DARE: A Rock Star Hero

by Scott, S. L.

  Horror hits. “Oh, God no! I meant the music. The songs. This is where you write songs.”

  “Ah.” He greets me at the bottom of the steps, laughing. Wrapping his arms around me, he says, “I could really get used to you.”

  I’m not sure what he means, but from what I understand about his reputation, I think it means a lot. Tucking my head against his chest, I could live in this man, and I still don’t think I’d be close enough. Plus, he smells so good. “I hope so.”

  “Come on.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the door. “I’ll show you around.”

  There’s not a grand entrance, but a small foyer with a table littered with unopened mail, an open can of Coke, and various keys in a bowl. My mind is going wild thinking about the parties they must have. “What’s with the keys?” I ask as he shuts the door.

  “Keys left behind that we found after parties.” He stops and stares at the bowl a second, then starts laughing. Glancing at me, he adds, “It’s not what you’re thinking. We’re not into the swinging scene.”

  I shrug with a laugh. “I wasn’t judging.”

  He angles toward me, and the humor is gone. “I’m not really one for sharing the things I care about.”

  “What do you care about?” So I goad him. Sue me.

  Big hands clasp around my waist and he leans down to kiss me, but then detours to my ear. “Music, my family, and my band.” I close my eyes when his lips touch the shell of my ear. He whispers, “And you.”

  My knees go weak, so I steady myself the best I can by holding onto him. Never once has anyone looked at me or treasured me the way Dare did just now. Until now, I had no idea how incredible it felt to be wanted so much. “We’re a whirlwind romance.”

  “No, babe. We’re a hurricane in the making.”

  I suck in a staggering breath and lean into the kisses he’s placing on my neck. We are a hurricane in the making. I just hope we aren’t destroyed in the process. Maybe because I’m coming down from the high we’ve been living on, but that’s the first time I’ve had the thought. We can live in our bubble, the four walls of our houses protecting us, but eventually, we’ll be exposed to the outside world, his and mine. I’m not sure how they’ll come together, but I’m building my armor. Because being in his arms, no matter where we are, beats the life I was living without him.

  Hurricane in the making.

  “Let me show you beyond the bowl of keys.”

  My heart was starting to feel heavy. I needed the levity. “Speaking of swinging. Did you ever see the live-action version of The Grinch?”

  His nose scrunches. “Were we really talking about swinging?”

  “Kind of. I learned you’re not into it.”

  Shock hits his face. “Are you?”

  “No. God no. I’d be too jealous for that, and I don’t want someone else’s hands on me.”

  “Just mine?” I hear the smug tone before I see the waggle of his brow.

  “Yes, Romeo. Just yours?”

  “Just my what?” a guy—brown hair, tall, attractive, but different from Dare—comes from the kitchen and asks. I can see he’d get his fair share of attention. These guys have a running theme of the band it seems and own their sexy rock star-ness. “I once dated a chick who was into that.” He leans against the back of the couch and pops a cherry in his mouth. I recognize him as the drummer. “I didn’t realize it until I was being offered this guy’s wife in exchange for my girl.” He stands up and drags his hand down the front of his jeans before holding his hand out. “You’re Weatherly, right?”

  Dare rolls his eyes in annoyance. “Well, thank fuck, Romeo, or I’d be in a lot of trouble right now.”

  “Romeo?” I start laughing, shaking his hand. “I was calling Dare Romeo, but I see what happened there.”

  Romeo shrugs. “It’s a name everyone knows, but I don’t think people expect to meet one. Good to meet ya.”

  “You too,” I reply, stepping back again.

  “Don’t leave us hanging. What happened with the guy’s wife?” Dare asks.

  “She was hot. Great tits.” His eyes dart to mine. “Sorry. She was ready for action, but she was married. I’m more than happy to fulfill a fantasy, but I want no part of breaking up a marriage. Fuck that. When I get married, it’s forever.”

  Nodding me toward the hall, Dare asks him, “So you’re getting it out of your system now?”

  Romeo laughs and then pops another cherry into his mouth. “Like I said, I don’t mind fulfilling a fantasy. I’m a fucking rock star, baby. On stage and in bed.”

