"No. I don't know. I just don't want you to expect something and be disappointed," I blather on.
He lifts his head and steps back. "Chelsea. If you’re not ready, we don't have to do this."
His eyes are deep blue, gorgeous, and aroused.
"No, I want to. Oh, God, I really do. I'm just nervous, and when I get nervous I talk too much, which has got to be an incredible turn off."
"Actually, it's not." He laughs and kisses my lips, conveniently quieting me. His eyes lock with mine in a standoff of desire. He runs his fingertips lightly from my shoulders, down my back, and over my behind. His eyes light in surprise when he discovers my cheeky lace panties. His hands linger, caressing my backside. "God, I love your ass," he murmurs, stoking the flames of hunger inside me.
I laugh, thankful for whatever luck made him want me, and reach my arms up around his neck and toy with his hair. He cups my bottom. His hands are large and warm and his sexy grin is greedy. Then his hands slide up and unhook my bra. It springs away and he slides it down my arms, tossing it carelessly onto a chair. My breath hitches as I stand before him. I want to cover myself, but I love the entranced look on his face.
"You are breathtaking." He touches my breasts with feathery softness.
He's taking his damned time, and I want him so badly, so I tug at his sweater. He reaches over his head and pulls it off in one fluid motion, revealing his flat stomach and muscled chest and arms. He's perfection, strong and confident, like someone who knows himself.
My fingers light on his chest and I release my breath. His skin is soft, and yet he's solid underneath. I trail my fingers over his chest to his shoulders and down his arms. I cut across to his stomach. His muscles tighten from my light grazing. He pulls away and laughs. "That tickles."
"Sorry." I smile, then swallow my courage and reach for the waistband of his jeans, releasing the button with a pop. There's no turning back now. I hesitate and glance at him for reassurance. His eyes are heady with desire, his cheeks flushed. I grasp his zipper and lower it, amazed at my brazen behavior. The other two guys I've been with, one, an awkward teenager's first time, the other a drunken groping session. This is altogether different. Sexy and intoxicating.
I take a breath and push his jeans down. He takes over, kicking them aside, along with his socks, leaving him in a pair of colorfully patterned boxer briefs. I cock an eyebrow and smile.
He grins and steps closer so we're finally skin to skin. His hands roam over me inch by inch as if a blind man needing to map my body. My hands explore his chest, up the contours of his neck and face. I pull his mouth to mine, my base urges taking over. He meets me at every turn, hungry, desperate and filled with need.
With my body trembling, he slides my panties off and places light kisses on my hips, navel and stomach before lowering me to his bed, climbing up, stretching his body over mine, but not quite touching me.
"Oh, please," I murmur.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his eyes intense.
"God, yes."
He rolls to the side, slips off his underwear, and tears open a condom with his teeth. Geez, I forgot about that, thank God one of us is still thinking straight. He rolls back over me, kissing me while one hand trails down to that warm spot pulsing with need. His touch drives me mad.
"Please. I need you now," I say, desperate to feel him inside me.
His hand moves away and he slips his knee between my legs, urging them apart. He gazes into my eyes and enters me. I press against him throwing my head back, every nerve ending singing with energy. "Yes."
He takes the note and moves. My body matches his rhythm. I trail my hands around to his back, touch his warm flesh, and inhale his scent. His breathing quickens and his eyes lock with mine. Every movement sends me one step closer to the edge until finally, it's too much. I try to hold on, but cry out. He strains against me, releasing all control until he collapses, leaving us both spent and breathing heavy.
I press my cheek to his, a rogue tear of joy leaks from my eye, sliding down the side of my face. I wipe it away before he notices.
"Chelsea, you are the most amazing woman."
"That was incredible," I say trying to cover my emotions. I've had sex before, but tonight was different. It felt like making love.
He leans up on an elbow and his mouth curls into a crooked smile. "Not bad for our first time."
23
The next morning, I return from the kitchen with bowls and spoons in one hand, a jug of milk in the other, and a box of Fruit Loops under my arm.
