Rock Me: A Rockstar Romance (Rock Chamber Boys Book 4)

by Daisy Allen

  "Thank you, Toni. We love you, too." Anca says, giving her a hug. "Alright! Is that all?"

  I sigh and step back into the middle of the room. "Since it's my intervention, surely I get a chance to say something"

  "But it's not your-..."

  "Yeah, yeah. Your turn to shush now, little sis. Okay, Dear Group. I am Jez."

  No one says anything.

  Brad jeers. "Yeah, see how you like it."

  "I'd just like to say... I get it. I'm sorry I've been a sour dickpuss and I'm going to try harder. I’m sorry. I really am."

  Everyone’s eyes are on me, waiting for more. But there’s nothing else to say. I was wrong. And I will try.

  "What do we think group? Should we believe him?" Anca asks.

  "Let's make him do something to prove it,” Sebastian suggests to the sound of agreement.

  "LET’S MAKE HIM STREAK THROUGH THE HOSPITAL WEARING NOTHING BUT A SHOWER CAP!” Brad yells, and the cheers drown out all other sound for a minute.

  “Er, I think this is where I go on break,” Toni leans over and whispers to me, patting me on the shoulder. “Hang in there, Mr. Petrescu. Everything you can do, you’re doing it. And everything you can have that will help you, you've got it. Just have a little faith. Push the button if you need anything, Mr. Petrescu.”

  "Hey, Toni?" I call out to her as she slips through the door.

  "Yeah?"

  "It's Jez."

  She winks and closes the door behind her and I turn back to my friends.

  "Alright, shut up, you degenerate bunch of crazy titmuffins. Look, I'm not whole yet. But I'm going to be, ok? I'm going to do whatever it takes, to be whole again."

  "That's all we want. For you just to try. We'll take it from there,” Marius says, giving me a hug. “Now, where’s that damn shower cap.”

  I run into the bathroom and lock myself in there until I’m sure they’ve all gone home.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Noémie

  There's a vase of bright flowers on my bedside table when I wake up. It's the very first thing that I see when I open my eyes. A shock of different shades of yellow and orange and vibrant red and purples and it reflects light and warmth into every corner of my hospital room. There's no note, but I don't need one to know where it came from.

  I reach over and pull a rose free from the arrangement and bring it to my nose and inhale.

  The fragrance is so strong, I'm almost dizzy as it permeates and spreads throughout my body.

  I smile and hug it to my chest, my stomach feels a tickling from inside, like a butterfly unfurling from its cocoon and into life.

  Jez.

  His name plays on my lips.

  I lift my fingers to run across them, remembering last night.

  He was going to kiss me. He was going to kiss me, and I wanted him to. Wanted him to so badly that I couldn't sleep until the sun had risen, and fatigue finally took over.

  I don't know what happened in those few minutes last night talking, but something makes me feel as though we've shared moments like that before.

  And in those seconds before I fell asleep, I couldn't help but whisper a prayer that when I woke up, my brain would refresh, would heal, and I would remember how this man was part of my life before.

  I told him I didn't want to know.

  Because I don't.

  I don't want to be told that we were lovers, I don't want to be told that we hated each other.

  I want to feel what I feel for him now, as I am discovering him in the present. How often do you get to wipe the slate clean? It may be the only silver lining that's come out of this whole experience.

  If I hated him in the past, then maybe he gets to fix that.

  And If I loved him... then maybe I'll get to fall for him all over again. How many chances do you get that in your life?

  I rifle through the few clothes I have and choose a royal blue polka dot summer dress that hasn't been worn since I came here. I blow dry my hair, brushing volume into it and then let it fall around my shoulders. I run my fingers through it as I look in the mirror, barely recognizing the face smiling back at me. I dig through the bag of things that Paige brought for me, and send her a thank you, when I see some makeup essentials. Only Paige would think that I would have a use for makeup while in the hospital with a head injury. Apparently, I shouldn’t question her instinct. I run the eyeliner over my eyelids and dab on some lip gloss and stand back from the small mirror in the bathroom.

