this,” I murmur.

  “What’s that?” His lips meet my ear.

  “Making me fall.” It’s honest, and I’m scared to say it, but it’s out there.

  He moves his head back so that we’re eye to eye, and the expression on his face is so serious. His mouth opens, and he’s about to respond, when we’re interrupted.

  “Demi Rosen! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  I turn, seeing Chuck Gaskill standing right next to us. We’ve reached the edge of the dance floor, and the song has ended, so I move out of Paxton’s embrace and go to greet Chuck.

  Offering my cheek, I introduce him as we air kiss. “This is Chuck Gaskill, owner of the biggest catering company in Charlotte. He donated all of the food tonight and is always a great partner whenever we need a wish fulfilled.”

  “What she means is, I give her a lot of money. But I’m happy to do so.” The jovial, chubby man laughs, his entire body coming to life with the sound.

  Pax stuck his hand out, putting on that typical all-star smile. “Paxton Shaw, nice to meet you. I’m her boyfriend.”

  The word boyfriend left me dumbstruck, and I swear I had to check if my jaw was on the floor. We hadn’t discussed a title, nor what we were to each other. So much for not pushing things on me, or moving too fast.

  Paxton Shaw was like an adorable bulldozer. He ran you over to get his way, but he looked damn cute doing it.

  “Paxton Shaw, the wide receiver? Well, Demi, I didn’t know you were dating a superstar.” Chuck winks at me.

  “Neither did I,” I murmured under my breath.

  “What’s that, babe?” Pax gives me a toothy grin, and I know he’s being smug.

  “Nothing. Chuck, are you enjoying yourself?” I lace my hand through Pax’s, the movement seeming second nature.

  I squeeze, trying to let him know that I don’t really want to talk to people anymore. We’ve been here for hours, or so it seems, and I just want to give my speech and go home. I’ve never been overly social, I’m much happier hanging out at home in front of the fireplace with a glass of wine and a good book.

  “There is drink, food and beautiful women. What is not to like? So, how long have you two been knocking boots?”

  Chuck was never subtle, and could care less about offending people.

  “Well, if you must know, Chuck … I don’t kiss and tell. Ever. So, I’m going to take this woman and get her up to the podium where she has a speech to give.”

  Paxton to the rescue.

  “Thank you,” I mutter as we make our way to the stage. “I don’t mind him usually, but he can be a lot.”

  “I wasn’t about to tell him that I wish I could knock boots with you right now.” His eyes are pure carnal fire.

  I have to take a deep breath, because how inappropriate would it be to get on stage while thinking about getting him naked.

  “Promise we can get out of here immediately after I do this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Twenty-Two

  Paxton

  I keep my promise, whisking her out of the gala as soon as the applause dies down with her spectacular speech.

  “You really did something.” I nod my head, looking at her in the dim car light. “I know you are, but you should be damn proud. You’re superwoman. I’m in awe.”

  The way those people had held onto every word, the stories she told about the wishes she and her staff had granted this year … Demi was amazing. Plain and simple.

  “Thanks.” She blushes, her hand resting on my leg as I steer us toward her condo.

  I’d seen her eyes when I called myself her boyfriend. I flashed back to a time when I made a bet … and so much grief ran through my system that it was a wonder I didn’t drop dead on the spot from being such an asshole to her all those years ago. It was a miracle she was even still sitting here with me, allowing me to escort her to her own gala and not slapping me in the face when I claimed her like some kind of caveman in front of a donor.

  “I’m sorry about the whole boyfriend thing back there. I know that we haven’t discussed it, and it was piggish of me to say it for the first time without consulting you.”

  Demi studies me, her beautiful head tilting to the side. “You know, there was a time when I would have given anything to hear you put a title on our relationship. And now here you are, apologizing for being hasty and checking to make sure it’s okay with me that you did so. That’s how I know you’ve changed, Pax. The guy you were in college would have never done that. Would have never admitted he was wrong.”

  I give her a small smile. “We all have room to be a good person when someone lets us.”

  Pulling onto her street, the reality that I’ll have to say good night in just a few seconds sets in. I don’t want to go back to my lonely, empty apartment. I don’t want to roll over in my big bed, wishing she was curled up next to me. Since we’d started seeing each other, I found myself doing just that night after night, wondering if she felt the same.

  We pull into her driveway, the ornate porch light over her front door lighting up the walkway. Without words, I help her out of the car and take her hand, then her elbow, walking her to her door.

