by Vicki James
I wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan, but the last thing I wanted was to see my old man being dragged off to prison.
“See?” Dad interrupted, clearly aiming his accusatory tone at my mother.
“Promise me you won’t say a word.”
But neither of them promised in the end. Not really. Dad grumbled, and Mum muttered something that sounded like she was brushing me off. When I ended the call, I dropped my phone to my lap and watched as it slid down my legs before it landed on the carpet next to my feet.
Did any of it even matter? The press was going to write what they wanted to write and say what they wanted to say anyway. I’d only been in this life a couple of days, and I was exhausted beyond all reason.
How the hell had Presley done this on his own for three years?
My eyes drifted to the mini bar, the need for temporary relief calling to me. That’s when I knew the answer to my own question, and at that moment, I also knew I needed the relief just as much as he did.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I walked back into the bustling activity of the main suite, needing the distraction and noise of other people. Everything I thought I’d known, every assumption I’d made, all the times I’d seen his music videos and watched the way his eyes lit up behind a drum kit… none of it compared to the reality of life in the band. It was hectic. The schedules were crazy. There was no time to think, breathe, pause, or even pee. I was in danger of getting whiplash, my neck was turning in every direction, watching the mass of people as they came in and out of the suite like they’d paid for it. Not one of them bothered to ask me who I was or make small talk; I guess they already knew or at least thought they knew. The accusing glares and raised brows were silent questions with a look rather than a voice.
My hand went to my chest like that could help calm my racing heartbeat, when a cool, delicate palm slid over my forearm and squeezed tightly, snapping my attention to the left where Julia was standing with a reassuring smile on her face and a clipboard in her arm.
“You look like you need a strong drink.”
“Already had one,” I croaked, still feeling the burn of the shot of vodka I’d thrown down my neck.
“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”
“Is that why my chest feels tight?”
“Wait right here.”
Julia walked away, opened the door to the room where the boys were giving interviews, and she slipped inside. It took less than thirty seconds for the door to open again and Presley to march out, a frown set in place, but his confident half-smile ever present.
“What are you doing?” I gasped. “Get back in there!”
“Chill, Mum, it’s break time.” He smirked, coming to a stop in front of me and sliding his strong arms around my waist to pull me in for a kiss. A kiss that made my body melt in a heartbeat. A slow kiss designed to seduce me with its thoughtfulness and its tender twists and turns. A kiss that let his tongue sweep against mine to communicate silently. A kiss that made everything calm.
When we broke away, I was dizzy and unstable on my feet, but Presley held me up until I was able to open my eyes to blink him back into focus.
“Feeling better?” he whispered smugly.
“She told you I was freaking out, didn’t she?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He winked before he moved to stand beside me, wrapping a protective arm around my shoulder again and pushing me forward to the group of laughing hyenas. “Guys,” Presley said smoothly, instantly gaining the attention of his fellow band members.
Four familiar men turned to study me.
Rhett’s shit-eating grin was explosive, and he stood there silently with an unlit cigarette barely clinging on to his lips.
Then there was Big D, a face that made my own smile light up. He looked happy to see me, and a lot less curious than Rhett, who I could tell was still scanning me from head to foot and back again.
Hawk and Coops were standing side by side, both of them with their hands digging deep into the pockets of their jeans.
“I’d like you to meet Cherry,” Presley announced with an air of calm that wasn’t usual for him. I glanced up at his face, noting the way his lips were twitching and his jaw was ticking. “She’s… kind of important to me,” he said before he gave me the side-eye, a look that said, That’s right, sweetheart. I’m all in now. Join me, won’t you?
Turning back to the boys, I offered a shy smile, and raised my hand in the air.
Each one of them offered a nod of the head or a small wave of their own, except for Big D who stepped forward without any fear, scooped me up into his arms, twirled me around, and then plonked me back down on the floor. “So fucking good to finally meet you.”
I swayed, trying to find my footing again. “You too, Dave.” I laughed softly.
“Call me D. Dave makes me sound like an office twat.”
“I can’t wait to get the fuck outta here,” Rhett piped up, clearly already bored with the introductions. He plucked a lighter from his pocket, flicked the gas and then pressed it to the cigarette in his mouth, inhaling deeply.
No smoking indoors laws didn’t apply to rock stars apparently.
“This shit goes on for hours, and it’s the same old, same old questions,” Rhett went on, and Presley pulled me into his side while Rhett took command of the conversation. “What’s next for you guys?” he mimicked in a woman’s high-pitched voice. “Who inspired the song Denim-Covered Lover? Who is the driving force behind the band and your success? When will you announce you’re headlining TriFest?”
I gasped unintentionally. “You’re headlining TriFest?”
TriFest was the Glastonbury of tribute songs, where some of the world’s biggest international stars would gather once a year to pay tribute to the legends of the past. David Bowie, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, or anyone they deemed worthy. The bands and artists only had one rule: you were only allowed to play one of your own songs. The rest had to be covers. It was the perfect blend for me, mixing the old with the new, bringing the history of music to the here and now.
