Encore: A Standalone Rockstar Novel

by Selena Laurence

  "So maybe we should do something about that, then."

  His eyes widened. "You're serious?"

  I nodded.

  "It can't be anything more than tonight. I mean, we're both leaving, and I can't..."

  "I know," I told him gently. "Timing."

  He smiled sadly.

  "But I still want to," I said firmly. "It's a bucket list thing."

  He chuckled. "I like your list. One night, then?"

  "One night."

  "Wait here," he instructed, pulling away and standing quickly. I guarantee he wanted to take advantage before I changed my mind. I could have told him nothing was going to change my mind right then. I watched as he slid away into the darkened mass of writhing teens, his broad shoulders just begging for me to wrap my hands over them and seek the skin beneath his tuxedo shirt.

  And a few moments later, Ross was leading me out to his mom's Suburban, condom from Craig, who'd promised not to tell, stuffed in his back pocket. We were inexperienced, but enthusiastic, and while sex is supposed to mean the loss of innocence, it was one of the most purely innocent experiences of my life. Sweet and authentic. It was the perfect night, and the next day, we went back to our real lives, and my heart only pinched a little every time I passed him in the hallway and he gave me that secret smile.

  "What is taking you so long?" Ali hollers from the doorway of the locker room.

  "Sorry! I'm coming." I take one last look in the mirror, fluff my hair, and rub my lips together to spread the lipstick I’ve just applied.

  "Oh babe," Ali says as I round the corner into the main locker room. "You look hot, like fire."

  "Really?" I smooth my hands over the straight black dress I'm wearing. It falls to mid-thigh, and the skirt is covered in sequins. The sleeveless bodice drapes in a big V-shape, showing just enough cleavage to be intriguing. It was something I bought years ago for a work event. I haven't worn it since, but I have to admit, I was thrilled I'm still able to get into it.

  "For real. I can't wait to see the look on Ross Macalester's face when he sees you."

  I roll my eyes. "You do realize he can have any woman he wants, right? The last time I saw a gossip rag photo of him, he had some young blonde on his arm. A model or actress, I can't remember."

  She just smiles smugly. "You obviously aren't aware of the power of the first."

  "The first?"

  "The first person you have sex with. They have a secret power over you forever and ever. It's a proven fact."

  I snort laugh. "You're an idiot," I tell her.

  She flips me off. "Just wait and see," she warns, "just wait and see."

  Thirty minutes later, the gym has begun to fill with our classmates. Ali got nearly ninety percent of the class to RSVP that they'd be here, and it looks like they might have been telling the truth instead of just saying it to get her off their backs.

  Ali's husband Dex has been keeping several of us entertained with his stories about some of Ali's early years cooking experiments. I've been around long enough to know that she wasn't always the amazing cook she is now, but it's still really funny to hear about some of those first disasters.

  "I'm going to need more to drink if he's going to keep this up," she murmurs to me when he launches into the story about the time she tried to make beef burgundy for his baseball coach when they were living in student housing and only had a hot plate and a microwave.

  "Okay, I'll make a liquor run, but you have to promise to intercede if Damian Schnagel tries to get me to dance with him again."

  She snorts, trying not to laugh out loud.

  "Yeah, go ahead and laugh, but you weren't the one with a middle-aged man's head in your cleavage for five straight minutes."

  I move away from the little group and make my way to one of the two bars set up on either end of the gym.

  I've just grabbed two glasses of wine from the bartender when I hear a voice at my elbow. "Scotch, neat, please."

  I freeze. It's deeper, a little rougher, but having listened to his songs many times over the years, as well as holding tight to the memory of it in my ear saying things like, "God, you're hot," I'd recognize it anywhere.

  Turning slowly, I come face to profile with him, and my whole chest tightens for a moment. How he managed to slip in here, belly up to the bar, and not create a disturbance is beyond me. He has the kind of presence that even if he weren't a celebrity, you'd think he should be.

