Page 12 of Filthy Rock Stars

Just one more chance to make him smile, and I swear I’ll feel better again.

CHAPTERFOUR

NICO

Typically,the Ornithology Archive is my happy place.

I can lose myself for endless hours in the vast storage system beneath the Natural History Museum, shifting through old drawings of birds and precious reel footage of extinct animals. My job is to maintain and catalog the labyrinthine collection, making it available for researchers and the museum above me, and the task satisfies my craving for order in the world while also fueling my curiosity, something new to learn every day.

After years of focused schooling, I’ve landed exactly the career I planned for myself. It’s quite satisfying.

But today, I can’t focus. I catch myself staring at the wall and mislabeling feather specimens, totally out of character.

He does that to me. It’s Thursday, and I’m still not sure if I’m going to see him again tonight.

My mysterious, nameless stranger. The guy with the broody eyes and cocky smile, two silver studs under his lip and a ring on the other side.

It’s bonkers that I’m even considering him. I take care to keep my life the way I like it. I’m not someone who likes surprises or risk-taking, and that’s fine. Sure, I’ve got fantasies, but fantasies aren’t supposed to be real. That’s the point of them. They can be pure, indulgent imagination.

I don’t even know his name, but I can remember the way he smelled like leather. I know how his scruffy beard burns, how his voice gets rough when he comes.

I swallow, my pulse spiking. The interns are busy at work across the archive, and once again, I’m standing in a dark corner, lost in something that’s half dream, half memory.

It would be one thing if the encounter was purely sex. The whole experience was orgasmically electric, and I keep waking up in the middle of the night horny and jerking off about it. But it was more than kink fulfillment. The stranger saw something in me that I want to see in myself. I felt brave, exciting, fun.

I felt alive. I’ve really missed feeling that way.

With a sigh, I acknowledge that I’m not accomplishing a damn thing and head upstairs. My coworker, Owen, is sitting at his desk, tapping his chin and smiling at the ceiling, pleasantly lost in thought.

Owen is one of my favorite people. He’s a geeky guy like me, but while I’m pretty reserved, he’s got a personality that seems to always shine. His eyes are bright behind his round glasses, and he’s added a purple streak to his hair, a splash of color against the blonde that flops to the side.

We didn’t get to know each other right away, but enough lunches and meetings have turned into a work friendship. I’ve even shared with him that I play the keyboard and mess around with some of my own music, although I’ve refrained from mentioning my space opera.

“Nico!” Owen says, spotting me. “Thanks for getting me those journals. They had exactly the information I needed.”

Owen writes the text that accompanies exhibits, placards on the wall, guided tours, and stuff like that. The Natural History Museum is full and busy this afternoon, and he’s back here with the rest of the team, already working on the next exhibit.

“Sure. Old naturalist nuns drawing mushrooms in their journals? Call me anytime,” I tell him with a smile.

He points at my chest. “Listening to anything good?”

When I glance down, I see that my headphones are dangling from the top of my sweater, the line running to the phone in the breast pocket of my dress shirt underneath.

The truth is I was listening to a new song I’m working on for the space opera. I instinctively start to dismiss that, telling Owen it was nothing special, but a voice rises in the back of my mind.

The kind of guy who jumps on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle definitely doesn’t shy away from talking about his interests. Sorting dusty files in the archive helps to calm me, but my ultimate happy place is when I’m plugged into my keyboard and lost in music. Since I started playing as a kid, that’s been true.

I fuss with the headphones. “I was listening to something I’m working on, actually. A song.”

Owen blinks, then stands. “Oh yeah?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“You know it’s just a hobby. Something I do for fun.” Owen’s fiancé is a fancy music executive, so I really try to stress that last part. “Just me and my keyboard.”

“Sure. Can I hear?”

I hesitate. “It’s not finished. And it’s part of a bigger project. I’m writing an album that tells a story.” I rub the back of my head, awkward. “A space opera.”

Owen’s eyes get wider. “A space opera opera?”

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