by Michelle Lee
“Tell Dash and the boys I’ll be at the after-party later.” Her voice is raspy and seductive. She practically purrs.
“I will, Nadia.” Roland doesn’t sound pleased.
The leggy supermodel walks by us, giving a look that screams “bitch.” Val doesn’t like it because she pushes out her chest, and I swear I hear a growl come out of her.
“Can you say skank?” Val questions both Tracy and me. Tracy simply nods her head in agreement.
“Val, Tracy, Jules, so glad you made it back here in one piece,” Roland says, kissing Val on either cheek. “The boys are very eager to meet you.”
“I can’t wait to meet them.” Val is in business mode.
“Lance, Vic, get your asses over here. I want you to meet your new PR representative,” he yells across the room, motioning for two men surrounded by a few girls to come over.
As they start to walk toward us, Tracy grabs my wrist and squeezes, cutting off my circulation and clutching her chest while squealing like a kid on Christmas morning. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, it’s Lance, he’s coming over, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die. Wait, do I look okay?” She’s breathless at first, then all confident. One moment she’s going off the deep end, and then the next she’s all cool, calm, and collected, wondering if she looks okay. My little groupie never ceases to amaze me. I, of course, reassure her with a nod as she fidgets with her hair, tweaking some of the pink spiky strands.
Finally, the two men join us. The one that I know as Lance, because of Tracy’s shirt and for the fact that she’s burning holes in him with her eyes, is extremely good looking. His blond hair plays against his pale skin and brown eyes. His build is lean yet muscular as his T-shirt is molded to his sweaty, glistening skin. Lance’s smile is wide and dazzling as he shyly looks from the floor back up to Tracy with his bottom lip between his teeth. I suddenly feel like I’m intruding with the way the two of them are looking at each other. Tracy gives my hand a tight squeeze and I squeeze right back, giving her the reassurance she apparently needs at the moment. Why she’s doubting herself, I will never now. Tracy, my little blond spikey-haired with pink highlights friend, never exudes anything but confidence. All night she has gone on about Lance this and Lance that. I guess when the fantasy becomes a reality, she isn’t too sure of herself. I hope my squeeze gives her that extra boost of confidence and reassurance she needs. And the way two of them are looking at each other, speaking with their eyes rather than their mouths, tells me she’s going to be just fine.
The guy standing next to Lance, I assume, is Vic. He doesn’t tower over Lance, but his very muscular build dwarfs him. Vic is all muscles, and I see my girl Val take notice. He seems very intimidating, but the smirk that spreads across his lips and the twinkle in his eyes says otherwise. He’s probably anything but scary and intimidating: pit bull on the outside, pussycat on the inside, even though his shaved head, goatee, and a large tattoo on his right bicep that winds around to his neck and muscles say otherwise. His light green eyes show there’s more to him than meets the eye. He exudes a warmth and kindness you wouldn’t expect. Especially when you look at him you see… well… picture this… if Dwayne Johnson and Vin Diesel had a love child, you would get Vic.
“Guys, this is Valerie Winston, and these are her friends Tracy and Jules,” Roland introduces.
“I like your shirt,” Lance teases.
“Yeah, well it seems it was the only style they had left, so I was pretty much stuck with getting it.” Tracy uses her sultry voice. Oh, my Tracy is so ready to play, and I have a feeling Lance will want to as well.
He simply smiles at her and shakes his head, rendered speechless.
“So, you’re gonna make us bigger stars, huh?” Vic turns his attention to Val.
“That’s the plan. I have some ideas that should send you guys into superstardom.”
“I look forward to finding out what you have in mind.” Vic’s eyes roam over Val. I swear the temperature in the drafty room has risen.
“Hey, guys, where’s Ford?” Roland interrupts the apparent matchmaking that is taking place.
“Oh, take three guesses, and the first two don’t count.” Vic points behind him.
I stand on my tippy toes to get a better look and notice a bunch of girls surrounding a very tall man with tousled, dark locks. Unfortunately, his back is to me and I can’t see much of anything else.
“Hey, Ford, get your ass over here!” Roland’s voice is all business.