  “Okay,” Dare groans, his hand tightening around mine. “I think we’ve had enough of this conversation.”

  “I’m curious, though.” Before I’m pulled away, Romeo asks, “What were you saying about The Grinch?”

  I laugh, suddenly embarrassed that I’m talking about swingers. “There’s a scene that no one ever talks about where he sees them dropping their keys into a bowl at a Christmas party. I never caught it until I saw it last year. Are they dropping their keys in the bowl so they don’t drink and drive, or are they swingers?”

  Both of them stare me with their lowered brows, but then Romeo starts laughing. “I never noticed it, but I’m gonna look for that scene next time it’s on.”

  “Can we please end this conversation?” Dare tugs me toward the hall.

  This time, I shrug in amusement. “Guess we’ll never know,” I muse. We’re moving quickly, but I note the couch doesn’t match the loveseat or the chair that’s crammed on the side. The large screen TV isn’t mounted on the wall, but sits on the hearth with all seating angled in that direction. Interesting design. Manly. Rugged. Not a care in the world. So much Dare.

  I envy his freedom. “At fourteen, I asked for a teal papasan chair. My mom said it belonged in a home with a futon and that would not be our home.”

  “We used to have a futon until Lennox’s mom bought us the couch.” He asks, “Do you want anything to drink? Water? Soda? Powerade?”

  “Water is great.”

  Romeo has settled on the couch and flicked on the TV. With his feet perched on the coffee table and a cup of water in front of him, he looks content.

  Dare says, “The kitchen. We’re a messy bunch.”

  “It’s clean.” I run the tips of my fingers along the laminate bar top as I pass three mismatched barstools until I feel something sticky and wipe my hand on my pants. This is not how I envisioned his place. Although when I think about it, I didn’t know what I imagined. I can still see him fitting into my space so well that I never gave his place much thought.

  “We try.” Catching what I did, he adds, “Sometimes we fail. Helen—”

  “Who’s Helen?”

  “Lennox’s mom. She pops by and straightens for us sometimes. Does some light cleaning, and nags us, but it’s all good coming from her.”

  “That’s nice of her.”

  He hands me a glass of water. “She’s like a second mom to us . . . to me.”

  The way he tacks that last part on has me wanting to know so much more. “How so?”

  “She was always there for me just as my mom was there for Lennox growing up.”

  “That’s so nice.” I continue following him. “I like the house.”

  “It’s small, but it works.” We walk toward the back of the house again. He says, “Living room. Bathroom. My room.” Opening the door on the left, he guides me inside first.

  The door is closed, and I stand there, looking around. It’s not big, but I love seeing his life surrounding me. A guitar on the bed with a notepad and pencil next to it. A basket of laundry that I can’t tell whether it’s clean or dirty. The blinds are bent in places, but they let in good light. “It smells like you.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “Good. Definitely good.” I set my glass down on the nightstand and then sit on the end of the queen-sized bed. “Did I interrupt you when I called?”

  “I was tinkering with a few riffs
and lyrics, but you’re a nice distraction.”

  Running my hands over the comforter, I smooth the creases. “How many girls have been on this bed?”

  An eyebrow rises. “I don’t bring girls back here,” he says.

  Taking a second look, a deeper look into this room, and then at him, I ask, “Why not?”

  “It’s where I sleep. This is where I find peace when the world out there is being a dick. This is the place I clear my head and write music. It’s weird, but I can’t really explain it.”

  I stand. “I’m sorry. We can—”

  “No. That excludes you.”

  My heart thumps in my chest as my soul opens its arms to embrace everything about this opportunity. “It does?”

  “I like that you wanted to see the house, and I really like seeing you on my bed.”

  Sitting back down, I rest back on my elbows, making myself at home, and poke his jeans with the toe of my sneaker. “What are you going to do with me now that you have me in here?”

  “The goddamn death of me,” is muttered under his breath before he says, “I have a few ideas to pass the time.”

  He climbs on top of me and dips to the side to kiss my neck. It’s amazing how I went from a virgin to Hero whore. Though I can’t say I’m upset. Quite the opposite actually. “I am one hundred percent onboard with passing the time with you if it involves this bed.”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “My plans most definitely include this bed. So tell me: missionary or bent over the edge to take you from behind?”

