Ripping Pages

by Rae, Rachel

  As I took in Tatum's beautiful sparkly green mini dress, I instantly felt like maybe I wasn’t dressed correctly. She looked far dressier than I did.

  “You look fab, Tin.”

  “Thanks. So do you, Tate. Are you sure I'm not under-dressed?”

  “No, not at all. You look bangin'.”

  I laughed, “Well, I don’t know if I was going for bangin’ but I guess I'll take it.”

  “Good. We're actually early. Most people won’t start showing up for another hour or so. Come on, Hot stuff. Let’s show you off to these New York City boys.”

  I rolled my eyes as she led me into the building.

  In normal Tatum fashion, she stopped for a few pictures for the paparazzi. I sauntered past her and quickly ducked inside.

  It was beautiful building. The lobby was decorated like something out of a 1920s movie. It was very cool and vintage.

  I was so anxious. This was not my forte'. As we walked toward the elevator, an older man with kind eyes and a clipboard greeted us. “Names, please.”

  “Tatum Jennings and Tinley Michaels,” Tatum answered.

  “Ahh, yes,” He said as he scrolled down the list with his pen and found what I presumed were our names.

  “Right this way.” He led us to the elevators. When the silver doors opened, we stepped inside, and the nice man pushed a code and stepped back as the doors closed, and Tatum and I were heading up. I took my powder and lip gloss out of my bag and reapplied. I noticed the glowing button for the floor we were going to… I suddenly felt extremely out of my league.

  “Penthouse?” I asked, incredulously.

  “Yes. Sloan's brother owns it. I've only met him a handful of times, but he’s really cool. And fucking gorgeous—”

  Before she could say anymore, the elevator ascended higher and the doors opened up. My breath stopped. This place deserved such a better name than Penthouse. It was a palace. It was ginormous. The room was vast and pretty empty except for the caterers and waiters and maybe about thirty partygoers. Since there weren’t that many people there yet, the place looked even bigger. There was a gigantic glass elevator smack dab in the middle of the room that had a winding floating staircase that went up about three floors. It was awe-inspiring, to say the least. What I really couldn’t take my eyes off and away from were the four mammoth clocks on each side of the vast room. Each one had you staring through the clock and looking out to a different piece of New York.

  “Pretty fucking awesome, huh?” Tatum asked.

  “Oh. My. God. It is absolutely amazing.”

  “Excuse me. Champagne?” asked a very handsome guy in a suit carrying a tray of what I'm sure was some super high dollar champagne that probably cost more than my paycheck.

  “Um. Yes, thank you,” I mumbled, still in awe of this place. I took my champagne, and Tatum and I started walking around the penthouse.

  We ended up taking the elevator to the top floor and out onto a tiny crow's nest terrace that directly faced the Brooklyn Bridge and the entire downtown of Manhattan. The colors and lights were indescribable. I was sure my mouth was hanging open. This was the kind of thing I had dreamed about New York. This was the stuff of movies. Lost in my reverie, I didn’t notice when Tatum came up behind me with Sloan, Cynthia, and Jess.

  Sloan gave me a huge hug. “I'm so glad you came,” She said smiling a dazzling smile that displayed a set of perfect veneers. She looked gorgeous in a sleek black evening gown that rippled in waves down her back and onto the floor.

  “Thank you for inviting me. This place is insane.”

  “Ahh, yes. Big brother is very generous, and he lets me use his place. I love it here, too. He definitely has good taste.”

  “I'll say,” I said still in a stupor.

  We walked back downstairs and around the party, and I was introduced to tons of people and dozens of names were given, and I couldn’t remember a single one. Most of them were nice to the newcomer but, as I figured, there were many females that were downright hateful. They looked down at me as if they were too good to give me the time of day. I'm not really one for confrontation, especially at a party to which I am a guest, but good old Tatum threw them some choice words and a few middle fingers as we left their presence.

  A few hours later, the music was booming through the speakers, and now the space was filled with a couple hundred people.

  At some point, as I was grabbing some hors d'oeuvres in the kitchen, Tatum had disappeared to a couch out of view, and she was flirting with a pretty sexy dude with a black and white Mohawk and several piercings and tattoos.