  He's probably put on twenty pounds since graduation, but trust me, it's only in the best way. His arms and chest are heavy with muscle, and I think he might have added an inch or two, as well. The beard he's been sporting the last few years is even sexier in real life than on the internet, and his trendy haircut—long on top, buzzed on the sides—makes me want to run my fingers through it like I did the night we had sex.

  As if he knows there's some crazy woman staring at him, he turns a bit and flashes me a quick smile. But then he does a double take.

  "Carly?" he asks, his expression incredulous.

  "Hi," I offer, because that's about all I can say. He takes a step back and shamelessly runs his gaze over me from head to toe.

  "Hi is right," he rumbles.

  I think my insides just liquified, but I'll be damned if I let him know it, so I raise a brow to chastise him for his borderline crude behavior.

  He pulls himself together immediately. "I'm sorry, wow, hi. It's great to see you."

  "Apparently," I mumble into my glass. But then I take a swallow of liquid courage and give him a smile. "I guess this is the part where I ask how you are? Even though it's probably already online somewhere."

  He chuckles and it makes my toes tingle.

  "I’m okay," he answers, even though I didn’t officially ask. But something in his tone sounds not quite right.

  "Really?" I press. "That wasn’t a very convincing okay."

  He shrugs lightly, his smile gentle and sexy as hell. "I might seem like an asshole if I complained."

  My heart tugs a touch. "Not an asshole. A human being. I think even rockstars get to be human, too, don’t they?"

  And so begins the next hour of catching up. Ross tells me bits and pieces about his career, but he talks about his daughter a lot. Things with Sara sound tentative, but I can hear how much he loves her, and how much he’d like things to be better. He fills me in on his parents, who moved to Florida years ago. I fill him in on my brother, who lives two towns over and played soccer with Ross.

  The liquor flows, and so does our conversation, like twenty-five years never happened, and we’re still those eighteen-year-old kids sitting behind the bleachers discussing our virginity.

  "So," he says, leaning closer. As the conversation progressed, I ended up sitting on a barstool, while he's stood next to me, one elbow leaning on the bar. Everything about him is masculine and confident. Sexy as hell. The way he holds his tumbler, the way he gives me little winks when he shares some charming confidence. "Would you like to dance?" he finally asks.

  I try not to look too enthusiastic, even though parts of me are jumping with joy at the idea of being pressed against him.

  "Sure," I say breezily.

  He takes my hand and leads me to the makeshift dance floor. The whole time we were at the bar, it seemed like no one noticed us, but as he pulls me into his arms, I feel eyes watching, people taking note. It's a little overwhelming, but then the acoustic version of Stay by Lisa Loeb starts up and Ross pulls me even closer, pressing our bodies together, shoulders to hips. I stifle the gasp that wants to escape my lips.

  His lips end up right next to my ear and he begins to sing the lyrics just for me, his voice barely above a whisper. All I can do is close my eyes and give in to the sensations. The feel of his breath on my hair, the motion of his hips as we sway in clumsy time to the music. The vibration of his chest against mine as he softly sings in his deep baritone.

  By the time the final guitar note has faded away, I've forgotten there are other people in the room at all. />
  As if we've been in a trance, we both step back, suddenly awkward.

  "Nineties music," he jokes. "Makes me feel like I'm eighteen again." There's a heat in his gaze that I try to ignore, even though I feel like my own face is flaming in response.

  "Buy me another drink?" I finally say.

  He grins. "My pleasure." Then he takes my hand and walks me through the crowd like it's the most normal thing in the world.

  Eventually, we find ourselves sitting at one of the tables, Craig and Deanna are there, Ali and Dex, a couple of other guys Ross and Craig hung out with. Instead of people mobbing him or trying to get close, Ross seems to have an invisible bubble around him. Only a few of us are allowed in, and everyone else keeps their distance.

  Ross and I are seated next to each other, and his arm has found its way around the back of my chair, draped there casually, not quite touching me. But I'm so aware of it, it's like there's a lightning bolt resting there, all buzzing energy and heat.

  "But dude," Craig says as he pulls Dee onto his lap. They're both pretty toasted, and I heard they left the kids with grandparents so they could do whatever the hell they wanted tonight. "Nothing will ever top the time we took the Sirloin Stockade bull and you rode it down Main Street."

