Darling

by Gabrielle G

  Who cares?

  Best exit ever.

  Sweet revenge.

  Happy birthday to me…

  I hear the barman laugh, and it makes me smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Dan Darling. Show me the way.”

  2

  Dan

  The moment I saw her sitting at the bar, she caught my eye. I’ve never been so drawn to a woman. Her red hair falling on her shoulders, her pale skin contrasting with her dark mood and rock attitude were exquisite. I don’t know if she dresses that way every day or it’s just for the concert, but my dick and brain agreed right away—she’s sexy as hell.

  I’ve observed her at the bar for the last thirty minutes, and I can tell she’s pissed. Something is off with that woman, and I want to know what. I need to talk to her. It feels very RomCom and I’m not into that shit, but my cock knew the moment I saw her that she was it. Instalove.

  Unfortunately, I don’t have much time tonight, not with our concert in a few hours. I came to the hotel bar for some hot tea for my throat and an escape from the band fuck-drama. I couldn’t be cooped up in my room anymore. I needed to walk away from my bandmates’ moans. They love fucking in my suite. Not together, just close to one another, in my space. It’s fucked up, but they get chicks by saying they can meet me. They even had one for me to fuck, but I walked away. She’s undoubtedly with Lars or Art now, one of them fucking two girls at the same time.

  There are groupies everywhere, and Lars and Art are fucking them one after the other. They go through more condoms than teenagers go through Kleenex.

  I’ve done my share of slutting around, but the life of a rock star is lonely even if you go from one pussy to another. I mean, I didn’t feel the same last week in New York, and I certainly won’t feel the same next week, once we’re in Europe, but tonight, for a reason I can’t understand, I didn’t feel like groupie’s pussy. Or maybe it was fate, so I’d meet the redheaded beauty? Anna—what a fucking great name—has my attention.

  When the guy arrived, I watched her go to another level of anger. Eavesdropping on their conversation, I understood that he was her ex with his new wife—huge diamond, overcompensation on his part—and it was the sexy lady’s birthday. The new wife was a fan of ours, and I wanted to be a wicked knight to the sexy damsel. So, I got up and rescued the lovely lady.

  I know what celebrity does to people. I’ve seen it so many times. I can be the worst asshole, and people giggle. Not that I do that often. I knew when I approached her, those two would shut up. I’m used to it.

  “Thank you,” Anna murmurs, once we exit the bar.

  “No problem, love. I thought I could help.”

  I’m not sure what I want to do next. Anna doesn’t seem excited to see me. Some girls would have jumped up and down by now. She’s acting like that was the plan all along, as if while I went for a piss, people we didn’t like started a conversation with her, so we left. Like a couple would do. Her anger seems gone, but she doesn’t appear pleased an international rock star saved her. In fact, she looks constipated, while I feel my intestines are ready to liquefy. Maybe I miscalculated.

  “Listen,” she says, “I’m not a groupie, and I don’t want to go upstairs and fuck you. You helped me get the sweetest revenge on my scumbag ex and his new dumbass wife, but that’s it. If I can ever repay you, I will, but not by fucking you. Not my style.”

  I gulp. What the fuck? The way she swears is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t know who she is or what she does in life, but I instantly want her in mine. My cock hardens. My heart explodes. She doesn’t seem fazed by who I am, and she doesn’t want to fuck me. I’m puzzled. I’m amazed. I’m in adoration.

  “Presumptuous, don’t you think?” I lie, trying to get my erection under control. “Are you coming to the concert tonight?”

  “Yes.” Her cheeks flush from embarrassment.

  I frown as if I’m trying to understand why she’s embarrassed. “So you like what we do?”

  She’s sending hot and cold signals, biting her lip and playing with the tips of her hair. She looks into my eyes mischievously. “Yes and no.”

  I’m amused now. To most fans—I walk on water. They would never tell me to my face they don’t like some of my songs. For that, I have a manager and an overcritical mother. That’s it. Who is this girl? “Care to elaborate?”