The swarm of girls disperses with a collective sigh of disappointment, and Ford glides toward us. Everything stops once I meet his smoldering gaze. Time stops, my heart stops, my breathing stops—everything. It’s almost as if he’s walking in slow motion, and the agony and anxiety it’s causing me is mind boggling. His faded jeans hang low on his hips. His black T-shirt is sticking to his chest in random places, accentuating the muscles that lay underneath. He has a definite cool swagger to his walk; it oozes confidence and sex. It commands attention just like his presence in the room does. I can’t believe that this man is having this effect on me. What am I, a groupie? Is this how Tracy felt when Lance walked over? Is this how Jill Goodacre felt when she first saw Harry Connick Jr.?
I guess I really must have stopped breathing because Tracy whispers in my ear, “Jules, honey, breathe,” with a giggle. Val is equally amused, shaking her head and smiling.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he is standing in front of me, smiling the most dazzling smile that simply makes my heart skip a beat then sends it into hyper-drive. I can’t take my eyes off of his, and I don’t think I’ve blinked since he started walking toward us. My head is spinning and my mind is foggy; the Adonis standing before me is dazzling me. His piercing blue eyes, framed by the darkest and longest lashes I have ever seen, are blazing against his dark brown, bordering on black, locks that lay in wisps against his forehead. His jawline is chiseled, and he has the most amazing cheekbones. His square jaw and chin are begging to be nuzzled and licked. But the part of him I find most striking and makes my girlie parts quiver are his lips, which at this moment I want to desperately reach out, grab him, and kiss like there’s no tomorrow. I seriously don’t know what’s come over me—must be the Apple Martinis. In all my twenty-six years, no one has ever made me feel this way, not even when I first saw… It’s very new and foreign to me, however I think I just might like it.
“Well, nice of you to join us. This is Valerie Winston; she is the representative from the new PR firm that will be working for us. Valerie, this is our front man, Dash Ford,” Roland introduces.
He shakes Val’s hand. “Sorry, just making the fans happy. Anyway, nice to meet you, Miss Winston. I have some ideas I eventually would like to run by you, but now is not the time. We just played an amazing show to our home crowd, and I am too keyed up to talk business. It is definitely time to celebrate.”
Vic interjects, “Fuck, yeah, we did.”
Dash rolls his eyes, but his smile widens. “Hell, yeah, we did, and we’re all going to celebrate at the after-party.” His smile widens even more, and he glances in my direction only for a moment before returning his eyes back to Val. The rich tone and deep timbre of his voice makes me quiver. It’s almost as if his voice reaches out and wraps around me, nuzzling and caressing me in places that have gone untouched.
“Sure, I am looking forward to working with you, but you’re right—now is not the time. Congrats on an amazing show, and please call me Val. Oh, and these are my friends, Tracy and Jules.”
“All right, I’ll call you Val as long as you call me Dash. Nice to meet you, Tracy, right?” Dash puts his hand out and shakes Tracy’s hand, and she just nods her head. Then he turns to me and reaches for my hand. I place my hand in his, and a zapping tingle goes straight to my core, liquefying my insides. He holds me with his smoldering blue eyes, his tongue darts out briefly, and in a deep, sexy voice, he says, “It’s very, very nice to meet you, Jules.”
I FEEL MY insides quiver and my girli
e parts scream out as he holds my hand. It feels as if I have grabbed a hold of a fallen electrical wire during a storm, because I am feeling jolt after jolt surge through me. It is unlike anything I have ever felt in my entire life, and I have no idea why. If I had been Dr. Frankenstein’s fucked up experiment, I would have been brought to life not through some freakish electrical storm, but from the minute touch of Dash Ford—utterly bizarre! He is simply staring at me, holding me captive with his gaze. If he was to ask me anything or to do anything I would undoubtedly say a resounding, “Hell, Yes!” It feels like an eternity when he finally gives me my hand back, and my body whimpers and protests. I actually feel a little disappointed as well.