  Sloan, Cynthia, and Jess eventually scampered off talking to more people they knew, and I suddenly felt very out of place. I decided I would use the restroom, if I could find it, and then take a cab home. I had been here for a few hours already, and I did have an early shift at the cafe in the morning. I asked a waiter carrying a tray of some appetizers where the restroom was at, and he pointed to a hallway where I could see a line of people standing. “Really? That’s the only one?”

  He smiled and leaned in. “Well, there are two on the second floor, but the only one not being renovated is in the Master bedroom, and no one's supposed to go there. Just don’t say I told you.”

  “Awesome! You are a lifesaver. Thank you.” I smiled.

  “No prob. Just take the stairs. Oh, and the code for the door to the bedroom is 2611.”

  Code for the bedroom door?

  I thanked him again and walked the few feet to the elevator, and I was thankful that no one was using it. The elevator was seriously rad. It was completely glass and with the dim lights from the party and the bright lights from the skyline, it was a beautiful view. I stepped out into the hallway on the second floor. It was eerily quiet. The sounds of the party were drowned out by the enormity of the house. I walked down the hall where there were only two doors and a set of double doors. I saw the keypad next to the door handle, and I entered the code. Thankful that it was the right one. I felt around for the light switch so that I could see where I was going. When I found it and flipped it up, I was suddenly aware that I was in someone's personal space. I mean, I knew it was in the master bedroom, but I felt like I was seriously intruding. A bedroom was very intimate. It was my personal belief that no one should be in your bedroom, but the person you shared it with—or persons, depending on who you were. But I seriously had to pee. Looking around, my feeling of intrusion into someone's intimate space was confirmed. The room was huge with big windows all along the walls looking out into the city. It was sparse of furniture except for a huge King sized bed that sat against the far wall, the bed sheets and comforter rumpled up like someone had just gotten out of bed, even though it was after nine p.m. Men's clothes were strewn all over the floor. Jeans, white t-shirts, boxer briefs... a pair of lacy panties. I spotted condom wrappers on the nightstand next to an alarm clock and a half-empty bottle of water and a phone charger. Ok, time to pee and get out of this dude's room.

  I finished my business and walked out of the messy room quickly turning the lights off and closing the door behind me. When I came out into the hallway, my little annoying snoopy side came out. Seeing that I was totally alone up there, I figured I could just have a quick look around. I would not go back into the bedroom, though. That was pushing it. I tried to quiet my heels on the solid cherry oak floors under me. I turned toward the set of double doors at the end of the hall and carefully and quietly turned the knob. It was dark, but as soon as I stepped through the threshold, the lights came on.

  I was immediately in awe. Dozens of pictures, and platinum and gold records hung all around the room along with a huge shelf that held several Grammys and other awards I couldn’t name. I closed the door softly behind me and then walked around the room. I was in wonder as I looked around the room with beams and small windows looking out to the skyline. There was a fully stocked bar on the far side of the area. It was strangely cozy in that room. I walked over to one of the platinum records that hung on th
e wooden wall. I instantly recognized the band name. Ripping Pages. They weren’t a band that I particularly listened to, but I remember James had several of their CDs so I had listened to them quite a bit when we were together. We especially had enjoyed having some sexy time to the sounds of Ripping Pages and their lead singer whose voice made my girly parts tingle even more as it stroked me through the tiny speakers in James’ apartment.

  Add that voice to some sex with my man, and boom, those were some fun times. James.

  He was into hard rock and alternative music. I was into some of the old stuff I had grown up listening to as my mother was a huge 70's soft rock fan—Bread, Barry Manilow and Carly Simon were some of my favorites. I also liked the occasional pop song.

  From what I remembered, Ripping Pages were pretty good. Really good, actually. James had told me more than once that they were one of the best-selling rock artists of all time. Wow, so Sloan’s brother was in Ripping Pages? Pretty cool. I walked over to the shelves that held the awards. I looked behind me to make sure no one had come in from the hallway to catch me being a total snoop. I turned back around and bent down to run my fingers along the shiny gold Grammy. It was from about eight years ago. Best new artist. Damn. That’s legit. I ran my hand along another Grammy feeling the cold metal under my fingertips. It was from four years before.

