Page 31 of Falling for the Rockstar

“What do you think, mate?” I pay my tab, give him a tip to keep his silence, and exit the bar with the decision to take that beautiful woman up on her enticing offer.

* * *

I arrive at my destination and knock on the door. At first, there’s no answer, so I try again. The door swings open, and there she stands, just as beautiful, if not more so, than when I saw her last. She has on short shorts and a small T-shirt that accentuates her perfect figure.

I feel like I’ve ballsed up.

“Simon, what on earth are you doing here?” Myka asks when she spots me on the other side of her threshold.

Her hair is tied back into a ponytail, and she has a stain on her shirt, but she’s still fucking beautiful.

“You said that if I ever found myself in a sexually tempted jam, to come with you. I mean come to you, so here I am.”

She stands there for a minute and shuts her eyelids before opening them again and stands aside, waving me in and closing the door behind us.

“You could’ve called first.”

“I tried, but it goes to voicemail. Like it has for the past three days.”

“Yeah, about that, I’ve been busy with my other groups. Sorry I haven’t responded back.”

“Sure, if that’s your story.” The sound of steamy sex from the telly catches my attention and I turn to see what is on. “What are you watching? Hey, you weren’t in here getting a personal feel for yourself now, were you?”

“Eew, Simon, no!” She walks off and I follow her to the kitchen. She opens her oven and takes out a tin of what looks like four muffins. “I turn on the television as background noise while I’m in the kitchen. I never pay attention to what is actually on.” She grabs her phone and turns down her TV, using the app on the device.

“Well, aren’t you fancy?” I comment.

She smiles yet I still see pain behind her eyes.

“So, what did you cook tonight, dear?”

“It’s soul food Sunday. So, I made me some fried fish, red beans and rice, greens, and cornbread.”

“It definitely smells good. Can I have a bite?”

“Seeing how I cooked more than enough for myself, sure. Wash your hands in the bathroom and I’ll make you a plate.”

“And where is this elusive loo you speak of?”

“Down the hall and on your right.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” I saunter off to the restroom and when I open the door, the citrus aroma greets me. It’s nicely decorated in yellow and white, reminiscent of a lemon orchard. A bit fancy for a place you take a dump, in my opinion. I never understand why women must have everything nice and pretty. I mean my mum even decorates with special towels and things for the holidays.

I press the pumper on the soap and out comes this silky lotion-like substance that lathers like cream. Okay, this is nice, I must say. Even as a man I can appreciate the simple things. After a final rinse, I dry my hands and move back to the dining area where my plate is ready for me and Myka sits patiently on the opposite side.

“Wow, this looks amazing. Thank you.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted, hot sauce, ketchup, or tartar sauce so I put all three in the middle of the table.”

“Lovely.” I take a bite of the first side dish. “Whoa. Are you sure you made this?”

“Simon, do you see anyone else here?”

“You could’ve had it catered? I know I would pay good money for a home-cooked meal such as this.”

“You don’t cook?”

“I mean, I do enjoy a nice bowl of cereal or ramen noodles occasionally. Next time I prepare those specialties, you can come join me.”

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