Page 4 of How Good It Was (Excess All Areas 3)

Right?

What on earth was she thinking?

She was America’s Shamaze app queen with a responsibility to the young women who followed her platform. But as she looked down at the tattooed fingers currently entangled with hers, leading her swiftly through the backstage hallways of the Detroit concert venue, she couldn’t think of them.

Luke’s broad shoulders and inked arms blocked her view as he hurried the two of them to the exit. When he’d said they’d leave straight after the gig, she hadn’t imagined he’d jog to her, grab her hand, and lead her away before the band’s lead singer had even left the stage.

Only Cerys had witnessed it, and Willow hoped the wave she’d given her had been enough to reassure her that she was totally okay with what was happening.

When she’d featured the band’s song in one of her videos, she hadn’t thought about how it might change Luke’s life.

And now, the band was here on the brink of something huge, recording an album with a leading producer.

All because of her.

And it gave her a deep-down thrill to know she’d done that.

When her father suggested they meet up, she’d flown to Michigan from her home in Malibu, hoping for an opportunity to make some content with them.

She’d done her research. The bad boys of rock and roll from Manchester, with tempers and habits and stories of women. Lots of women. A walking definition of sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. And for once, she wanted a taste of it. She wanted to shake off the wholesome label she’d garnered as a child actor and for one night just be Willow.

Leaving every instinct for safety behind, she followed a man who’d turned her on with every beat of his sticks on his skins. Who’d blown her away with his intensity. She was a cliche, getting turned on by the drummer of the band. It was a Penny Lane move. A groupie. Straight out of every rock star fan handbook.

And yet she was doing it anyway.

Luke was offering her an escape.

An escape from the stifling environment of her father’s constant reminders of how every single choice could affect her living. Always choose the right words. Always dress to be photographed. God, she’d left the house once without a full face of makeup, and some stupid photographer had snapped her for one of those awful how-she-really-looks articles.

For once, she wanted real bona fide excitement in her life.

And he was striding right in front of her. All six feet of him. Well-defined arm muscles. Dimples. And a panty-melting smile, all the more devastating with the ink that crept up the side of his neck and down his bicep.

Fully aware of what she was letting herself in for, she followed him anyway. One night with no rules. Eight hours, maybe ten if she was lucky, where she could leave all expectations behind. For some reason, the sex she’d had in the past hadn’t remotely lived up to her expectations. She wanted that rush, that uncontrollable desire for another person.

Even if it was only temporary.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“We are going to cause all kinds of mischief.” He stopped so abruptly that she almost tripped into him. When his thumb stroked her cheekbone, she leaned into him. “We’re going to feel alive.”

Willow closed her eyes and smiled. “God, I love the sound of that.”

His lips brushed hers so quickly she didn’t have the chance to respond.

When they finally stepped outside, Luke let out a string of expletives. “Holy fucking shit on a stick. It’s freezing.”

Willow looked up at the occasional flake of snow fluttering around them and laughed. “It’s February in Detroit. You’re wearing a sweaty T-shirt. Of course it’s cold.” She wrapped her arms around her chest, her cropped T-shirt offering even less protection.

“Smart arse. Where are you staying?”

“The Shinola. It’s not too far.”

Luke flagged a taxi down and they climbed inside. “Okay. First, Willow Warner. It’s a terrible idea leaving with a stranger. We really need to know each other by the time we get to the hotel.”

Willow turned in the seat. “How do you suggest we do that?”

Expecting him to make a move, to touch her or kiss her ... anything that would introduce them physically, he shocked her by leaning back in the seat. “We bypass all the boring stuff. Like, does it matter if you know what my favourite colour is? Here’s my first question. If you can only take one memory with you when you die, which memory would you take?”

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