  “I had a great time tonight,” I tell her, leaning in to kiss her.

  She stops me, a small, soft hand on my tux jacket. “I … I was thinking maybe you could come in. If you want to.”

  I know how big of a step this is for her and so I don’t answer with sarcasm or banter like I normally would. “Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.”
r />   Demi smiles, fiddling with her keys as she tries to unlock the door. Nerves are fresh and pungent in the air, both from her and I. With that one question came so much weight. I was coming in, but it was much more than that. Complicity. She was saying it would be okay if we went further.

  She was giving herself to me, and I was prepared to treat her with the utmost respect and care.

  “Do you want a … drink? A snack, maybe?” Demi fiddles with her keys, she still hasn’t set them down.

  The small sweater wrap she had on over the dress, that had me trying to hide my erection all night, still hung over her shoulders. Slowly, I walked to her, unbuttoning my tuxedo jacket and then raising my hands. Just before I touch her, I speak.

  “Can I touch you?”

  “Yes,” she breathes, her eyes never leaving mine.

  I lay my hands on her shoulders, pushing the fabric of her wrap off so that I can feel the bare skin underneath. Goose bumps zip down her flesh as my fingers lightly graze her collarbone, her neck, her cheek.

  “Can I kiss you?” I gulp, because restraint is so hard in this moment but I know I must use it.

  “Yes.” The answer is a moan.

  Her foyer is dim, nothing but the one light she left on in the living room showing us the way up the stairs. I dip my head, taking her lips slowly and methodically. I want to emblazon my mark on her, so gently and so calculating that years from now she’ll touch her lips in a meeting at work and think of this very moment.

  After what seems like an eternity of exploring her mouth, I pull back, my vision hazy and my cock as hard as a steel pipe.

  “Can I take you to bed?” I wanted to make love with her between the sheets, properly.

  “Yes.” It seems to be the only logical thought Demi can make right now.

  I lace my fingers through her hand, climbing the stairs slowly, not knowing where I’m going but leading anyway. She’s relying on me to do this right, and do it right I will.

  Before we enter her bedroom, a cream and white paradise that screams of her and smells like almond and vanilla, I wrap her in a hug. My eyes peer down at her, trying to look into her soul.

  “I’m going to ask you before I make any move. I want your permission, I want you to be right there with me, knowing full well what you want and what you want to give to me.”

  She nods, and I can see her pupils dilate and go cloudy. Lust has already stolen over her like fog does to the forest on a dark morning.

  Backing into Demi’s room, I sit down on the bed facing her. I take off my shoes, unbutton my shirt, unbuckle my belt, all while she watches. She stands there, in that green dress that feels like heaven and looks like hell, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath. When I’m naked down to my boxers, I descend on her again, things getting a bit faster.

  I nip at her neck, finding the zipper on the dress and pulling it down all the way to the beginning of her pert ass. I push it aside, letting it fall and pool around her feet.

  My breath is stolen when I stumble backward, taking in the sight before me. Black lace over creamy skin, begging to be touched.

  I lead Demi by the hand, falling backward on the bed. “Straddle me.”

  She does as I say, her warm, perfect body rubbing up against mine. And then it’s on.

  My hands are in her hair, her mouth is claiming mine. She’s grinding on me like a wanton, needy thing and I can’t get enough friction to satisfy my aching cock.

  Her tongue runs over the small diamond stud in my ear, sending a jolt to my balls that has me flipping her onto her back.

  I run my hands down her sides, and she arches her back. I smell the sex on her, and I need to taste it. Moving down the bed as she wriggles beneath my hands that mold to her, I find her center and pull off her thong, sending it flying across the room.

  “Can I taste you?” It’s a groan.

  “Paxton …” It’s as much of a yes as she can give, and I take the opening.

  Feast. Devour. Claim. That is all that registers as I taste her, memories assaulting me. I forgot how sweet she was. Is. I forgot all of her quirks, the things that used to drive me wild and coming back for more.

  “I need to be inside of you. Tell me I can be inside of you.” It’s a question, but my voice is so pained with need that it almost sounds like a command.

  “Yes. Yes.”

  I don’t reach for a condom, something I would usually do. We’d moved past those in college, and damn me, I wanted to be inside of her bare. It was a pig move, but she had to be on the pill.

  And if she wasn’t … who cared. The thought registered before my brain had time to catch up to it … but it was the right thought. I was serious about Demi, so serious that nothing was a consequence. Everything was only a step in the eventual steps we would take together.

