Pop Star

by Meredith Michelle

  “Okay, just a sec.”

  You walk back to Jett and lay a hand gently on his arm. Under his shirt, you can feel he’s pure muscle. His bicep bulges as he works the soundboard. He holds one finger up then pushes a button and backs away from the board.

  “Thanks,” you tell him, yelling over the noise of the music and crowd. “This was really fun.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it,” Jett says. He looks out into the crowd as if contemplating something. “Any chance I could convince you to stay?”

  “I wish I could,” you tell him, then realize it’s one of those things everyone says but no one really means. But you mean it. “I really do. But I promised that guy”—you nod toward Sasha—“I’d accompany him to see a friend perform in a show she headlines on the Strip.” You feel unaccountably saddened at the thought of disappointing him. “Maybe we could meet up after?” you offer impulsively. You immediately feel a stab of guilt thinking about Crispin, but you immediately quash the feeling as you remember what Sasha told you about Crispin’s texts with Trixie.

  “Really?” He brightens immediately. “That would be amazing.”

  “Honey,” urges Sasha impatiently from behind your shoulder.

  “One second!” you yell.

  You slip your phone from inside your bustier. “What’s your number?” you ask Jett. He takes your phone and quickly adds himself to your contacts.

  The crowd roars a goodbye as Jett announces your departure. You wave goodbye and make your exit.

  “What were you doing over there?” Sasha asks. “Did you give that boy your number?”

  “Nope,” you answer. “But I got his.”

  “You go girl!” Sasha high-fives you as you walk through the hotel lobby.

  You arrive at Carlie’s Angels just as the theatre begins to darken.

  “I thought you were never gonna get here,” Freddie whispers. “Sit.”

  You slide into a seat at the little candlelit table near the front of the room.

  “Well, we’re here, so relax,” Sasha shushes.

  The show opens with a rowdy number. The dancers kick, twist, and writhe their way around the stage. Sasha leaps out of his seat in crazy applause when Carlie makes an appearance. Freddie tugs at his shirt until he settles back into his seat.

  “I can’t help it!” Sasha gushes. “that’s my boo!”

  “She may be your boo but your behind is blocking everyone’s view.”

  Sasha scowls at Freddie and sits back down ever so slowly. As he leans back, your eyes slowly adjust to the dim light and you spot the back of a familiar head at the table across from yours. When the head turns, there’s no question.

  “Oh my god,” you mouth.

  Sasha and Freddie are too engrossed in the show to notice. You give Sasha a kick under the table.

  “Ouch!” he says, reaching down to rub his shin.

  You widen your eyes and tilt your head to direct his attention toward the table behind Sasha. Sasha widens his own eyes then shakes his head, not understanding.

  You try an exaggerated nod. Sasha turns his palms up, still confused. Meanwhile, Freddie sits utterly oblivious between you, smiling and bobbing his head in time with the music.

  Finally, you point your finger in a circular motion, trying to indicate to Sasha that he needs to turn around. The number onstage comes to a close and the audience applauds, hoots, and whistles. Sasha still isn’t getting the message and claps with the crowd. There’s a sudden quiet moment as the stage darkens before the next song.

  “Honey, I have no idea what—” Sasha says too loudly.

  You freeze as Han Lee slowly turns in his chair. “Honey?” he asks.

  “Hey, Han.” You flip your ponytail behind you and cut your eyes at Sasha.

  “Oh, lord.” Sasha shakes his head. “That’s what you were trying to tell me.”

  Han is out of his chair in an instant to give you a kiss on the cheek, his eyes bright. He squats beside you as the next number starts. “What are you doing here?” he whispers.

  “A friend of Sasha’s is in the show. And I’m here, touring. Vegas stop. What about you?”

  “One of my old backup dancers is in the show too. Small world!” Han tells you, flashing his megawatt smile.

  “It certainly is.” You can’t help but smile back. Han’s enthusiasm is instantly disarming. It’s one of his biggest assets. He’s as boyish and adorable as you remember—and still unbelievable sexy.