  Not bad, I think to myself. A definitely improvement on the knotted pony tail and torn jeans and T-shirt I've been living in for the past few months.

  Hopefully the blush will combat some of the yellow pallor of the neon lights.

  I step out into my room, and there's a spring to my step. For the first time in a long time, I look forward to what the day will bring.

  There’s a knock on the door around lunch time, and I look up from the book I'm reading to see Jez standing there, a large paper bag in each hand, a giant grin on his face.

  "Jez. Hi," I say, my hand unconsciously coming up to pat my hair.

  Damn. Did he look this good last night? His long fringe is brushed back from his face, instead of hanging over his eyes like it has the last two times I've seen him. He's wearing a tight navy green shirt that makes his eyes look like liquid emerald pools and a pair of dark grey jeans, that hug… just where it counts. He looks like he walked right out of a Calvin Klein ad, and I suddenly wish I was tall and thin and dressed only in a white T and jeans so I could drape myself over him and stare out into the distance with a nonchalant look on my face. Picture perfect.

  "Noémie? Did you hear me?" I hear him say, and my mind snaps back to reality. Apparently, I didn’t.

  "Are you okay?" The look of genuine concern would be touching to me, if I wasn't too busy being embarrassed at the thoughts I was having.

  "Oh yeah, I'm fine. I just zoned out for a minute... must be from the delicious smells coming from those bags. Are you just here to torment me while I get to enjoy the gourmet offerings of the hospital kitchen? Let's see what we have here on the menu - it's a choice between green gloop or orange."

  He laughs and I get a little thrill that I can make him do that.

  Him. Mr. Calvin Klein. Laugh. At something I said. Squee. Seriously, Noémie, get it together.

  "No, I am not that evil. I was wondering if you'd have lunch with me. Or, I could just eat what I have and you can have the green/orange gloop concoction but still eat together. I hate eating alone."

  "Well, it all depends on what you have there. I can't choose without having all the information."

  "Let's see." He comes over and sits down by the couch pulling container after container out of the paper bags.

  The smell is making my stomach rumble and I try not to just snatch one from him.

  "This is... a roasted pumpkin and garlic soup. With parmesan croutons, of course." He opens another container, and the smell almost makes me faint. "This one is a roast duck salad with quinoa and something else that looks greenish and healthy.”

  “Arugula?”

  “Gesundheit!”

  I guffaw and let out a little snort, and cover my face with my hands. I pray he doesn’t say anything. And he doesn’t.

  “...and finally, oh, dessert is a tiramisu. All homemade of course."

  "Where in the hell did you get this from?"

  "Emily, my ban-, er, my friends' fiancée is a pretty good cook. Which is totally wasted on him because he could live off a diet of microwave hot dogs, which he doesn’t bother to microwave, and soup eaten straight from the can. While he's sitting on the toilet."

  I wander over and sit down next to him on the couch, emboldened by the food.

  Shifting over to make room for me, he hands me some cutlery and I practically snatch it from him. He just laughs and pushes the soup container toward me, "I guess the gloop will have to wait another day."

  "Oh, my god, my mouth is having an orgasm," I moan as I ta
ke the first sip of soup. It's still hot and sweet and rich and I lick it off my lips, not wanting to waste a single drop.

  "I think it's actually supposed to go the opposite way," Jez says, and stabs his fork into one of the other containers.

  "What do you mean?" I say, not even bothering to cover my mouth as I talk.

  "I mean," he says and waves the forkful of duck in front of my face, "your mouth is what is supposed to be giving the orgasm."

  His eyebrows lift as he gauges my reaction. Which is, to lunge forward and take a bite of the food on his fork.

  "Hey!" he protests, trying to pull the fork away. But I have it trapped in my mouth as I pull the food off it, chewing as it melts in my mouth.

  "Mmmmm..." I moan, releasing the fork as he stares at me, his jaw dropped.