Chelsea takes the bowls as I climb back into bed. "Seriously?" She eyes the cereal box. "I don't think I've seen you eat one unhealthy thing until now."
"Fruit Loops are healthy, just read the box. Vitamin Fortified... blah, blah, blah." Her mussed hair proves she's spent a wild night in my bed. I say nothing or she'll smooth it down.
"Breakfast of champions is it?" She smirks.
"Only way to start the day after a night of debauchery. You are an excellent shag, my dear." I flash my eyebrows at her.
Her face pinks up. Chelsea is sexy as hell and the way she blushes makes me want to toss her back into the pillows and start again.
I pour a bowl and hand it to her, but she shakes her head regretfully. "I'd love to stay, but I've got to get back to my hotel."
"Why? It's not going anywhere."
"The show only paid for one night. They also gave me a one-way airline ticket home. For today." She looks away, avoiding my eyes.
I set the bowl on my nightstand. "You’re not using it." She can’t leave yet, but she’s quiet and doesn’t immediately respond. I wish I could read her mind and know how to play this.
“No. I’m not using it today, but I’m moving to a cheaper hotel. Four hundred dollars a night is ridiculous. I found an Airbnb that’s a lot less.”
I relax. “Why don’t you bring your stuff here instead?” Breakfast forgotten, I stand and pull on my jeans.
"And stay with you?"
"That's the general idea." This is a snap decision, but the easiest I've made in a long time.
"You barely know me, we've hardly spent any time together, and I don't want to ruin it." She sits on my bed, hugging her shapely legs.
I grin. "You're kidding, right? We've been doing this long distance thing for well over a month. Now that I've got you here, in my city, and in my flat, I don't exactly plan on letting you go." And then I back pedal. "Unless, of course, you don't want to stay."
She's flustered for a moment, but recovers. "Of course, I want to be with you, but I don't want to impose. Plus, you have a roommate."
"Who's rarely here," I add, pulling a shirt on.
"But what if you get sick of me and change your mind? Which, as far as I'm concerned, is likely."
"Bollocks. Not going to happen." I stand my ground with arms crossed.
"You don't know that." She's stubbornly trying to win this battle of wills, but she won't.
"Actually, I'm pretty sure I do, but that's a conversation for another time. Would you feel better if we call this a trial basis?"
She hesitates. "That would be better, but I really don't want you to feel obligated."
"Trust me, I won't." I lean over and kiss her. She tastes minty.
"What if we try it for a couple days and then regroup."
I shake my head. "Nothing less than a week. That's my final offer." I can tell she wants to stay, but she hesitates.
"What'll I do while you're at your show?"
"Whatever you'd be doing if you were staying somewhere else. Sightsee, hang out, read."
She bites her lip. "You're really sure?"
"Do I look like I'm sure?" I raise an eyebrow.
She swallows and nods.
"Good. Let's get your stuff."
The rest of the day is a whirlwind. Over her objections, I clear out two dresser drawers and a section of my closet. I once spent three months on tour and came to loathe living out of a suitcase. We're moving fast, but it fe
els right.
I'm tempted to take her straight back to bed, but resist her alluring smile long enough to do more respectable things like walking with her through Central Park, feeding the birds, and catching a late lunch. I've blown off my workout, but it was well worth it.
Only as I'm leaving for the show, when I look at the dead plant in the living room, do I doubt my sanity at inviting her to stay, but I push the thought aside, and trust my gut. Chelsea is different. She's the kind of girl who makes me fly across country on my one day off so I can spend a couple of hours with her. She’s never asked me for a thing, and she's the first girl I haven't jumped in the sack with at the earliest possible moment. I want to be a better person when she's around.
Chelsea insists on seeing my show again tonight, despite seeing it twice already. It's flattering as hell that she loves it so much.
Max walks into my dressing room at intermission as I'm laughing about a text from Chelsea. He sprawls into a chair with his leg hanging over the armrest. "I take it things are going well with Chelsea."
