1
Olivia
“Livvy!! Just the woman I wanted to see!” Nixon called jubilantly as I approached the door to his hotel room. "I'm in desperate need of your services." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, making me giggle.
"I come when you call," I answered with a crooked smile as I held up my right hand showing him the sleek, silver case dangling from my fingers. Nixon had a reputation for being extremely adventurous in the bedroom, making him my best client. However, he was very private about his bed partners— the paps hadn't even had a single shot of him with a woman in years— which was why he liked to meet in his hotel room.
He grinned at the sight of my stash and rubbed his hands together. "Oh good, you have your little bag of magic." A door opened behind me, and Nixon took hold of my elbow, guiding me closer to him. Presumably, to give the person behind me more room in the hallway. "Nobody gives me what I need like you, hot stuff."
The door suddenly slammed shut so hard it shook the walls and caused both Nixon and me to jump. I spun around and sucked in a breath that got caught in my throat when I was confronted by a pair of glacial, blue eyes. I froze under the icy stare of the man of my dreams.
Spencer Jackson. Lead singer of the band Midnight Run.
I'd been in love with him since I was seventeen and saw him in concert for the first time. I'd taken a bus to New York City from my hometown upstate and crashed on a friend's floor to be able to afford front row tickets to the show. The tall, muscular rockstar was drool-worthy in his ripped jeans and a black T-shirt with a hint of a tattoo peeking out the short sleeves. His fingers were manipulating the guitar strings in a way that had me— and probably every other woman in the audience— imagining them strumming and plucking something else. I could have sworn that Spencer and I locked eyes several times during that show, and I liked to imagine that he'd felt the same electric pull that I had. It was a ridiculous fantasy, but that didn't stop me from wanting to believe it.
I saw Midnight Run eight times that year. I even managed to snag a backstage pass to a concert on my eighteenth birthday. But fate was a bitch, and Spencer had a family emergency that called him away after the last curtain fell.
In an odd twist of fate, my best friend, Pepper, managed to score an internship with the band as a sound tech right after we graduated high school. It made stalking— um, following the band a lot easier since she scored me free tickets whenever I could make it.
Not that I was a full-time groupie or anything. I went off to college, but the money my parents had saved for school only got me through the first year because I'd chosen to attend college in New York City. I struggled to come up with the money to pay my tuition and was on the verge of dropping out when I met Delilah Cole, owner of The Magic Touch. We struck up a conversation in a coffee house, and the next thing I knew, she'd offered me a job. Since I was desperate, I accepted— despite my complete and utter lack of knowledge when it came to sex. It was awkward at first, but I got used to it, and eventually, I started to enjoy it. Delilah's instinct had been right; I was very good at my job, and I quickly made enough money to pay my tuition. One more year, and I'd finally graduate.
There was no way I was going to tell my sweet, innocent parents about my new job, but I found I was even too embarrassed to tell Pepper. However, on my next visit to a tour spot, I used it as a work trip and booked several potential clients. Pepper caught me coming back to our hotel room late one night, toting my special silver case, and demanded to know what I'd gotten myself into. With my face engulfed in flames, I unlocked my treasure trove and showed her the array of sex toys, lubes, and other intimate aids that I was selling. She laughed so hard she had to book it to the bathroom before she peed on herself. The irony of a virgin selling sex toys and bedroom enhancements wasn't lost on her.
I should have known better than to be hesitant to tell my best friend. She immediately wanted to know if I'd give her a discount, and over the next few days, I ended up with appointments with several members of the band and crew. I solved the problem of having to ditch the paparazzi to shop for things that should remain intimate and private. Somehow, over the next year, I ended up as the "go-to girl" for Midnight Run's bedroom proclivities…too bad I didn't have the opportunity to take advantage of either of those perks.
The first time I saw Spencer from anywhere but an audience, I was headed to meet his drummer, Nixon, at his hotel room in New York City— much like this time, except I was still in the lobby. Most of the band lived in one of the five boroughs, but they stayed at a hotel near Madison Square Garden whenever they performed there since it made coming and going less of a hassle. Spencer had stopped a few feet from me, and a smile spread across his gorgeous face. His blue eyes sparkled as he looked me up and down, causing a lock of dark brown hair to fall over his forehead. My fingers itched to brush it back up into place if only to see how soft it was.
"Hello, beautiful," he drawled as his eyes lit with what looked like recognition, and the smile stretched across his handsome face widened. "I know you, don't I?"
I was speechless for a moment. Did he recognize me? Before I could answer, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up to see Nixon standing beside me.
"Sorry, I got held up. I hope you weren't waiting on me for too long."
I shook my head and glanced back at Spencer, who was glaring daggers at his bandmate. Nixon either didn't notice Spencer's expression or didn't care. "Hey, man," he greeted absently. Then he spoke to me again. "Let's go up to my room, so we'll have some privacy."
I didn't realize how Nixon's words could be misconstrued until Spencer's eye narrowed, and his angry gaze landed back on me, and he said, "You might want to be a little more discreet, Nixon." He thought I was a hooker. . .which was pretty laughable, considering I was still a freaking virgin. I opened my mouth to correct his assumption— leaving out my virginal state— but he stalked off before I could get a word out.
It seemed like fate had it out for me because from then on, every time I ran into Spencer, it was always the worst possible timing. And when I tried to approach him to explain, he would spin on his heel and stalk off before I could even get near him.
And now, here I was again, with Spencer showing up at precisely the wrong moment.