Eric raises an eyebrow. “I don’t need to be up close and personal with the band, thanks.”
“You didn’t have to come tonight,” Megan says to him.
“Right,” Eric responds, and I get the definite impression there’s a lot the two of them aren’t saying. The sudden undercurrent of tension makes me uncomfortable, so I break in. “I don’t want to go up front. I’m not throwing myself at him.”
“Why not? If I were you, I’d be throwing myself at him hard.” Megan gets a faraway look on her face and I know she’s picturing Aidan. On the other side of her, Eric rolls his eyes.
“Do you guys want something to drink?” he asks, changing the subject altogether. We give him our drink orders and he pushes through the crowd in the opposite direction from the stage.
Not long after, the chanting starts, just like at the bar. “Throwback! Throwback!” The first time I heard a crowd yelling the band’s name I was dazed and dazzled, waiting for my mystery man to come back to me, still tasting him on my lips.
I bite my lip at the memory, and realize there’s a new line of chanting starting to overtake the first. “Ai-dan! Ai-dan!” Though there are a lot of guys here, the female fans are more vocal. I get a sick feeling in my stomach as it’s brought home to me yet again how popular Aidan is with pretty much every woman who sees him.
Just as Eric gets back with Cokes for all three of us, the house lights go out and the buzz around us erupts into a roar.
I don't join in the cheering but instead take notice of the fluttering excitement in my chest. Beside me, Megan’s yelling loudly while Eric stands quietly behind her.
The stage lights up in brilliant blue, and Aidan’s suddenly front and center, mike in hand. Long gone— he wails and the fans immediately start to join him in the song:
But not forgotten
Our love was sweet but now it’s rotten
You had to get your final shot in
But I’m gone, long gone
I can't see him as well as I'd like, but Aidan’s spark reaches me as if I'm right next to him. He's electrifying. Megan was right; I may have said I like the band, but the rest of the stage might as well be empty. All I see is him.
He’s wearing tight jeans and a black shirt and somehow seems sexier than ever. He struts across the large stage, playing off of the other band members when he’s not completely absorbed in the song he’s singing. I feel every emotion he’s sending out: longing, sorrow, pain, and raw need.
After the third song, Aidan takes a break to talk to the crowd. While he’s talking, three girls jump up onstage. In seconds, they’re making a beeline for Aidan.
It all happens so quickly. My heart seems to stand still in my chest, but just before they reach him, two of Aidan’s bandmates hustle him away, getting between him and the girls. The rest of the band surrounds him, and they retreat offstage while two big, beefy guys come out and escort the girls away.
I’m more shaken up than I should be. Has this happened before? Is it part of what Aidan was talking about when he said he wasn’t sure about the band? I’m torn between a sick terror that something might have happened to him, the reminder that I don’t have the right to feel protective of him, and the cold reality that if I were Aidan’s girlfriend, I’d have to deal with this kind of attention all the time. I’ve already seen the milder form of it on campus.
The crowd boos and yells when the band disappears, but the interruption doesn’t last long. The same two bouncer guys take up position in front of the stage, arms folded, then Throwback comes out and resumes the show without a word about the incident.
I try to read Aidan’s expression. Is he amused? Irritated? But I’m too far back to make out the details of his face. He launches into another song, and again has the crowd singing along with him.
The show continues without more incidents. Once, when I manage to pull my eyes away from Aidan, I look over to see Megan leaning against Eric, who’s still standing behind her. Her expression is innocent, her attention fixed on the band, but Eric’s focus is entirely on her.
Throwback does two songs for an encore, a slow, bluesy number that they draw out with guitar and drum solos, then a hard-rocking anthem that has everyone in the place clapping, singing, and dancing. The energy carries us out onto the street, swept up in the crowd.
Like they were at the other venue, the band is out at a side door signing autographs, this time with bodyguards overseeing the process.
“Do you want to?” Megan says, gesturing to the long line that’s already formed.
This time, I consider it. I’d like to see Aidan all pumped up from the show, all sweaty, in his element. But it would be a long wait — to say what? I don’t even know what we are to each other in his real life; I’m not sure I fit at all into this part of his world.
“No, that’s okay,” I say. “We can go.”
I halfway expect Megan to push me to go see him, or to want to see him herself, if only to verify that there’s some kind of relationship between him and me. But to my surprise she agrees with me, and the three of us walk back to our dorms.
21
Amber
It’s Monday and I’m not sure what concerns me most — that I’m about to show my face at the campus tutoring center again, or that I haven’t heard from Aidan since he said goodbye to me at his house last Wednesday.
I’d started to wonder if the eggs I cooked at his house were bad, and maybe I poisoned Aidan and his dad with the omelets. So I worked up the nerve to text him yesterday, just a quick, Hey, how are you? Are we still on for tutoring tomorrow?, and all he replied was, Yeah, see you there.
Other than that one exchange? Silence.
Was it stupid to think he might be in touch with me, after what we’d shared that afternoon? Maybe it was. No matter how nice he’s been to me, how sweet even, he’s never said anything about wanting more than sex.