Rhett inhaled another puff of smoke, the cigarette still hanging from the corner of his mouth, and his one eye scrunched up as the smoke drifted over it. He tilted his head and exhaled slowly, blowing the smoke out in one long stream as he spoke, “Yeah, Pres said you had a thing for shit music.”
Presley laughed, dodging out of the way before I could slap him.
“Did you say that about me?”
“No,” he said through a chuckle before he looked at Rhett and pointed a finger at him. “Shut your mouth, dick.”
Rhett beamed. “Shit, I could have some fun with this. I like this girl, Pres. You’re running scared.”
Presley straightened up and came back to me, and like a fool in love, I was completely unable to do anything other than smile when he went behind me and slid his arms around my waist, propping his chin on my shoulder. “She pretends she doesn’t love me, but every one of you should know it’s all for show.”
Love.
My face paled as I stared at the four pair of eyes glaring right back at me.
“Has she gone ghostly white?” Presley asked the guys casually.
“Yep,” they answered as one.
“She does that a lot.”
I pressed my lips together and brought my hands up to cover my face. This wasn’t the kind of girl I was. I had comebacks and snark. I had a joke for every occasion and a way to wiggle myself out of any situation with a cover- up of how I really felt, but right there and then, I knew that I couldn’t cover up anything.
It was clear to see.
They might not know for certain that I loved him, but a fool could see I was falling.
Falling hard.
Hoping it wouldn’t hurt in the end.
“What do you say we all get out of here?” Rhett suggested.
“I’m down,” Presley said behind me. “That shit in there makes me thirsty.”
“Me to
o.” That was Big D.
“Count us in,” Hawk answered for him and Coops.
I let my hands slide down my face, looking around at Presley who was perched on my shoulder still. “Won’t you get in trouble?”
“You’re so fucking adorable.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I remembered how it felt to skip school or even a single class back in the day. I’d never been a goody two shoes, but I had an appreciation for boundaries and rules, probably because we didn’t have those at home, and I saw what that was doing to my younger brother Freddie… creating a goddamn monster. The nervous adrenaline sweats weren’t worth the hour’s freedom, so I usually chose to sit through the misery of History with Mr Baldock and his overgrown beard that always had remnants of his food in there.
This, however, was different, and seeing the way the guys’ eyes lit up the second they became the anarchists they wanted to be gave me a whole new appreciation for freedom and breaking the rules. Hawk and Coops were more comfortable out of the limelight and the pressure of press interviews. Big D melted into the leather seat in the back of the big limo we’d dived into, and Rhett and Presley, well… they were both looking at me.
Intensely.
Presley looked like he wanted to screw me with an audience.
Rhett looked… curious. As though he was studying something about me that the others couldn’t see.
Feeling uncomfortable with Rhett’s gaze, I reached over and grabbed Presley’s hand, squeezing it tight as I stared at Rhett.
“You can tell him to fuck off. He won’t be offended,” Presley said, loud enough for everyone in the back of the limo to hear. “That shit bag doesn’t get offended.”
My head snapped to Presley instantly, taking in his relaxed shoulders and his amused expression as he stared straight ahead at his bandmate. I leaned towards him and rested my head against his shoulder, focusing back on Rhett as I did.
“Lovebirds like you two don’t belong in this industry,” Rhett said, comfortable with his declaration.
“We’re not lovebirds. We’re fuck bunnies,” I hit back.
Presley huffed out a laugh and Rhett’s smile grew.
“I think I want you for myself.” Rhett groaned, trying to be seductive.
“Sorry, Rhett. I have really, really high standards.”
“If ever you lose those standards, give me a call.”
“Go fuck yourself, Rhett,” Presley cut in.
Rhett laughed and broke eye contact, turning to make idle chat with Big D who was busy bouncing his knee and beating out a rhythm on his thighs with his huge hands.
Presley squeezed my hand tighter and let out a contented sigh. I liked it. I liked the sound of peace falling from his lips. I liked that I was the one who made him feel that way.
We eventually pulled up outside a club. They guys didn’t move for ages, and I could feel a frenzy building outside.
“Dicky’s gonna cut a cock or five off for this,” Coops declared.
“Let’s hope he has a sharp knife for my beast,” Rhett retorted.
Presley groaned, and Hawk threw his used chewing gum at Rhett’s head, causing a friendly commotion in the back.
“You ready?” Presley whispered against my ear. It immediately sent a shiver down my spine.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
His eyes were warm and filled with want, and I was the girl they were aimed at.
“Stay close,” was his only response.
I did.
When the doors flew open, and the cameras started flashing, I held on tight, my hand in his while my other hand gripped his wrist. The lights were blinding, and I squinted the entire way up a small pathway to the entrance of the club. It was only once we were inside, and I saw the white neon signs on the black billboards that read ‘VINYL!’ that I recognised the name of the infamous building we were in.