  Han hangs onto the back of your chair and accidentally brushes a finger against your shoulder as he adjusts his position. His touch sends a wave of familiar pleasure through you. You feel your nipples harden under the silk of your top. “It’s so good to see you,” he says. “You look gorgeous.”

  “Thanks. You look really good, too.” And he does. Though he’s just as you remember him in many ways somehow he looks more mature. His neck has thickened and his biceps bulge beneath his shirt as he steadies himself on your chair.

  The music sweeps into full volume and Han leans close so you can hear him. He whispers into your ear, sending a fresh chill to your core. “You want to catch up after the show? Grab a drink or something?”

  Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Sasha pretending not to watch your interaction, a disproving smirk on his face.

  “Um, maybe,” you answer. “Can I text you?”

  “Sure,” he says, hopping to his feet, then leaning back down to whisper, “I love it that you still have me in your phone.”

  A familiar heat rises to your cheeks as he returns to his seat.

  Sasha shoots you a warning look then returns to watching the show.

  You’re distracted as you watch, thinking about the crazy turn of events you’ve experienced in just one night. You knew Vegas would be more than an average tour stop, but you never dreamed you’d run into Han here, or that he would seem so different—but familiar in all the right ways. Or that you’d meet Jett, with his sexy Australian accent and hypnotic eyes. You glance over at Han, his spiky black hair a crazy silhouette against the backdrop of the lighted stage. Still, you can’t stop, try as you might, you can’t stop thinking about Crispin. Something about the way you left things feels so unsettled. Maybe a night together in Vegas is exactly what you need. You think for a moment, pick up your phone, and hit the message icon.

  To text Jett, turn to page 118.

  To text Crispin, turn to page 85.

  To text Han, keep reading.

  Drinks after. Where do you want to go?

  The screen remains blank for a few minutes then lights up brilliantly.

  I know a fun place. Unless you have somewhere in mind

  Nope, your call. Looking forward to catching up

  Me2!

  You set the phone face down on the table and immediately feel a knot of unease in your stomach. You attempt to return your attention to the show but images of your past with Han begin to flicker uninvited into your mind: your first kiss on the red carpet at the Platinum Music Awards. That time he sent twenty-three bouquets of roses (one for every day you had been together) to your music video shoot, and the leaked photos the media published right after. His infamous “I’m stuck on Honey,” rap on the Ellie Z. Show. The tabloids ate it up, making your new romance their cover story of the moment.

  Of course Sasha believed Han’s grand and very public gestures were nothing but PR stunts, a strategy designed to self-catapult Han to the top. But Sasha wasn’t privy to the quiet moments you and Han shared. On your third date, Han bought out the entire Rockefeller Center ice rink so you had the glassy expanse of perfectly smooth ice all to yourselves—just because you’d mentioned once that skating on that rink had been a dream of yours as a child. He was romantic and sweet in so many ways. And he was amazing in bed, generous and attentive. Thinking about it brings on an involuntary chill.

  You still feel a little guilty about how it ended. As the weeks went on, the media attention became more than a little grating. You started to find little things
about Han that annoyed you—the way he constantly checked his cell phone throughout your dates, the way he loved to tweet a controversial comment or post a photo that caused a media buzz or an online feud with other celebs, the way he caught his reflection in every store or restaurant window you passed when you took a simple walk together. You started to think Sasha was right, that Han was nothing more than a “climber,” who wouldn’t be nearly as famous had he not dated you. When Crispin came back into the picture and you were about to go on tour, it seemed like a perfect time to make a break. Looking back, you’re not entirely sure you gave Han a fair chance. He was devastated when you ended it.

  You only notice the show has ended when Sasha jumps to his feet, whistling and clapping like a maniac. You join him, applauding as the cast bows and blows kisses to the audience.

  “That was amazing!” Sasha says. “I’m going backstage to find Carlie.”

  You hesitate a moment too long.

  “You coming?” Sasha asks.

  “She’s your friend. You should go.”