  "You little minxy food thief!

  "Totally worth it," I mumble, my mouth half full.

  He laughs and tries a forkful of the food for himself. "Damn. That is good."

  "Told you."

  He reaches past me for the container of soup and then stops, his eyes locked on my face.

  When he doesn't look away, it becomes awkward and I can feel myself squirming under his gaze. Does he not like the way my hair is? Did I put too much blush on?

  "Um..." I say, not knowing how else to break the silence. But he just lifts his hand to my face and his thumb brushes over the corner of my mouth.

  "You had a little something…" he says, his voice deep, and husky. Then he moves his thumb to his mouth and sucks off the drop of soup collected there. The action is so unexpectedly intimate, I feel something in my groin constrict, and then a dull thumping between my legs.

  "Um, thanks," I mutter, hoping he can't see his effect on me, but not wanting to tear my eyes away from his.

  His mouth curves into a smile, showing just the barest flash of teeth as he reaches over, his eye still on me, and feeds me another forkful of food. Involuntarily, I lean forward and my mouth wraps around it, each tiny movement playing out in slow motion in my head. He pulls the fork away and I chew on the food, barely tasting anything.

  He leans in and his face is barely inches from mine. My jaw stops moving, as does every part of me, and I hold my breath.

  I don't know what's happening, but I can't think right now.

  I can just wait.

  Please kiss me, my brain is flashing in neon lights, but all I see is his face. His rugged, handsome, impossibly chiseled, sexy face right in front of mine.

  He leans in, that last few inches, and I feel the tip of his tongue brush against my top lip. So lightly, I think I might be imagining it.

  I feel something catch in my throat.

  And it might be a moan.

  He pulls away just far enough so that I can see his whole face and he's grinning.

  "Tastes good," he says, "just like I thought it would. I mean, I’ve only been thinking about my tongue running along your lips since we got interrupted last night." He ends with a wink and I think that if a woman could climax from a wink alone, it would be me, in this moment.

  Then he leans back and spoons soup into his mouth, like nothing just happened.

  I sit there, frozen, not sure how to react.

  What just happened?

  It wasn't a kiss. But it's wasn't not a kiss.

  He licked my lip! That usually comes after a kiss. How do you know you HAVEN’T kissed before? My brain presses. Aw, fuck.

  This is going to be more complicated than I thought.

  The sound of a fork clattering to the ground makes me force myself to focus on what's going on outside of my brain. Jez reaches over reaching under the coffee table, and then flinches and cusses under his breath.

  "I got it, don’t worry," I say, and reach under the table, feeling for the fork and placing it on the edge of the table.

  "Sorry. Didn’t mean to swear," he says, and there's darkness flooding his eyes that makes my heart clench for him. He's obviously still in a lot of pain. And I'm not sure how far along he is in his recovery, but the frustration is so apparent. What a pair we make. I wonder if I offered him the chance to lose some of his memory and yet have full control of his hands, if he would take it.

  I feel like I'd make that trade in a second, but I guess the grass is greener on the other side of the hospital bed.

  "Hey, eat up, or it'll get cold,” I nudge him, with the back of my spoon. He sighs and nods and takes the spoon from me, and I try not to let him catch me watching him.

  "I'm... I'm still working on it. Sometimes it's okay, and sometimes, it just gives way completely. Gripping is still a little hard, probably have to hold off on the chopsticks for a bit."

  "No shame there. I could have use of a hundred hands and still not be able to pick up a single egg roll with chopsticks."

  "Well, you know what IS easy to pick up and eat?" he asks, relaxing a little, and I can read the cheekiness in his eyes enough to know what's coming.

  "If you say ‘falafel,’ I'm not going to give you even a single bite of that tiramisu."

  "Hey, that's mean. What are you, a physiotherapist?" He shudders and his hand comes up to rub his wrist unconsciously.

  "Wow, that's random," I mumble around a mouthful of salad.

  "You've obviously not had the pleasure of meeting the resident torture expert on the staff here," his nose crinkling as he says it.