When he says it’s very, very nice to meet me, I am ready to explode. I immediately feel the heat rise up from my neck and settle on my cheeks, always giving me away. Although the rational part of me is sure he is just being overly polite, noticing that I am uncomfortable, and the simple fact that he is a rock god, according to Tracy, and probably says this to all the girls he meets. I am completely delusional thinking that it means anything more. He is this practically famous person—a rising star—and I am simple, nothing special, boring Jules Bennett. Make no mistake, he’s just being nice. But I do notice that he just keeps staring at me, and it is making me more and more uncomfortable. Maybe I have something stuck in my teeth; after all, I did eat in the Skybox. Oh my God, I’ve got something stuck in my teeth or on my face, and Val and Tracy are too preoccupied to notice and he isn’t going to say anything. Oh my God, just let the floor open up and swallow me whole. I immediately turn my eyes to the floor, but I can still feel his eyes on me, burning into me. What the hell? Is there something in my hair? Or is there just something obviously wrong with me? Maybe I don’t look as good as I thought, as good as my friends thought. God, can’t this just be over and done with? I so want to punch Tracy and Val for bringing me here, I so don’t fit in no matter what I’m wearing, and at this very moment I want to run and hide.
I know better; I just wish they did. Don’t they know me by now? Seriously, this isn’t for me, and now I feel so out of place with what I can only describe as the hottest sex on legs I have ever seen staring at me. He’s only staring at me because he’s probably wondering what am I doing here and what in the hell was I thinking wearing this. What am I thinking…
Those exact words roll around in my head, torturing me until it’s not my voice saying them—it’s his. And then it’s like I’m not even standing next to my friends; I’m back in my old bedroom, and it’s seven years ago. “Julia, what are you thinking? Do you honestly believe I would be seen in public with you wearing that? I have no idea what possessed you to put on that ridiculous getup. What goes on in that damaged little brain of yours? You’re just a pathetic little girl playing dress up. Now, run back to the closet and put something else on. In fact, I will pick you out something myself. Maybe then you won’t look so fucking ridiculous nor embarrass the shit out me. Pathetic, just pathetic.”
I feel the sourness creep up and coat the back of my throat. My skin is hot and clammy, my heart is slamming in my chest, and the oxygen in the room feels like it’s being sucked out. A panic attack is threatening to consume me and send me into blackness. Not now. Not now. I don’t need this to happen now and embarrass myself even more. What was I thinking? What were they thinking? I know better. I need to leave. I need to run as far away as I can before I totally lose it. And after I’m safe and back to normal—as normal as I can be, like normal is ever a possibility—I am so going to kill the two of them; becoming someone’s prison bitch would be so worth it right now.
I begin my breathing exercises and stare at my shoes, willing my heart to slow down and the panic attack to retract its claws. I can still feel his eyes on me, and I don’t want to chance looking up because if I do, I know exactly what I’ll see—disgust—and I just can’t handle that right now. Also, I think I might go blind if I stare directly at him, like what your science teacher tells you when there’s going to be an eclipse. But apparently I am a glutton for punishment and want to embarrass myself by having a panic attack in front of complete strangers, so I casually—well as casually as I can—peer up at him, trying to be discreet. God, he’s amazing looking. His eyes are this unearthly shade of blue that’s really hard to describe, and they are smoldering, and they, along with the rest of his incredibleness, make me extremely nervous and want to do things to him that are so unlike me.
I’ve never been the aggressor. I’ve tried to be and… and would always get turned down, being told I was ridiculous and that I wasn’t what he wanted or needed. When he wanted me, he would let me know. What’s weird is this isn’t me. I mean, I’m me, but I have never had thoughts like this. And even though this isn’t the reaction I usually have when meeting or seeing a guy, I try to embrace it because frankly—I like the feeling he stirs in me.
I notice he’s still looking at me like he’s waiting for something. Is he waiting for me to leave? Is he waiting for me to explain why I’m even here? Then it hits me— he’s just said it’s nice to meet me, and I’m just standing here like a moron, not saying a word. Shit! See, he’s not interested; he was just being polite. Good going, Bennett, way to overthink. Well, think at all, really. Why would I even think or entertain the idea that a guy looking like him would be interested in someone as damaged as me? Damaged. Blake made that clear. I need to schedule an appointment—it’s time to get into therapy. I can’t live like this anymore. I’m slowly heading down that road again, and I can’t let myself; I won’t let myself. I’ve been doing so great, especially these past few months, and in just one night, I’m slowly fading and turning back into who I once was—who he made me into.