  She shrugs. “I prefer the older songs. I find it too commercial now, but my best friends are in fucking love with you, and they thought I would appreciate the girls’ night out for—”

  “Your birthday! But now your friends stood you up, and you’re alone until the concert starts?”

  “Kind of, but I’m still not going upstairs with you.”

  Her eyes are green, fierce, and determined. There is no way she’s coming near me, and I’m seriously heartbroken. Well, my dick is. All I want is to spend time with her and learn every moan she can vocalize, but I won’t push my luck. I can see I have no chance where she’s concerned.

  “I can’t stay in the lobby too long.” I glance at the people around us. “You can come upstairs with me, and I won’t try anything, or you can see me after the show. Up to you. It’s your birthday, so maybe I can make the night special for you?”

  “Can I choose neither?” She tilts her head. "I’m not interested, and even if my friends would kill me if they knew they could hang out with the band, I’m not feeling it tonight. It’s complicated…”

  This is the first time a woman has rejected me since… ninth grade, I think? In high school, I became the lead singer of a band, then our first single was a hit. Anna is my first rejection in a little less than twenty-five years. It hurts. Really hurts.

  I put on all my charms. “How can I change your mind?”

  “You can’t.” She closes her eyes and leans back.

  I change my strategy. “Okay, but to make your friends pay for being late, let’s take a selfie, and you can send it to them.”

  “That is a good payback indeed.” She has the deepest laugh I’ve ever heard.

  My cock gets harder—I failed to bring it back down after our eyes locked—and while she gets her phone out of her bag, I take her by the waist.

  Such a mistake.

  My hands feel as though they’ve found their home. I move her into a more secluded area so I can remove my cap. If I do so in the middle of the lobby, we won’t have any more moments of peace.

  I take her phone, put my cap on her head, and drag her closer to me. I can smell her now, and it makes me think of the beach. I can see myself lying next to her, my face in her neck—or my cock in her mouth.

  “Ready?”

  She smiles, and I take the picture. Then I have another rare moment of genius and hold the phone high up while I send the picture to my number so I can get hers.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps.

  Anger and confusion make her so sexy. I can’t help it. She’s jumping around me, trying to get her phone, pulling on my arms, and all I want to do is to fuck her.

  “Sending the picture to myself so I have your number and you have mine.” I grin and raise my eyebrows, proud of how smart my move is.

  She crosses her arms and looks at me with extreme annoyance. “You don’t give up.”

  “Not when it’s Instalove.” In that moment, I’m surer of myself than ever before. I know how the game works.

  “Instalove my ass. One-night-stand lust maybe, but this is no love, honey! I can still block your number.” She gets her phone back, looking amused by my baffled expression.

  I didn’t think of her blocking my number. Why would she? I’m Dan fucking Darling, lead singer of the best band in the world.

  I come closer to her, lean in slowly, stop inches away from her mouth, and kiss her cheek. There was a flicker of hesitation in her gaze. I’m pretty sure she wanted me to kiss her.

  My time is running out. I want to see her again. I want to be sure I have a chance to fuck her. I need to find a way for her to come un
derneath me. I have a show tonight and need to get ready for thousands of women to scream my name. I know, poor me, right? I can have all the pussy I want. I live such a terrible life.

  But right now, I’m ready to take her and run away. As I get my cap back from her head, I smile. I know the effect my smile has on women. “I have to go.”

  She nods with no apparent regret to see me leave. “Break a leg tonight, and thanks again for saving me at the bar.”

  She looks so sweet all of a sudden. I feel my dick trying so hard to get out of my pants, I’m pretty sure I have an internal bleed. I really don’t know how I can have her, but I need to figure it out. I need to kiss her. I need to be inside her.

  “See you, love.” I walk away, sad I have to go.