I grin. "Why do you say that?"
"Because you've been grinning like a fool every time I see you backstage. She must be excellent in bed."
I raise an eyebrow and say nothing.
He waits for my response and then laughs when I say nothing. "Well, I'll be damned? So that's how it is?"
"Yes, Max. That's how it is."
After the show Chelsea meets me in my dressing room. She waits patiently on the love seat while I go through my post show routine, removing my mic packs, wiping off my makeup, and arranging my dressing table for tomorrow.
When we step outside, there's a small crowd of fans. I explain to her that it'll be a good twenty minutes before I can get to everyone. She's a total trooper and waits under a street lamp out of the way, while I complete my last obligation of the night.
"You're so good with everyone," Chelsea says later as we're walking home. The night is mild with no wind. We head up Ninth Avenue, away from the theatre district.
"As compared to what? Was I supposed to be mean?" I laugh.
"Of course not, but you gave each person time and actually looked at them when they talked to you. Not everyone does that."
I take her hand, linking my fingers with hers. "When I was a kid and someone at the stage door talked to me, it meant the world. Of course, now it's a whole different deal with selfies and social media."
"Yeah, I'll admit I've checked you out online. There's hundreds of pictures of you with giddy fangirls."
"Hardly. I'm a tiny blip compared to television or movie actors. In fact, I did a bit of stalking you online after we first met."
She stops in the middle of the sidewalk. "You did?"
I tug her forward and slip my arm around her. "Of course. I wanted to know more about the cheeky girl with the charming smile. Those two-minute packages the network airs before your dances are hardly enough."
"Bet you didn't find much." Her arm wraps around my waist and she snuggles closer.
"Mostly I found pictures of you from the show. I loved the ones where you look bored or annoyed with Dominic. They're the real you."
She looks aghast. "Which makes me wonder why you cleared out dresser drawers for me."
"With you there's nothing fake. You're not hiding anything. I love that."
"Is that what you think?" She laughs. "You have no idea how hard I'm working not to say something stupid and embarrass myself."
"Really? In that case, I can't wait for you to mess up and will call it a brilliant success when you do." Back at the flat, Ryan's door is closed, but the light shines from under the door.
"Did you tell Ryan I'll be here?" Chelsea whispers, eyeing the door.
"Relax. He's fine with it. He has friends over all the time." I hang up our coats.
"I'm your friend?" She says.
I run my finger along her rosy cheeks, down her jawline and tap her on her nose, red from the cold. "You're my very special friend," I say suggestively.
"Oh, great. I sound like some cheap prostitute you picked up after an office party."
I burst out laughing. "If you were a prostitute, you sure wouldn't be cheap." I take her face between my hands and kiss her. I've been waiting all day to have her all to myself again. When I pull away, her eyes are dark pools and I know she feels the same. Without a word, I lead her to my bedroom and lock the door behind us.
24
"Dish!" Anna demands.
I gaze out the bedroom window to the street below and start from the beginning. "Well, we went out to dinner before his show."
"Not that. Did you sleep with him?"
"Anna!"
"What? It's an obvious question. I've been with Will for four years; we're boring. I need some juicy stories."
I'm not sure what to say. My instinct is to keep Tom all to myself. Talking about things might make it less meaningful. Then again, Anna's my closest friend, and I trust her with my deepest secrets.
"Well?"
"Yes!" I drop onto the side of the bed and grin.
"I knew it!" She squeals. "And?" she coaxes.
"And what?" I toy with her.
"Was he a gentleman or did he slobber and paw at you? Please say he was good."
I flop back. "Oh, Anna. It was wonderful. He's sexy and funny and tender." My hand caresses the comforter and my eyes settle on the spot where our heads left indentions in the pillows. "It didn't feel like sex. It was so much more."
Anna sighs. "I'm so happy for you. You deserve great things."
"I just hope he doesn't get sick of me."
"What are you talking about? This guy has been pursuing you for weeks."