  Everyone groans then begins laughing, the women all shaking our heads because Those Guys—the soccer team—were total idiots and this story is still told at the high school. Quinn heard it freshman year and asked me if it was true.

  It is.

  "Face it," one of the other guys says. "The restaurant keeping that stupid giant plastic bull on a wheeled trailer out front was just asking to have it stolen."

  Ross chuckles and shakes his head.

  "I'm amazed no one had taken it before we did," Craig adds.

  "I still have pictures of Ross with his guitar, all cowboyed up," Ali says.

  "No!" Craig and the other guys start whooping and demanding that she give them copies. It was the nineties, so the photos are actual prints.

  "How did you stay on that thing?" I ask, giving him a little side eye. "It was huge, and slippery."

  "That's what she said," Ali chimes in, and everyone busts up laughing.

  Ross grins at me and I feel a blush rise to my cheeks. I resist the urge to fan my face. It's just the alcohol, I think. Not that charming, sexy smile that he's directing my way at full wattage.

  "The truth is," Ross confesses, "there was a rope around the neck, so as long as I kept ahold of that and Craig didn't drive his truck over ten miles an hour, it was fine."

  "But the guitar!" Ali nearly shrieks. I see Dex pull her closer and whisper in her ear. Probably telling her she doesn't need to shout, not that she'll pay any attention, as buzzed as she is.

  "I did not hold the guitar while we were moving," Ross reminds her. "That was only for the impromptu concert when we got to the school parking lot."

  "My dad was so pissed when he walked out and saw you on top of the bull playing that Meatloaf song," says Mark whose dad was our principal.

  "Fuck," Ross groans. "Anything For Love."

  "I bet you can still play it," Craig adds sagely, his eyelids drooping.

  Ross just raises a brow and stares him down. Craig flips him off. The conversation deteriorates from there, smaller groups talking as everyone begins to feel the effects of the last three hours of drinking and dancing.

  "You know," Ross says to me quietly, "Craig was supposed to be my ride home."

  "Yeah, I think he and Deanna are going to be Ubering. Are you able to drive his truck?"

  I feel his breath on my face as he leans toward me. "I probably shouldn't. Guess I'll be sharing their Uber."

  My phone lights up where it rests on the table, and I reach for it. It's Quinn texting.

  Quinn: Dad called and wanted me to come watch the new Star Wars with him. You okay if I sleep over there?

  I quickly message back.

  Carly: Sure. Just remember you have work at noon tomorrow.

  Quinn: K. See you in the morning.

  "Everything okay?" Ross asks.

  "Yeah." I can't help the smile on my face. I have such a good kid. "Just my son letting me know he's sleeping over at his dad's."

  Ross nods, and I feel a new tension in the air between us. He reaches for his drink and finishes off the rest of the whiskey he's been nursing for the last hour.

  "Mind if I ask you something?" he murmurs.

  I nod, almost imperceptibly, and I'm not sure he'd see it anyway, since he's staring at the bottom of his tumbler.

  "Would you be interested in coming back to my hotel with me?"

  5

  Ross

  My heart is beating hard as the words leave my lips. You'd think I was still that eighteen-year-old kid who was about to lose his virginity.

  I try to stay casual, leaning back in my chair, watching the bottom of my glass as if it was just some aside. Oh yeah, by the way, want to have sex? Maybe years of having women virtually throw themselves at me has messed with my game. I'm anything but smooth.

  But damn. Carly Ellis. I never in a million years thought I’d see her again. And I guess that was ridiculous, it is our twenty-fifth reunion. I should have figured she might be here. But for whatever reason, I didn’t, and I wasn’t prepared for the power punch of desire that shot through me the moment I laid eyes on her.