  I head upstairs as fast as I can, hoping I’ll have time to jerk off in the shower before getting ready for the show but already knowing that it won’t be enough. I never believed in Instalove until now. I can feel a great hit building inside me, one that will bring more love from the media and more screaming from the fans, but all I want is her reaction when she discovers I wrote a song for her. Because I will.

  Once in my bedroom, I find my bandmates going through my minibar. Well mainly Lars. Art doesn’t drink.

  “Where were you, Romeo?”

  I ignore them, going toward my bathroom. I need to jerk off, and I don’t care if they hear. We’ve shared tour buses where our intimacy was communal. We’ve shared beds, orgasms, and pussies. I know the noises they make when they come; I know their faces, their moves. It doesn’t make me hard—it’s just the life I live. But the idea of sharing Anna is unacceptable. I need her for me alone.

  And that’s when I know I’m in deep shit. She’s not another pussy I want to discard. I don’t even care about her pussy. That’s a lie. I wonder if her hair is the color of fire down there too. I wonder how she tastes.

  I never jerk off before a concert. I prefer to come after, to keep all my pent-up frustration for the stage. I love to perform with my dick as hard as a stone. When the fans sing at the same time I do, it feels like they’re all taking me in their mouth. It’s orgasmic. But thinking of Anna, her mouth, and her pussy—I can’t hold it.

  I stroke myself hard and come fast. Cleaning up, I know I could go again when I remember her fiery green eyes. I reach for my phone. I need to contact her, to sing for her tonight. I need to know which song is her favorite. I already know it’s an old one. Her answer will tell what she likes and who she is. With one song, I can learn a lot about her, and I want to know it all.

  3

  Anna

  I’m a few streets away from the hotel when I receive a text from a number I don’t know, but because just above is the picture Dan Darling took a few minutes ago, I know it’s him.

  Unknown Number: What's your favorite song of ours?

  I giggle. Then I cuss for giggling. I don’t want to be ridiculous, and I’m annoyed I could even be ridiculous about Dan Darling. He’s nobody. He’s just a guy I met in a bar. An extremely hot and nice guy, but just a guy… who happens to be part of one of the most successful bands on Earth.

  Me: Who’s this?

  Unknown Number: Just a guy wanting to rock your world on your birthday.

  My first thought is to not answer. The thing is, my favorite song is neither their most popular nor their quietest. It’s a rock song about a bad breakup and how the guy dealt with it by trashing his life. Something I almost did when my life went to shit, but I wasn’t brave enough to do so. Self-destructing takes balls, and I didn’t have any left after fighting to be a mother and being walked all over.

  Me: Once you were gone

  Unknown Number: Interesting choice. May I ask why?

  That’s an easy question. Dan Darling writes all of his songs, but they all seem to hint at something he wants to share but can’t. At least that’s how I hear his music. My friends believe he’s the new messiah. They’re blinded by his sexy voice and his hip movements while I try to listen to the music, not focus on the hot singer—even if one doesn’t hurt the other.

  Me: It’s the only song that feels real. It’s a raw one, maybe the only song you meant every word of.

  He doesn’t respond right away, and I’m disappointed. Maybe he didn’t like what I said. But how could he dislike my answer when this is his best song? Shaking off the contradicting feelings in my chest, I switch conversations and send the picture of Dan Darling and me to my favorite bitches and Oliver.

  Me: Look who I ran into while you were standing me up! Jealous yet?

  I won’t tell them about running into Joel and what Dan Darling did to save me. I want to keep that for me. Like a sacred moment in time. It’s not as if anything will come from it anyway. He might sing a song I like tonight, or he might not. It’s not a big deal. He runs into women all the time, and even if I don’t run into rock stars every day, I’m still glad he helped me walk away from Scumbag and Wifey.

