Page 20 of Don't Fall For A Rockstar

Nate’s indigo eyes stared back at me, so vivid, so real, and yet too fucking far away. His shaggy curls were wild around his face, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. The man didn’t have a bad hair day or a bad angle. Not to me.

I kept walking, desperate for an empty room, any room, so I could hear his sexy voice at the other end of the line.

“Hold on,” I told him. “I’m just leaving the stage area. I’m looking for a quiet place so I can hear you better.”

Nate nodded, and I glanced at my screen, noticing that he was moving too.

The VIP room was empty, save for the catering crew, so I slid inside and shut the door. I could still hear the music and the noise of the crowd. But it was about twenty decibels lower.

“That’s better,” I sighed as Nate’s face blurred for a second and then came back into focus. “And to answer your question, my night’s great now that I’m talking to you.”

Nate’s stunning smile appeared and knocked the breath right out of me. I couldn’t imagine what would happen when I saw him again in person. We’d need a month, never mind a day, to work out whatever the hell this was between us.

“I wish you were here with me. Or that I was there in Nashville,” Nate confessed. “Fucking hell, Tommy, two months has felt like two years.”

“Nate, I?—”

I didn’t get a chance to finish my reply. Suddenly, Nate’s bandmates were crowded all around him.

“Who’re you talking to?”

“Who’s the hottie with the tattoos?”

“Is that Tommy?”

Since everyone was speaking at the same time, and the phone was jostling, I couldn’t tell who said what.

“You guys need to get lost!” Nate growled.

“Ain’t no biggie. Who’re you having phone sex with?”

That teasing comment came from Otis, the band’s guitarist. Xander, the bass player, and Heath, the drummer, moved to stand behind Nate and waved at me. Shit. We’d kept our—whatever this was—on the down-low. But I guess our secret was no longer our own.

“Maybe we should talk tomorrow?” I suggested.

I was far from shy when it came to my lovers, but the things I wanted to say to Nate, I wanted to say only to him.

“Okay, maybe that’s a?—”

I heard someone in the background shouting the guys’ names.

“Merde, it’s the stage manager calling us. We’re on. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

Even though I was disappointed that our call was so brief, I nodded.

“We’re doing inventory, so it’s gonna be hectic for most of the day,” I replied, my frustration mounting. “How about once I’m done, in the evening, I’ll call you? It might be late, though.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Nate replied. “Happy New Year.”

Then, the call cut off, leaving me feeling a strange way. Empty. Restless. No, not that. Lonely. Which was odd, since I never felt that way before. I was alone a lot of times, sure, but I was never lonely.

The ping of an incoming text message interrupted my musings. The ache in my chest got lighter when I saw that Nate had sent me the link to view his performance. If I couldn’t see him in person, this was the next best thing.

But when I tapped on it, and saw him standing on the open-air stage, in the heart of the neon madness, the ache came roaring back.

The host of the event, a well-known actor, came out to greet all the guys in the band. I couldn’t help but notice the flirting when he aimed his perfect grin at Nate. I’ve never been possessive about people or things, but the burning jealousy in my gut told me there was a first time for everything.

The host made a joke about Nate’s outfit—or lack of a winter coat, given the cold weather—and he laughed in response. The deep, husky sound had me biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. Fuck, I missed that laugh. And tasting his smile.

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