  "I mean, who decides, ‘you know what? I'd like to cause mortal pain to people all day, every day, and get paid for it.’"

  "Well, it's not what I would've chosen, but hey, guess some people have a knack for it."

  "What would you have chosen, I mean, forgive me, but surely you didn't spend your childhood thinking, you know what? I want to work in a takeout place my whole life."

  "Hardly. No, I moved to L.A. for a very specific reason."

  "Let me guess. Celeb dog walking?"

  I guffaw and almost spit out my food. I take a slow drink from the water glass before I continue. "No, I moved here to... don't laugh, I wanted to get a record deal."

  "Playing the uke?"

  "I said, don't laugh."

  "Hey, Noémie, look at me. Does it look like I'm laughing?"

  He touches my arm and it’s impossible not to look at him. He isn't laughing. If anything, he looks like he believes I’m being completely serious.

  "Anyway, it was a pipe dream. I got laughed out of a few studios and agents’ offices and I realized how ridiculous I'd been. I mean, I came from a small town in Maine. I didn't know anything about the music industry, I didn't know what was and wasn’t selling or was popular. I just knew that I like playing my music and listening to it, and I thought, hey maybe there would be people out there who would too. It didn’t have to be hundreds of millions, but a few. And I would be okay with playing to those few."

  I take a long breath and realize I'd just blurted out feelings I hadn't thought about in years. It sounds funny to hear me talk about dreams I'd had three or four years ago. A lifetime ago now.

  "So, why did you stay?" he asks. Like he's reading my mind.

  I just shrug, putting my fork down.

  "I don't know. Because it's easier just to stay than go home a failure, I guess."

  "Or is it because you still had a part of you that still dreamt?"

  "I... huh. If you'd asked me six months ago, hell, six days ago, I would've told you, no, not a chance. but now... now that I've been playing again the last few days, I guess. I guess, yes, the dream never really went away."

  "It shouldn't. You are going to be a superstar one day, Noémie. Mark my words. You can write it down and I will sign it for you, that I make that prediction. I mean, my signature will be a handprint cos, you know," he holds up his hand, and it hands limply.

  I reach out and take it, holding it between mine. It's warm, almost hot. He has long, thin fingers, large knuckles and cleanly clipped fingernails. Artistic hand features. I turn it over and smooth my palm over his, running my fingertips over the lines, reading his
fate. Then I bring it to my mouth and lay a kiss on his palm.

  "Ah, the kiss of healing," he says and smiles at me.

  "You're going to be okay."

  He takes a deep breath. "How do you know?"

  "The same way you know I'm going to be a musical star."

  "No, I have evidence. I've heard you play."

  "I have evidence as well. I see how strong you are. You complain like a little bitch. But you're strong. You're going to make it through this." I nod to emphasize my point.

  "Thank you. The little bitch inside me is offended, but only because she wants you to be right."

  "So, you know what my unfulfilled dream is? What's yours?"

  "As of now, it's the same as yours."

  "You want to be a uke star?"

  "No, I want to see you become one. And I promise you, I'm going to do everything I can to make it happen."

  "What can you do? Buy up all my albums?" I poke my tongue out at him.

  "No, I won't need to, I'll be fighting everyone else off to get one."

  I clutch my chest, like I’ve been hit by an arrow at his smooth line. "Just how many women's hearts have you broken with that silver tongue of yours?"

  "Hah, none that counted."

  "I bet they counted."

  "I never led anyone to believe anything that wasn't true. They may have believed it was going to be truer for longer than they thought..." He gives me a wink and I feel both envy and pity for the women who have been lucky enough to have had their hearts broken by him.

  "Playboy."

  "I'm only about 70% guilty of that."

  "Honestly though, I never told any woman I loved her, I never told her I'd be exclusive only to her. I may have told her she had eyes that sparkled like the moon. But I meant it, at least in that moment. Not my fault the next morning the sun dims the moonlight.”