VINYL! was the music scene for the celebrities, but not just any old reality star. This was exclusive, and you had to have been invited by the management before to even think about getting a foot anywhere near the door. Only credible, established acts were welcome, and the fact that Presley and the guys had waltzed in like they owned the place said a lot about who they were in the music industry already.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine where they could be in ten years.
Cries of Presley’s and Rhett’s name echoed off of every wall as soon as people recognised who was among them. Management came to greet them, staff looked eager to please, and the Botox women, who looked undeniably gorgeous and perfectly put together, stood to attention at once. And there I was, little bartender girl, with her fucking Bryan Adams T-shirt on and her plaid shirt tied around her waist.
Small fish: Pretty gorgeous pond.
I let go of Presley’s hand and brushed my hair back with my hands, working it into a high, messy ponytail before I rearranged the strands of my fringe to look smoother. I ran my fingers under my eyes to get rid of any mascara that had bled, and I wondered if it would be trashy of me to head to the ladies’ toilets for the sole purpose of accosting a woman in there and asking to borrow her lipstick.
“What are you doing?” Presley frowned, looking down at me shuffling around, rearranging the T-shirt on my shoulders.
“I am way underdressed here, Presley,” I said so only he could hear, looking up at him through big, innocent eyes. I felt innocent in this world. I was innocent.
“Says who?”
I scoffed and gestured wildly to the beautiful women around us.
That confident smile of his lifted one side of his mouth, and he moved to cup my cheek. I leaned into him without thought, melting from his warmth and the familiarity of his touch.
“Do you trust me?” he asked softly, his minty breaths intoxicating me—making me close my eyes for just a second to soak him in before I opened them again.
My response was a gentle nod.
“Then believe me when I tell you that I don’t want you to look like anyone else. They’re all the same. Except for you. You’re perfect to me. You’re beyond perfect exactly like this. I adore you because of the fact that you can walk into a place like this, wearing that…” He paused, gesturing sarcastically to my T-shirt before he stared back into my eyes. “And you somehow manage to knock the wind out of my fucking chest.”
My skin tingled with a need to take him right here, right now. “I’m in so much trouble with you, aren’t I?”
“Screwed with a capital S.”
Presley ran his thumb down over my mouth before he leaned down for a kiss and captured my bottom lip with his teeth, tugging it out and releasing a seductive groan.
Without another word, he broke away and took my hand, leading me through the club to a cordoned off area at the very back where the other guys sat around on an L-shaped silver sofa filled with plush cushions.
Several champagne bottles sat in silver buckets filled with ice, as well as a handful of beers and an unopened bottle of Kraken rum and Jack Daniels.
Presley grabbed two beers and passed one to me before he sank into his position in the corner of the L-shaped sofa, throwing his arms over the back of it. I stood over him, in between his parted legs, staring down at his perfect face and sparkling eyes. His chin was raised, and his hair was tucked behind his ears as he looked up at me, waiting patiently.
“I have something to tell you,” I said like it was a secret.
Presley raised a brow.
“I think you’re perfect, too.”
His nostrils twitched, and his head tilted to one side. He was trying to hold back his smile, but it was already hitting his eyes when my own grin broke free, and I found myself laughing softly.
Presley leaned forward and ran his free hand up my thigh slowly. His amused expression had slipped, and in its place were heat, desire, and appreciation.
“Say more things like that,” he whispered roughly, his voice catching in the back of his throat.
I took a step closer until my
toes hit the edge of the sofa. His face was right by the zip of my jeans, his attention angled up to me like he was the servant and I was the queen.
Running a hand through his golden wavy hair, I let it slip to the back of his neck, and I gripped it tightly, angling his head back even more and twisting it to the side.
“I want to be brave like you. I want to try and be here for you for as long as you need me. Worrying gets me nowhere. I want to live a little. I don’t want to run.”
Presley pulled me down to straddle his lap, my knees sinking into either side of him on the sofa, my chest pressed against his chest. His free hand squeezed my arse cheek hard, and I flexed my hips into him, feeling the desire pooling in the very pit of my stomach.
I kissed him, despite the rough barks from Big D and the hollering and cheering from Rhett as they gathered around us and made kissing noises in our ears. Presley’s grin grew against mine, our teeth clashing, and he lashed out an arm, hoping to hit someone and missing.
“Fine,” I grumbled playfully, swinging a leg off of Presley to drop down by his side. “I’m off. I’m off.” I flipped a middle finger at the guys and sank back into my seat, enjoying the way Presley wrapped a claiming arm around me and let me melt into that leather jacket of his I loved so much.
The night wore on into the early hours of the morning. Presley was attentive, never straying far and always touching me in one way or another. Every time he thought some woman was giving me the side-eye bitch glare, Presley would curl around me, press his lips to mine until the two of us were rolling around on the sofa, not giving a care in the world to the others around us. Each band member along the way had gained the attention of a willing woman, meaning they were less focused on Presley and me. That suited us both just fine.