I’m pretty sure I would have gone all the way with him at his house that day, if his dad hadn’t come home early. I want him more than ever now, but if we do have sex, how am I going to feel afterward?
Look at me — I’m upset because he hasn’t been in touch with me for a few days after a study session and some spectacular oral sex. How would I feel if I actually slept with him, and then never heard from him again?
I’d really like to blow this off today. And I would, damn it, if his tutoring skills weren’t as good as, well, all his other skills.
Except that’s a lie. I won’t miss a chance to see him, even just to study.
I find Aidan standing by the front desk inside the tutoring center, talking with another guy. They both look up as I approach, and Aidan smiles at me, but it’s just a normal smile. I don’t see any special meaning in it. I don’t see any signs that his heart jumps when he sees me, like mine just did when I spotted him.
He excuses himself from his conversation and leads me to a table in the main room, where we’ll be surrounded by people. I wonder if this is by choice, or if the individual study rooms are all taken.
“How was class last week?” he asks as soon as we’re seated.
I guess we’re getting right down to business. “It was okay. There was new stuff I’d like to go over with you.”
“All right, let’s have a look.”
He seems strangely subdued, and I want to say something to him, something meaningful, even if only to ask how he’s been, but instead I follow his lead and we dive into chemistry.
We cover the new material, Aidan clarifies the parts I’d been having trouble with, then we move on to practice balancing equations. I’m really starting to get the hang of it now, and I work through several problems without making a mistake.
“You’re doing great, Amber. You’ve really improved.”
His praise is warm and genuine, but at the same time it seems like he’s not fully here with me. Part of him — the sexy, flirty, hot-as-sin part that I’m so familiar with — is missing. I feel like I’m just another student receiving hel
p from a tutor, not someone he’s made come three times.
“Would you like to set up another extra session this week?” he asks, when the timer on his phone tells us our time is up. His voice is cool and detached. I want to search his face, to figure out what’s behind his changed behavior, but I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze for long.
“I think Mondays will be enough,” I say quickly, as I gather my things. “I’m getting it now.”
Aidan nods. “Okay.”
I don’t hear relief, or disappointment, or really anything at all in his voice. So I don’t wait around for things to get awkward. I simply say goodbye and head out while Aidan is still getting up from the table. He doesn’t call me back, or ask me to wait, and when I push through the doors, I force myself not to blink so that no tears can fall.
He didn’t touch me once during our session. Sure we were in the middle of an open room, but his knee didn’t even bump against mine. There were no sexy smirks, no devilish comments … nothing.
He said it wasn’t bad that I was a good girl, but obviously it is. He’s a player, that sensible side of my brain smugly reminds me. And in the days since I last saw him, he has no doubt been playing, and found someone — maybe more than one someone — he likes playing with better.
22
Amber
The week goes by with no communication from Aidan. After the way he acted at our tutoring session, it’s not as if I expected to hear from him. But my heart still held out hope.
I see him a few times on campus, and the pull is as strong as ever, at least on my side. I want to run to him, throw my arms around him and just hold on. I want to feel his strong arms around me again and breathe in his Aidan scent. But of course I don’t. I can’t.
It’s not really a surprise that when I see him, there’s usually a girl with him, or a small group of them. At least they’re different girls every time. It’s ridiculous, but his lack of monogamy gives me some consolation.
On the occasions we make eye contact as I pass by him on campus, he just smiles and nods his head, a perfunctory greeting like he’d give to anyone. It feels like a kick in the stomach.
I think back to everything that was said and done between us and wonder what happened to change his behavior. The only thing I keep circling back to is the good girl comment. Was it so clear that I’m inexperienced? Was he expecting more from me last week at his house?
He’s all wrong for you and you knew it from the start, I tell myself, as if I ever had a choice to resist him. What’s strange is how much I miss him, as if he’d always been part of my life.
On Saturday, I find myself being nudged awake. When I open my eyes I find the room bright with sun and Megan perched on the edge of my bed.
“Amber, are you okay?”
“Hmmm, yeah.” I roll over and squint up at her.
“It’s nearly noon.” Megan, who thinks the day starts at 11 a.m., knows I’m usually an early riser. “You’re not sick, are you?”
I’m shocked to find that I’ve slept so late, but then I remember my mood when I went to bed last night. Swirling, circling thoughts — that often revolved around me kicking myself for getting hung up on an unattainable heartbreaker — kept me up I don’t know how late.
“I’m fine,” I say, sitting up. “I guess I just needed to catch up on sleep.”
“Okay.” Megan gets up and heads toward the door. “I’ll be back later. Oh, a group of us are going to the movies tonight. Do you want to come?”
“I don’t think so. I have a lot to do.”
Megan leaves, and as she closes the door, a wave of sadness washes over me that makes me want to collapse back into bed and let it swallow me up. But I wasn’t making excuses; I do have a lot to do, and wallowing in self-pity is not on my list.
I shower and grab lunch, eating because I know I need to, not because I have any sign of an appetite. Then I hit my homework, getting the easier stuff out of the way before moving on to chemistry.