  “Album of the year,” I heard a familiar, deep voice penetrate the quiet. I screamed and turned around only to lock eyes with the one guy who had been filling my thoughts the past few days. He stood there, brown hair a spiky beautiful mess, and perfectly faded jeans, a Mets t-shirt hugging his ridiculously defined body, and those hot as hell tattoos running all up and down each of his impressive arms. I’ve never found feet to be anywhere near sexy, but to see him standing there barefoot got my heart racing just a little faster than it already was. I just stood there staring—and unbelievably mortified. He had caught me snooping. Awesome.

  He chuckled showing that flawless smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you, Sweetness. I just came out to grab another beer. I don’t think we've formally met. I'm Van,” he introduced himself as he walked toward me with his big manly hand extended in greeting. I took it in mine, and immediately, I felt lightheaded. It was so warm, and for some reason I wanted it all over me. What the hell was wrong with me?

  My cheeks still flaming from the embarrassment of being caught and now having very naughty thoughts about Van, I stuttered. “Oh. My. God. I'm so sorry. I was uh—I uh—”

  He smiled the sweetest smile. “It's ok. Seriously. It's cool. Do you want a beer or something?”

  “Um, sorry, I'm Tinley, by the way. No, thank you.” I looked down at the floor wishing it would swallow me whole.

  “Tinley?” He asked in surprise. “So you're the sweet little Texan my sister told me about? Nice to finally put a name to that gorgeous face I've been thinking about.”

  I looked up at him calling bullshit. Oh, this guy was smooth. Wait a minute. Van from Ripping Pages?

  Back in high school, I was obsessed with celebrity gossip magazines, and I remembered reading about the notorious rocker, Van Whitaker who bedded every girl as long as she had a functioning vagina. No wonder he looked familiar. He was about six years older now making him close to thirty or so. He looked far better in person than he had in those shiny tabloids. Far, far better. Realizing how rude I was in not answering him and just gawking at his gorgeous form, I spoke.

  “Van? Wow. Ripping Pages, huh?”

  “Yes, ma'am. You a fan?” He grinned.

  “Um. Sorry, not really but I have heard some of your stuff. My uh— friend was a huge fan of y’all.”

  He chuckled a bit. “Well, that's refreshing.”

  “What?” I asked curiously.

  “Well, usually people are always fans or claiming that they are. I've never actually met anyone who was honest with me about it.”

  I blushed. “I'm sorry. You guys are really good, and if I were into rock music, I'm sure I would love y'all.”

  He smiled that heart-stopping smile again. “What kind of music do you listen to, Sweetness?”

  I giggled, “Um, like Barry Manilow and Bread. Old 70s soft rock stuff.” I blushed again. God, I was such a dork.

  He smirked a deliciously sexy smirk and raised one perfect eyebrow. “Bread? Seriously?” He laughed.

  “Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it,” I giggled at him.

  He raised his hands in surrender, chuckling, “If you say so, Sweetness. Come on, I was just watching the game. Why don’t you come keep me company?” He popped the cap off the bottle of his beer and headed toward the now open door next to the bar.

  “Oh. Thank you, Van. I am so sorry to intrude. I was just going to hail a cab and head home, actually.”

  “That’s too bad. I was getting bored all by myself.” He feigned a pouty face.

  “Why don’t you go down to the party?”

  “Not my scene. I'm more of a homebody these days. Been there done that. Besides, my sister's parties aren’t my style. I don’t like to surround myself with her social climbing, pretentious ‘friends’. Present company excluded,” he smirked.

  It made me smile. “Oh, I feel you. What game are you watching, anyway?”

  “The Mets.” He motioned for me to follow him through the open door. It led to a secret room where the far wall was just a gigantic screen and the other walls were solid wood. He sat down on the first of four rows of what looked like plush gray movie theater seats. He patted the seat next to him and took a swig of his beer as I sat down. “You a baseball fan?”