I take a deep, steadying breath and recite in my head, I am not damaged, I am not a victim. I am strong, beautiful, and above all else, I am worthy. Over and over those phrases swirl in my head, spinning faster and faster until they spin out, whipping into the deep recesses of my mind and filling the void—filling me with a new sense of confidence and worth. With myself in check and as the tendrils of misplaced doubt blow away into nothingness, I can hear my grandmother, “Julia, you are just perfect from the tip of your beautiful head to the bottom of your cute little feet. But I am a little disappointed, my dear. Have you forgotten your manners?” I open my mouth, hoping that one, something actually comes out of my mouth other than spit, and two, I hope I don’t say anything stupid.
I finally find my voice and my manners. “It’s nice to meet you too. It’s Dash, right?” I thank my lucky stars I was able to form a coherent sentence in his presence and not spittle all over him. I then feel my cheeks get hot; I must look like a complete lunatic blushing like I am, acting like… like… like Tracy. She’s practically drooling all over Lance, although I don’t think he minds, given the way he’s eyeing her.
I try to refocus my attention on the conversation between Val and the band’s manager, Roland. I’m having a hard time keeping up with what they are talking about since I’ve been lost in my head. I am refusing to let anything from here on out ruin tonight. Again, tonight is about new beginnings. I’ve been surviving since I decided to leave and break away, and I refuse to just survive anymore. I need to live. I am going to live. And for once in my life, I am beginning to believe the words—baby steps.
I chance another glance at Dash. His focus is on Val now, and I can really look at him, really appreciate his beauty. Beautiful. Seeing him up close rather than on that Jumbotron screen is unreal. He is unreal. It’s hard to believe that someone this amazing looking exists in real life. He’s something out of a romance novel or movie. My mind begins to wander, and I am lost in my head at the moment, floating in a sea of Dash Ford. I am imagining him doing things to me, causing my girlie parts to scream out again, and I immediately feel a little squishy in my practically painted-on leather pants. Thanks, Tracy. I finally leave the Dash-eatic Sea in my head, because I hear Val say we’ll meet them there, or something like that. Where a
re we going, and where are we meeting them? Here I thought I was going to have a chance to escape and go home, but obviously not.
Val and Tracy start to walk away, and I follow. My body is buzzing, and I feel it being pulled in the opposite direction. I have to fight with myself to keep walking forward; if I don’t, I would probably turn around and sprint toward him, ultimately throwing myself on top of him and hopefully pinning him down. Where did that come from? I shake my head, try to compose myself, and continue to fight with myself and leave. We head to the limo, and Tracy is going on and on and on about Lance—shocker. She’s squealing like a teenager that would have their room plastered from floor to ceiling with posters. Why do I get the impression that it could be the case? Maybe not her room, but probably a secret hideaway where she worships at the altar of Lance. I can’t help but giggle at myself.
“Ohmygodohmygod, did you see him, did you see him? Ohmygodohmygod he’s amazing, he’s so fucking hot. I just want to wrap my legs around him and…” Tracy begins to hyperventilate.
“Pull it together, Scott. I am not going to the after-party with you if you are going to act like some deranged groupie lunatic. I will drop your ass off at home, you got it?” Val quirks an eyebrow and not in that what-are-talking-about way, but in that I-will-kick-your-ass kinda way.
“No sweat, I’ve got this.” Tracy does a little shimmy and shake, and miraculously is all together and calm. Amazing.
I realize that we’re going to an after-party, and I feel anxiety and nerves kick in, because one, we’re going to a club, which I never really do, two, Dash will be there, and three, Dash will be there. I think I might begin hyperventilating as well.
“We’re going to the after-party?” I hope I misunderstood.
“Didn’t you hear anything that was said to Roland? Oh, wait, of course you didn’t. You were too busy drooling over Dash Ford, if I’m not mistaken.” Val gives me that questioning eyebrow.