  It may sound clichéd, but she’s more beautiful now than she ever was in high school. She’s fuller figured, curves in all the best places, and her light brown hair is longer, sleeker, falling down her back in soft waves. Her skin is still creamy and soft, and those gorgeous laugh lines at the corners of her blue eyes don’t hurt, either. But there’s something more important than mere looks that makes her so appealing. It’s the confidence, this way she conveys that she knows exactly who she is and what she’s doing. And it’s sexy as hell. Way more sexy than a half-drunk somewhat unsure eighteen-year-old could ever be.

  Carly at eighteen was pretty and sweet. Carly at forty-three is a fucking knock-out.

  And that appeal is what has me asking her for a one-night stand like a middle-aged sleaze ball. But I’m so happy to feel attraction again, to actually have the urge to climb all over someone and lick her until she screams my name, that I don’t care if I seem presumptuous. It’s been months, and I was beginning to think middle-age had stolen my libido completely. Apparently, it was just in hibernation until the right woman came along.

  And damn is she the right woman.

  I continue to stare at my tumbler, waiting for her answer with bated breath. When one doesn’t come, I smile wryly. I should have seen this coming.

  "I’m sorry," I say, glancing up at her. "That was really inappropriate." I sigh and shift to set my glass on the table, preparing to take my humiliation and get back to my hotel.

  "Ross?" she says softly.

  I shift to gaze at her. She’s smiling and my fucking heart just about jumps right out of my chest.

  "I didn’t say no," she tells me with a sparkle in her eye.

  "You didn’t say yes, either."

  "Give a girl a minute to catch up?"

  Hope surges like my dick is about to.

  "Sure."

  She takes a deep breath and releases it. I wait on pins and needles.

  "Same rules as last time?" she asks.

  It takes me a minute, but then I remember the night we lost our virginity. We both agreed it was only for one night, we’d never tell anyone except Ali and Craig, and we’d never discuss it again. The timing then was wrong—we were both about to leave for college and we were teenagers, for fuck’s sake. The timing now is…also bad. I have a career that takes me around the world, a kid in L.A., and Carly has a job and house and family here in Illinois. It’s a no-brainer. We have as little possibility now as we did then.

  But like back then, we have this one night. And like back then, my gut tells me it’s totally worth it. Come what may tomorrow, I know I won’t regret having this night with Carly. />
  "Same rules as last time," I answer.

  She nods, then reaches out to take my hand as she stands. "Let’s go then," she tells me.

  We work our way around the table to let Craig and Ali know we’re taking off. No one else seems to be paying too much attention, but I know Craig will want the story tomorrow, and Ali gives our linked hands some serious side eye before she grins and tells us, "Have fun, kids."

  Carly tells me she’s fine to drive, so I climb in the passenger seat and let her take me the couple of miles to the hotel. Along the way, I can’t stop staring at her, my hands itching to feel her skin, slide up under that sexy black dress, and find her soft, wet, warm center. But I restrain myself, because I don’t want to be interrupted. She deserves a hell of a lot more than a groping in a car.

  In the elevator ride to my room, I give in, and put my hands on her hips, pulling her to me. "I like your dress," I murmur as my lips coast up her neck. She gasps, and I let one hand drift around towards her perfect round ass.

  "I’ve had it for years," she whispers, squirming slightly when my breath tickles her ear.

  "Wear it a lot?" My palm cups her ass cheek and it’s a perfect fit, like she was made just for me.

  "Actually, tonight’s only the second time." Her hands press into my chest and then I feel her cool fingers against the skin of my neck, just above my shirt collar.

  "I hope you think of me every time you wear it from now on," I murmur, just as the bell chimes on the elevator.

  We step out, both of us breathless and giddy. I hold her hand and drag her toward my suite. I struggle to get the keycard out of my pocket because I have such a hard-on now my pants don’t fit right.

  Once we’re inside, I pull her through the foyer and into the living room. It’s dark except for the small light over the coffee bar area. The decor is sort of old world elegant, which means the furniture is pretty uncomfortable. More for looks than use. Which is why I bypass the whole space and lead her to the bedroom.

  I reach inside the doorway to the huge bathroom and flip on the nightlight so it casts a warm glow out the small opening I leave when I pull the door nearly closed. That small fan of light is just enough for me to see her, like a sketch in charcoal.