The Rocker's Muse

I had to laugh. “I was so in shock I didn’t process what you asked me. I still have no clue what the question was.”

“You didn’t hear the question, or you pretended not to?”

“I didn’t hear it!”

“I asked you the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Ironically, it was that hiccup.”

“Well, there you go. You answered correctly, into the mic.” He laughed. “See? No one’s going to be talking about my shitty voice after that. Thank you for stealing the show.”

“I thought you sounded better tonight,” I said, relieved to be able to say that and mean it.

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really? Don’t bullshit me, Emily. I can handle the truth.”

“I wouldn’t. I don’t have any reason to lie.”

“Well, thank fuck someone around here is honest with me. I didn’t say a freaking word all morning and afternoon, hoping that resting my voice would help. Seems it did.”

“If shutting up helps, you shouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

“Okay, fair point. But talking to you is my reward for a job well done. I can be quiet in my sleep tonight and all day tomorrow.”

I shook my head. “You’re too much.”

God, he looked so freaking hot right now. His dark hair was damp from the shower, falling over his forehead. He wore a sleeveless shirt that really showcased his muscles and tats. I would never tire of looking at all of his ink. My body tingled from being in close proximity to him. Goose bumps peppered my skin.

“I know it’s late. But hang out with me for a while.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” He flashed me a wicked grin. “The pee pads would be for nothing, then.”

“Next time, please make it anything besides pee pads.”

“You called me out on my fake allergies. Since you know I just order stuff as an excuse to see you, I figured I’d have a little fun with it.” He batted his lashes, which were dangerously long for a man. “Come on. I’ve got good food for us.”

“It’s not appropriate for me to be hanging out with you, given my job here.”

“Says who? I make the rules, if you hadn’t noticed.”

I looked out the window toward the skyline, feeling myself cave. “I don’t know…”

“I just want your company. Nothing more, Emily.” He made an X over his contoured chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

A whiff of his amazing scent floated in the air toward me. I wanted to spend time with him. That was the problem. What had started as general curiosity about this man had turned into nothing short of an obsession I could never admit to. It was far more than a crush at this point. I’d stolen a music magazine someone had on the bus so I could look, up close and personal, at the photo of Tristan’s shirtless chest. I wanted to memorize all of his body art.

So, yeah, I definitely needed to leave. But instead, I asked, “What do you have to eat?”

“It’s not as good as Abdul’s, but Stephen went out and got me Middle Eastern tonight.”

“Is there falafel?”

“Maybe.” He winked.

I walked into the penthouse suite, marveling at the way the city lights illuminated the room. I stopped in front of the window and noticed his powerful stance behind me in the reflection on the glass. Now my body had gone from tingling to on fire. The hairs on my arms stiffened as he spoke softly behind me.

“Let’s eat.”