Page 40 of Fire
Two—I actually kind of love it. The noise. The energy. The pure chaos of it all. It makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in years.
And three—I most definitely want to have sex with Hendrix Creed again.
There are people everywhere backstage, and I kind of feel like I’m in the way standing here, but Elena seems completely unbothered, acting like the queen she is as she makes eye contact with Zander and blows him a kiss.
The look he gives her…
I find myself blushing and needing to turn away. Good god, I don’t think a man has ever looked at me like that. Like he wants to devour me.
Like I’m the center of his whole damn universe.
I turn my attention to the rest of the band. Darius is pounding away on the drums. Despite being a goofy guy, he looks so professional and natural with a drumstick in his hand. Asher looks every bit the rock god he is. His voice is a dream, and everyone is captivated by him.
Everyone but me.
My eyes go straight to Hendrix.
And I can’t turn away.
He’s wearing black jeans that look like they were made for him, and given the money that was put into this tour, maybe they were. The tight black tee, now slick with sweat, clings to his washboard abs like a second skin.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen him play.
In college, I often saw him lugging a guitar bag around, but that was the extent of my encounters with Hendrix the musician.
Until tonight.
He looks completely absorbed in the moment. Focused. Happy.
His posture, the way he holds the bass, and how skillfully his fingers work the strings—he makes it all seem effortless, even though I know it’s anything but.
He’s truly a master of his craft.
It’s sexy as hell.
As if he can sense me staring, or possibly drooling, he glances over, and our eyes lock. My breath catches as he takes me in.
Is there some sort of masterclass they make these guys take? Rock Star 101: How to Smolder? The Art of Eye Fucking? Because, holy hell, I feel the heat of his gaze lighting me up from the inside. My skin feels like it’s on fire.
I resist the urge to fan myself and inflate his ego. It’s big enough as it is. He smirks as if he can read my thoughts and turns back toward the stage.
“I know, by the way,” Elena practically screams in my ear since it’s so damn loud.
I turn to her and try to gauge her meaning, but her eyes are focused on her husband, her hips swaying back and forth to the music. “You know what?” I ask her, although not nearly as loud.
“About you and Hendrix?
“YOU WHAT?” I don’t even bother leaning into her ear. I’m pretty sure everyone around us heard that.
Oops.
She laughs and motions for me to take a few steps back. I do, but it does little to muffle the sound. It does, however, give us a bit of privacy and somewhat blocks our view of the four hot and sweaty rock stars.
We can see them, but they can no longer see us.
Small mercies, because I do not want to be having this conversation knowing he could, at any time, look over at me with those sex eyes of his.
I lean into her ear and loudly say, “How do you know?Whatdo you know?”