  Driving into her, we both sucked in a lungful of air, every synapse registering pleasure.

  “Oh my God …” Demi moaned quietly, while I tried to get a grip on my spinning vision.

  So good. So good. It’s the only thing I can think as I stare down at her, my body worshipping hers and vice versa.

  Each moan. Each breath. It takes me back to a time so long ago, when I barely knew what I was doing. Memories flood me, the feeling of familiarity gripping my balls tight.

  But there is also a newness there, excitement tingling in each bone, muscle and tendon.

  Demi unravels just seconds before me, gripping onto me and latching her lips around my neck, almost trying to claw her way through her orgasm. I remember this, her need to get as close to me as possible when she imploded.

  And then I see stars, dancing brilliantly before my eyes, encasing Demi in a sea of fireworks as my body empties into hers.

  Twenty-Three

  Demi

  Eight Years Ago

  Football season was over.

  I knew it because I’d heard the kids shouting through campus, drunk students cheering about winning the championship and bowing down to the players as if they were gods.

  And Pax was coming around more, texting me almost every other night, winding up in my bed more often than usual.

  “I’m going to New York in two weeks.” His fingers danced through my hair, his chest sweaty as I laid on it postcoitally.

  The combine. He’d talked about it numerous times, not really to me in a discussion, but more bragging about himself.

  That’s typically how he spoke to me … as if I wasn’t even really needed in the conversation. I was becoming jaded, after two years of this back and forth, I was just tired. I felt well beyond my meager twenty-somethings. I felt used. I felt exhausted.

  I nodded, hating myself for lying here with him again.

  “They think I’m going to run the fastest forty-yard dash in the last fifteen years.” Pax is bragging, puffing out his chest.

  “Uh-huh.” All I was thinking about was what would happen if he left our college.

  And me.

  “Do you think we’ll keep in touch?” I dared to ask the question, because at this point, I seriously had nothing to lose.

  He wasn’t mine, so in essence, I couldn’t lose him. He’d never been mine … I was realizing that now.

  “Of course, babe.” Those baby blues looked so deeply into mine.

  I could never tell if Pax was lying, or if he really just believed his own bullshit.

  A month and a half later, I watch him on my television. ESPN has his face plastered all over their promos … the anchors on the draft show are discussing how high he’ll get picked and gushing over his stellar combine performance.

  I didn’t see him before he left, his trip to New York coming quickly. He’d come over to fuck me four days before that, and I hadn’t heard a peep since. Pax hadn’t been back to campus, and the two text messages I’d sent wishing him luck and then to see how he was doing had gone unanswered.

  I watch as the team in Boston picks him first, in the first round. The crowd roars, and they show Pax and his parents and
his brother all hugging on camera. His petite, sweet looking mother is jumping up and down, crying with joy.

  And I’m so happy for him, despite my better judgment not to be. I cry, because I know this is his dream.

  But I also want to sob, because I’m not there to share it. Over the course of two years, I’d turned myself inside out for Paxton Shaw. I’d learned about him, worshipped his body, exposed every emotional, raw nerve to him. And he could barely even remember my last name.

  I broke, anguished tears leaking onto my cheeks for all of the time I’d lost. For everything we would never be.

  I would never sit in front of those TV cameras with him, jumping for joy with his family at his accomplishments. I would never chew on my fingernails in the wives and girlfriends section at his first professional game. I would never hold his hand after a loss.

  I would never wear his ring, dress our children up in his jersey number.

  Those things were a stretch … but I had been invested. In love. It was something I couldn’t help, once you met Paxton Shaw and were intimate with him, it had to be inevitable. He had that kind of persona … the one where the moon and the stars would fall in love with him even if they could only see him in the dark of night.

  He’d left, and he wasn’t coming back.

  And so, in that moment, I vowed to never speak his name again.

  I vowed to forget about him, and harden my heart so that this would never happen again.

  Twenty-Four

  Demi

  The sun set over my backyard, the glass of wine I’d poured collecting condensation on the muggy, oddly humid autumn night. I traced it with my finger, ruminating in my thoughts as I picked it up and sipped.

  Maya stirred at the sound of an errant goose in the sky, but immediately lay back down, too lazy and tired to inquire more into the matter.

  I might be relaxing, a thick hardcover mystery novel resting on the patio table in front of me, but my head and heart were far from it. I had read the same line over and over, almost fifteen times, before putting it down with a sigh.