  “Uh, no.” I laughed.

  “Football? Boxing? Any sports?” He grinned and took another drink.

  “Does watching the Real Housewives fight count as a sport?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Ahh, so you've fallen victim to the reality TV addiction, too?”

  “Guilty.” I grinned. He leaned in just a little and immediately his scent filled my nostrils. He smelled like fresh soap and beer and... man. It was curiously intoxicating, and I almost closed my eyes to savor it. Though, I didn’t want to look like a total weirdo.

  “Well, I won’t hold that against you, Sweetness.”

  My breath caught and then picked up as he turned back to watch the game on the screen. I was unsuccessfully trying to get my breathing under control when he turned to look at me again. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink. I don’t have anything but beer and maybe some coke, but I'd be glad to get you something.”

  I was having all these odd feelings about this guy I didn’t even know. I was never one to immediately want someone the way I was wanting him. I wanted him to lean in closer and I wanted his hands all over me. I wasn’t that kind of girl. At. All.

  “Van, I really should go. I'm sure you want to be left alone and not have some chick you don’t even know bothering you.”

  “Not at all. It's actually nice to sit with someone, let alone a female who isn’t trying to get something from me.”

  I felt the redness creeping to my cheeks. I knew what that “something” was that he was referring to…

  I surely wasn’t one of those girls, but that didn’t stop me from wondering what it would be like to be with a guy like Van. Being twenty-one and having only one partner made me curious. He was insanely smooth, and I could see how so many girls threw out their morals for a night with him. He just had this confident sexuality about him that oozed from his pores.

  I guess I could make small talk and get to know this man who kept making me think seriously inappropriate thoughts.

  What was the harm in that, right?

  “So, Van,” I started as he took another swig of his Guinness. I watched his throat work as he swallowed and turned to me.

  Ok, Tinley, get it together and quit being a perv.

  “Your home is just amazing. How long have you lived here?”

  “Thank you. I've lived here almost four years. I bought it after the guys and I decided to
take a break from the band.”

  “Oh, so y'all aren’t together anymore?”

  “Well, they haven’t released an official statement yet, so no one really knows this but, we've just started recording a new album. It's been over four years since our hiatus so we're a little rusty. The first single is supposed to be released soon.”

  “Oh, wow, that’s exciting. Why did you take a break from the band, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Well, Chase, our drummer, got married and had a baby, and one of our guitarists, Beckett, wanted to venture out and do some things on his own, so we just took some time apart. Jensen, our lead guitarist and my buddy from high school, and I have been working together over the past few years on some new stuff. Ok, enough about me,” he said swigging the last of his beer and setting the empty bottle in the cup holder attached to the armrest. He turned to face me.

  “Huh?” I said unsure.

  “So, Tinley. What made you come to New York all the way from Texas?” He smiled and my heart did a little jump.

  “Oh. Uh— well, my cousin, Tatum, lives here, and I have always wanted to see if I could make it on Broadway.”

  He stared at me with amazement etched his features. “That is really awesome, Sweetness. That takes some balls. Have you made any headway yet?”

  I told him about my audition and how well it went.

  “Ahh, so that’s what the whole joyous spaz out session at the park was for.” He chuckled.

  “Oh my God,” I mumbled and looked away mortified yet again. Why was I still sitting here?

  He gently grabbed my chin and turned me to look at him.

  My breath stopped, and for a moment, we just sat there looking into each other's eyes. His gray eyes sparkled with something—lust maybe?

  His left hand still gently grasping my chin, he lightly moved my bangs from my eyes and tucked them behind my left ear. “Please don’t be embarrassed. It was the most adorable thing I have ever seen. I like the fact that you seem so real, Tinley. I don't get the pleasure of meeting people who are actually authentic.” He spoke so softly, and he was so frank, and I could see the hurt behind his eyes, and for some reason, I almost wanted to cry. He started to let go of my chin and as he did, he gently brushed my lips with his thumb—slowly. Holy shit! I wanted to grab him and kiss the crap out of him. But I didn’t.