A smile cracks my lips. "I know, but now that the chase is over, I hope things don't change. Guys get bored." Every guy I've known seems to move on after a few weeks or months.
"Stop it. You are your own worst enemy. Relax and have fun. What are you doing today?"
I roll onto my stomach. "He's got some meetings but tonight I'm going to the show again. I can't stay away." I'm about to tell her all about the show, but she gets a call.
"It's Will. Can we catch up more later?"
"Of course."
I end up going to every show that weekend. I’ve discovered the TKTS booth in Times Square where I buy half price tickets the day of the show. The seats aren’t up front, but every seat is great and I get to see him and hear his gorgeous voice. He's impossibly talented. I'm in awe and more than a little self-conscious of my meager accomplishments in life. How does he do it? How does he sustain this phenomenal level of performance day after day?
I'm too embarrassed to admit I've been to his show again so I rush back to his apartment right after curtain.
"How was the show?" I greet him with a kiss when he gets home. He smells of baby wipes.
"Good. What did you do?" He kisses me hello then heads to the kitchen for a snack.
"Started a book." I look away so he can’t see that I’m fibbing.
“You don’t need to sit here by yourself when I’m working, you should get out. I hear there’s a night lights tour that’s great. I can get you a ticket. Or there’s so many good shows to see.”
“I’m fine. It’s nice to lay around after this last crazy couple of weeks.”
He returns with a dish of chocolate-covered frozen banana bites.
“That reminds me. I have an appointment with my voice coach and then a meeting tomorrow.”
I do a double take. “You take voice lessons?”
“All the time.” He pops a frozen treat in his mouth and offers me one.
I help myself. “Why? You’re voice is perfection.”
He kisses my forehead, his lips cool, then slides his arm around me. I snuggle in with my head in the crook of his neck. “I need to keep my voice in shape. A professional athlete practices almost daily to stay at the top of his game. It’s the same for singers.”
“I had no idea.”
I snuggle in with my head in t
he crook of his neck. I take a bite of the chocolate-covered treat. Interesting. Not what I'd normally go for, but not bad. "So, tell me. Are there any dream roles you have?"
"You mean like Hamlet or Willie Loman?"
"Those are your dream roles?"
He laughs. "No. My tastes are much less sophisticated. Rather embarrassing, actually."
I sit up and face him. "Now you have to tell me."
He smiles and shakes his head. "Rock of Ages."
I've seen the movie and try to imagine him in it. "What part?"
"I want to play an eighties rocker with the big hair and leather pants."
"Huh." I don't want to burst his bubble, but I don't see him in a role like that.
He throws his hands in the air. "See, that's the reaction I got from my agent, too. Sean said I was too British, too boy next door. I begged him to send me on auditions for months until I finally wore him down."
"And how'd it go?" I ask skeptically, because I agree with his agent. Tom is many things, but I don't see him as a hardcore rocker.
He looks down and his face turns pink. "It was a train wreck. I'm standing up their doing my best Axl Rose, and you should have seen their faces. It was kind of a mix between disbelief and thinking it was a joke. After I left the room, they burst out laughing."
"You didn't get the part?"
"Not even a damned call back, and I would have been so good."
"Poor baby." I fight to keep from laughing.
"I don't need your pity too," he says fighting a smile.
"There are lots of things I feel for you, but pity is not one of them." I set his dish on the coffee table and push him back onto the couch.
"And what are you doing?" His eyes dance in anticipation as I crawl on top of him.
"I wouldn't want you to feel bad." I kiss his neck from collarbone up to his earlobe where I lightly nibble. "Is that okay?"
His arms go around me and pull my hips against his. "Absolutely."
25
"Morning, Ryan. Want some scrambled eggs?" I ask from the kitchen the next morning as Tom plays guitar softly in the living room. Ryan rubs his eyes and glances at the food I'm preparing. "Yeah, if you have enough." He grabs the Kinky Boots mug from the cupboard and pours his coffee. Apparently it's a tradition that anyone who lives here must leave a mug from a show they've been in.
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