  Sasha narrows his eyes at you, “That’s how you’re gonna play it?”

  Freddie looks back and forth between you, utterly bewildered. “What did I miss?”

  Sasha puts a hand on his hip and leans in toward Freddie. “A blast from Henrietta’s past has caught her attention. And we’ve lost it apparently. That’s how highly we rate.”

  “Sasha, you know it’s not like that,” you tell him.

  “I know exactly what it’s like, Henry, and so do you, which makes it all the more disgraceful.”

  Freddie looks back and forth between you again. “I’m lost,” he finally says.

  “Well, then, come with me and let’s get you found.” Sasha links arms with Freddie and leads him off backstage, cutting his eyes at you over his shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says as he walks off with Freddie.

  You roll your eyes at his drama and turn to find Han at your side.

  “What was that all about?” he asks.

  “Just Sasha being Sasha,” you explain.

  “How weird is it that you and I would both be here at the same time? It’s crazy! But I’m really glad to see you, Honey.”

  “Yeah”—you smile up into his warm, dark eyes—“me too.” You glance around the room, which is starting to clear, but you have an odd sense you are being watched and want to avoid drawing unwanted attention. “So, should we head out?”

  “Totally. What would you think about going back to my place?” Han runs his fingers through his jet-black hair. “I have this sick suite with a hot tub and an amazing view. It’s only two blocks away. I have a car waiting outside.”

  That Han is suggesting a private location, away from prying eyes, is a pleasant surprise. It takes you only a second to answer. “Sounds perfect.”

  Han’s suite is indeed “sick.” Like your suite, it boasts a huge wall of windows overlooking the Strip. But unlike yours, it also has a balcony housing a hot tub the size of a small swimming pool. Enclosed in glass on all sides, the balcony appears to float free from the side of the building. The lighting casts an eerily exotic blue-green glow that filters through the glass walls and disappears into the night.

  “I’m going to go change,” Han says, handing you a robe. “Bathroom’s right there. Meet you in the hot tub?”

  Han’s enthusiasm is contagious, and the hot tub looks inviting. You slip into the bathroom, skim out of your clothes, and wrap yourself in the thin robe, the silk cool and slick against your warm skin.

  Han is already in the hot tub when you walk back out onto the balcony. He pops open a bottle of Cristal, drizzling a froth of champagne into the water.

  “Damn! That’s like fifty dollars’ worth of champagne down the tubes,” he laughs.

  “It’s good for the skin,” you tell him, untying your robe and dropping it at your feet.

  Han’s eyes are immediately on your body, hungrily taking in every inch. “Damn!” he says again. “How do you look better than I even remember? God, Honey, you better get in here before I come over there.”

  You ease into the water and Han moves toward you, sending a gentle wave of warm water over your breasts.

  “Turn around,” he tells you. As he goes to work on your shoulders, you remember one of the things you liked best about Han—he gives a fantastic massage. He kneads the tension from your neck and shoulders, working his way down your back with just the right amount of pressure.

  “That feels amazing,” you say, leaning back into him and feeling the tension of the day beginning to melt away under his expert fingers.

  He works his way up from your back to your shoulders, then rubs small circles into your neck with his thumbs. He follows the path of his fingers with kisses, moving your ponytail aside and running his tongue from your earlobe down to the nape of your neck. The chills running down your spine create a delicious contrast to the water’s warmth. “This is like fate, don’t you think? That we are both here, tonight?” he whispers into your ear.

  You turn to look at him. The look on his handsome face is pure enthusiastic joy and infatuation, and it is flattering. “It’s definitely an interesting coincidence.”

  He kisses you, plunging his tongue in and out of your mouth. The chemistry between you is as strong as your remember, and it would be so easy to fall back into his arms.

  Kissing Han, you feel an odd mix of the comfort of familiarity and thrill of something new.

