by Vi Keeland
Dimpled smile of a boy
Hard body of a man
Sings like an angel
Fucks like the devil
I was stuck between a rock(star) and a hard place.
At fifteen, his poster hung on my bedroom wall. At twenty-five his body hovered over mine. Every girl’s fantasy became my reality. I was dating a rockstar. Yet I was slowly falling for another man. The problem was—the two men—they shared a tour bus.
Flynn Beckham was the opening act.
Dylan Ryder was the headliner.
What happens when the opening act begins to shine so bright, it seems to dim everything else in its wake?
I’ll tell you what happens. Things get ugly.
Ten minutes later I’m still alone behind the bar and Avery is nowhere to be found. I’m sure she’s in the back alley smoking, even though she swears every day that she’s quit. I check the IDs of three very young-looking pretty girls—they’re over twenty-one, but barely. I can’t miss their conversation.
“Seriously, he has to be gay.”
“Why, because he hasn’t noticed you yet?”
“No, because he’s too perfect to be straight.”
“Could we buy someone a drink?” one of the young blondes asks me.
“Of course. What do you want me to send over?”
They giggle for a few minutes, then decide on a Screaming Orgasm for their intended target. I mix the vodka, Bailey’s and Kahlua and pour it over a tumbler of ice.
“Okay. Who’s the lucky recipient?”
All three of them point to the other end of the bar and say in unison, “Him.”
Lord. That is one beautiful man.
The three blondes were clearly not the only ones to notice. The brunette next to him with her full boobage on display is giving him her rapt attention when I walk over. Yet I feel his eyes on me as I walk down the long bar. I’m used to being hit on. Men seem to find an attractive woman whose sole purpose is to deliver them alcohol an alluring combination. They tend to become even bolder after tossing back a few drinks.
Halfway down the bar, I stop to refill a beer for a patron. I don’t need to look up as I pour to know Beautiful Man is still watching me. The hair on the back of my neck is all the confirmation I need. He never takes his gaze off me, even when I turn, catch his eyes, and silently call him on his staring.
“I’m here to deliver you a Screaming Orgasm.” Damn, he’s even hotter up close. Sandy-brown, shoulder-length hair tousled just the right amount to make him look like he’s just gotten laid. Long, lean torso, tattoos on his forearms peeking out from his long-sleeve fitted shirt. Nice. Then he smiles. Dimples. Yep. He definitely just got laid.
“Thank you. But I have a ladies-first policy.” He winks.
I stare at him for a moment, then drop my eyes down to the drink, leading him to follow.
“Oh. You meant the drink.” He smirks—it’s sexy as hell, and he knows it.
I roll my eyes, but there’s a reluctant smile hidden just beneath the surface. “It’s from the three barely legal ladies down at the end.” I nod in their direction and all three smile broadly and wave.
“Well, that’s disappointing.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Those three women buying you a drink with a name that tells you what their plans are for you later is a disappointment?”
“I thought you were buying me the drink.”
Cheesy, I know, but there’s a flutter in my stomach nonetheless. “Sorry. But you get the Doublemint triplets as a consolation prize.” I shrug, trying to come off nonchalant, and turn to walk away. This close to him, the guy is making me fidget. It’s a big bar, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like we’re in a confined space.
“Wait,” he calls after me, and I turn back. “What’s your name?”
I smile and point at the sign over the bar. Lucky’s.
Vi Keeland is a native New Yorker with three children that occupy most of her free time, which she complains about often, but wouldn't change for the world. She is a bookworm and has been known to read her kindle at stop lights, while styling her hair, cleaning, walking, during sporting events, and frequently while pretending to work. She is a boring attorney by day, and an exciting smut author by night!
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