  Did I think he was going to kiss me? Maybe. At least, I hoped so. Would I have liked it? Certainly. But would I have gone up to his bedroom? No. That’s the beginning of self-destruction. I don’t know where his dick has been, and having sex with a rock star is kind of pathetic. Should I throw him my panties tonight while I’m at it? Also, no thirty-eight-year-old woman has ever kissed a rock star just for the sake of it. If I were twenty, it would have been another story. Maybe. I’m not sure I’d even have wanted to fuck him when I was twenty. Well, want to, yes, but do it? Meh…

  But at thirty-eight? Nobody can tell me that having sex with Dan Darling would be a great idea even if I think it would rock my world. Well, maybe not my world, but at least my pussy. When he touched me earlier, my body was on fire. When he kissed my cheek, I got wet. When I saw his text, my breasts reacted, and waiting for his answer, I ache.

  My phone chimes, and my heart skips a beat. Ridiculous.

  Unknown Number: I’ll add it to the set for you tonight. Got to go. Bye Anna Love.

  Me: Talk later.

  Unknown Number: Will do, Love.

  Holding my phone tightly, I add his number to my phone and crop the photo he took so his face is his contact picture. I feel like a teenager with a crush on her favorite rock star. I’m still gazing at his picture when Jules and Debbie finally arrive at the restaurant.

  “So sorry we’re late.” Julie sighs, removing her light jacket. The smile at the corner of her lips and Debbie’s mischievous eyes tell me they’re ignoring the subject of Darling to gauge my reaction. “This new career is killing me. I know I was bored out of my mind with Eric and I needed to change my life, but I clearly didn’t think about all the deadlines and last-minute script changes writing for a network would entail.”

  After Julie divorced her boring husband and walked out of her dreary life four years ago, she decided to write the pilot of a TV series. Being perfectly bilingual, she wrote one in French and one in English. The French network picked it up first, and she started writing full-time. She rocks.

  “No biggie.” I smile, tucking my phone away.

  “No biggie?” Debbie feigns surprise. “You were ready to kill us—we know how you are when someone is late—and now it’s a ‘no biggie?’ Does this have anything to do with meeting a particular celebrity?”

  I feel myself flushing, and because I don’t want them scrutinizing me while I fangirl over Dan, I fan myself with my hand. “Could I be starting early menopause?”

  Julie laughs. “No, but you might be starting a crush though. Want to tell us what happened with Dan Darling?”

  I really don’t want to. “He was at the bar. I asked to take a picture. He said yes. End of story.”

  “Wow!” Debbie says, not able to hold back the stars in her eyes. “This is freaking awesome. Shit, I hate my babysitter for being late. I could have met him. Did he ask anything else?”

  “No, I mean, what would he ask?”

  “Have you seen yourself?” Julie answers. “He could have easily asked you to go up to his room a
nd to fuck! Shit, that could be a great start of a love story. The guy falls in love with the girl, but he’s an addict and loses everything. Oh no, scratch that. She dies, and then he falls even more into his addiction and loses everything. I have to write that down.”

  I drink my water, letting Julie organize her thoughts on the story she’ll undoubtedly write one day. Meanwhile, my mind travels to Dan and how he felt against my body earlier. I can still feel his arm around my shoulder and his eyes on me.

  “Where’s Ol tonight?” Debbie asks shyly.

  She kind of has a crush on my brother, but being married, she’s never acted on it. She just always asks about him.

  “In New York,” Julie pipes up from her notebook, and I frown. “Don’t look at me like that, Anna. I wanted to be sure how many people I needed to make reservations for and how many tickets to buy for the show.” She shrugs, continuing to write down her ideas.

  I’m not sure if anything has ever happened between Jules and Ol… I know he’s fucked my assistant and most of my friends in high school—even though he’s two years younger than me. But has he had sex with Julie? If he has, that’s the best-kept secret ever.

  As the night falls, we make our way to the show quarters and the stage that has been set up for the Darling Devils. The streets are buzzing like every summer night in Montreal. It compensates for the long, cold winter we spend cooped up in our living rooms. As we wait in line to pass through security, Debbie talks about her life as a mom.