My attitude toward the subject matter has been changing. It started with confusion and frustration, moved on to some tentative understanding, and now I am facing it with willful determination.
I will ace my final, because now it’s tied up with Aidan in my mind, and I at least want something good to come out of my relationship —
At that, I have to stop and laugh at myself. I can’t even say I’ve had a relationship with Aidan.
In any case, I plan to get an A, to show him and myself that I can do it. I pull out my notes and get to work.
Around six, I decide I need to stop. I’m making great progress, but I’m still hitting a few walls and finding gaps in my knowledge. I can feel frustration building up inside me, so I pull my hair back, put on my running shoes and head out to release the stress.
I try to run once a week, and tonight I chart an extra long course, circling around campus, weaving through areas I don’t usually cover, and pushing hard, trying to wear myself out so I won’t be up half the night thinking dark thoughts.
I pass a lot of students heading out for the night, and when I finally get back to the dorm, the building is much quieter than usual. Megan’s come and gone, leaving a pile of discarded outfit choices on her bed. I get cleaned up, and intend to pick up where I left off studying, but when I flip open my notepad, the first thing I see is a list of formulas that Aidan had written down for me to memorize.
I’ve studied them, I know what they mean and what they refer to, but right now they are just marks on a paper, and instead of seeing them, I’m remembering his lean hand gripping the pen, and how I watched the muscles in his forearm flex as he wrote.
It’s Saturday night. Aidan will be on stage later, flexing those muscles and so many more for an adoring crowd.
I stare at the formulas, waiting for them to turn back into something that makes sense, but instead my mind is playing a movie for me, showing me Aidan strutting, shirtless, singing his soulful, sexy songs.
As if his dark eyes are mesmerizing me straight through my memories, I slam my notes closed, put on a little makeup, and head out before I can think too much about what I’m doing.
I know it’s stupid, I know it’s going to hurt, and I know I’m probably going to feel even worse later, but somehow I can’t stop myself. I cross campus, and soon I’m walking among the crowds headed to see Throwback.
I don’t go in until I hear the chanting. I don’t want to risk running into him. I slip in right before the show starts and I stay in the back of the room. The lights are down, and the crowd’s calls continue until the first guitar chords break through the noise. Then the stage is suddenly ablaze and the guys are all out there, Aidan front and center.
They tear into their opening number, a harder rocking song than the one they’d opened with last time, and Aidan howls out the lyrics, almost sounding in pain at times:
You
You’re like fire
Your flame sparks my desire
But you’d best forget my name
I’m not the one who came
For you ...
The crowd seems harder rocking than last time too, matching the band’s energy, even way back here at the back of the room. Aidan looks amazing, of course. Tight jeans stretched across his muscular thighs, pale t-shirt already clinging to his chest.
I watch him work his fans into a frenzy and I blink my eyes, wondering how this is same man who teaches me chemistry and introduced me to his dad. I remember feeling special, knowing those other sides of him, but now I’m almost wishing I didn’t know. Sexy as he is up there, I could look away from another hot lead singer, but I can’t look away from Aidan and all that I know he is.
“Something new. I hope you all liked it,” Aidan says, his mouth close in to the mike, as the first song ends. Responses come in loud cheers and Throwback starts into their second number, one I recognize from their last two shows.
After that first one, most of the songs are ones I’ve heard before, but somehow they all sound darke
r tonight. Aidan’s singing seems to have a hard edge to it, like the songs are about pain and loss instead of sex and sinning, the way they all sounded that first night I heard him perform. I know I must be projecting my own feelings on what I’m hearing, but I can’t shake the sensation that it’s a different show tonight.
Even though it’s torture to be here, to watch him and hear him, and see all the screaming girls and wonder which one he’ll take home, I stay for the whole show. My heart hasn’t even started to heal, but I stay and let the wound get cut open again.
I don’t hang around afterwards though. As soon as the house lights come on, I head for the exit, and I make sure I’m down the road before the band comes out for autographs. I don’t need to see Aidan flirting with his groupies.
23
Amber
Megan’s back at the dorm when I return, and she’s still awake. Shit! I wasn’t thinking, and I’m not prepared to face her after my visit to the bar.
“Hey,” she says, looking me up and down, trying to draw clues from my appearance. “Hot date tonight?”
I try to quickly come up with a story about where I’ve been so that I don’t have to tell her the truth, but my brain is too tired to invent a good excuse. I stare at her and last about five seconds before my face crumbles and I start crying. Damn it!
Megan’s at my side instantly, putting her arms around me. “Aw, honey, what’s wrong?” She rubs my back and it feels good, even though I’m furious that I’ve broken down.
“It’s nothing,” I say, managing to compose myself, grateful that I’ve not quite headed into ugly-cry territory. “I went to see Aidan tonight.”
“What happened? What did he do?” She sounds ready to jump to my defense, and her concern touches me. I know she worships Aidan and the fact that she’s lining up as my friend, rather than his fan, means a lot.
SPARKED: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance (With bonus book, PERFECT) Page 7