  The water is warm and soothing, the gentle bubbles tickling every inch of your skin. Han moves his hands to your breasts, which float just below the water’s buoyant surface, squeezing them firmly then pinching each nipple before he takes one into his mouth and sucks hungrily. As he does, he moves to position himself over you, and you feel the hard urgency of his erection under the slick skin of his bathing suit. You move your hand to grasp him and he groans. Both the feel of him and the sound of his moan bring back so many memories.

  There’s a small part of you that wonders whether you should go any farther, but at the same time every ounce of your being wants to give in to this moment. Neither of you have made any promises. You’re simply reconnecting, enjoying a chance rendezvous in a place where anything can happen and where secrets are kept.

  You run your hands down Han’s slick biceps. His muscles bulge as he leans into you. His chest has grown broader and more defined since were last together, and now even his stomach is pure muscle, the washboard ridges visible in the glow of the hot tub lights.

  His body against yours, Han’s wet swim trunks dig deliciously into you as he thrusts. After a few seconds, you kiss him deeply and you push the bathing suit down. You run one finger down his chiseled abs and then up from the base of his cock to the tip before grasping him again and pulling him toward you. His breath is coming fast and hard, and he has a look of intense desire in his eyes.

  “Not yet,” he says hoarsely. With a gleam of mischief in his eyes he dives under that water and finds your most sensitive area. He flicks his tongue back and forth then sucks deeply before resurfacing to kiss you again.

  “As sweet as I remember,” he says. He takes a sip of champagne, then lets the bubbly liquid flow from his mouth into yours.

  “You’re as crazy as I remember,” you laugh.

  “Crazy about you,” he says, then rises from the water to hover over you. Something about the way the light reflects from his skin makes him appear otherworldly. Every muscle in his arms and chest are defined, glowing blue-green in reflected light. Again, you are overtaken by that odd feeling of familiarity mixed with the feeling of something so different. He lowers you gently, centimeter by centimeter, and pauses for a moment before thrusting powerfully into you.

  You move together in the water, making gentle waves in surface of the water, soon echoed by waves of pleasure that roll through your body. Han joins you, moaning into your neck as he comes.

  After, he wraps himself around you tenderly and holds you close. You languish in the warm
th of his embrace, the comfort of his familiar scent, and the satiety of your body, as you float together.

  At last, Han takes in a big breath of air. “I don’t want to let go,” he tells you. “I never in a million years thought that this would happen tonight.”

  You smile. “What happens in Vegas . . .”

  Han looks into your eyes. “Does it have to stay in Vegas?”

  You’re not sure whether he’s joking.

  Han brushes a strand of hair off of your shoulder. “I’m serious,” he says. “I’ve missed you, Honey.”

  You don’t know how to reply. “What brings you to Vegas, anyway?” you ask him.

  “Oh! Right, you don’t know. I mean, how would you? I’m actually auditioning—how funny it that? You know the show that gave me my start, K-Pop? Colton Powers is developing an American version, Star Power. They want me to be a judge. It would be a fun gig, and Powers thinks it’s a compelling story, me returning to my roots, and all that.”

  “Can you make a TV show work with your tour schedule?”

  “Believe me, they are bending over backwards to make it work. The audition is just a formality. I’m key to the whole show. They’ve already pretty much promised me a G6 to get me where I need to be if I’m on tour. The deal is pretty sweet.”

  “Sounds like it,” you say. Han certainly hasn’t lost his self-confidence. You wait for him to ask about you.

  “Isn’t this a ridiculous view?” he asks instead.

  “It’s spectacular.” The glittering Strip below you is breathtaking, the desert lit with neon lights as far as you can see.

  Han turns his head and kisses you again. “You’re spectacular,” he tells you. “What?” he asks when you pull away.

  “Nothing,” you say. “I just feel kind of strange all of a sudden. Probably overheated.”

  Han seems to take that as a compliment. “My bad.” He smiles.

  “I should get going,” you tell him, rising from the water and finding a towel and your robe. “But this has been amazing, seeing you again.”

  Han jumps up, dripping water all over the balcony floor as he does. He wraps a towel quickly around his waist.