  My teeth dig into my lip. “Decisions. Decisions.”

  He whispers, “Let me help you out. Either way, you’re going to come.”

  “Then it’s a win-win for me.” I kick off my shoes. “I’ll take one of each please.”

  The right side of his cheek rises into a mischievous smirk, and his eyes hide the devil inside. “You got it, babe.”

  19

  Weatherly

  The colors and designs inked across his skin could keep me occupied for hours. There’s such an intimacy to them as if I’m a voyeur to another life he’s led. “You have a lot of tattoos.”

  “I do.”

  Sitting next to him with a borrowed baggy T-shirt hanging around me, I want to know so much more about him. Even though I came over to get a break from studying, I think it was also to learn more about him.

  Dare is so unique. His drive, his passion, his talent, his . . . innate kindness, and this afternoon has been incredible. Talking. Kissing. Making out. And then talking some more. It has been cathartic stepping out of my own life for a few hours and lying around in his. Revitalizing.

  And truth be told, if I don’t know the work inside and out by now, I’m not ready for the exam anyway. I know I’m ready. So this time is for me.

  I trace the tattoos on his chest, inventing stories in my head. “How did you ever choose one piece of art to display forever on your skin? I imagine this fiery sun on your forearm was a sign of victory after battling Helios in the Greek heavens. The black skull with a daisy for an eye adorning your bicep—was for your siren’s honor you fought to defend against a pirate at sea.”

  He rubs over my crisscrossed legs. “I like your versions better. Lots of battling going on.”

  Shrugging, I say, “What can I say? You fighting was a turn-on. You fascinate me. A date. Your last name. Fire. So many tattoos blend into each other and work so beautifully together. Do they have meaning?”

  “Don’t all tattoos? They should.”

  “A friend of mine got a coffee cup because she loves coffee.” A faded bluebonnet on the underside of his arm is almost hidden in the lines of a maze that creeps through the other designs. “It’s on her ass so her parents would never find out. She forgot about it though and wore a thong at her pool once. She still hears about it.”

  “I don’t have money to burn that way. I had to save or trade for every one of these.”

  “I was never brave enough to get one. I was threatened with the loss of my trust fund if I did.”

  Resting his head on his hands, he looks me over. “I’ve never known anyone who had a trust fund. Isn’t that the kind of thing you should keep on the down low, so unsavory types don’t come snooping around?”

  “Everyone I know has one so I never thought it was worth hiding.”

  “I don’t.”

  I stop to collect my thoughts. Pushing the virginity lie through omission aside, I say, “I didn’t know I needed to hide anything from you.”

  “You don’t, Weatherly. I’m not after your money.”

  “What are you after?”

  He lies there staring at me. When his gaze dips down, he runs his hand over one of his biceps. He sits up and kisses me. “You.”

  “You may be my dad’s worst nightmare, but you are proving to be a dream come true to me.”

  “With enough room and time, I’m sure I’ll screw this up somehow. Anyway, maybe your dad won’t hate me.”

  Rubbing my fingers over the sun on my forearm, I laugh. “He says tattoos are the sign of devil worship.”

  He chuckles. “Can’t wait to meet him.” Seeming to catch himself too late, he backtracks. “Forget I said that. Dumb joke.”

  The notion never crossed my mind that he wouldn’t meet my dad or my mom. Dare is someone I’m dating. Images of worlds colliding flash through my head and I pause. He’s a part of my life, but I haven’t been thinking about anyone else when we spend time together. He fits in my world, but I’m not sure how everyone else will treat him. I hope with the respect he deserves.

  “It wasn’t dumb. Of course, you’ll meet my family. But maybe we should hold off until we have an actual first date before we get that far.” I kiss his shoulder. “Since an interrogation is standard protocol at the Beck dining table, we’ll have more to say, to share with them other than sex and lots of sleeping together.” I let the conversation go to save us both from having to justify anything we’re not ready to.

  He connects freckles on my thigh, seemingly fascinated by them. “Are we still on for tomorrow night?”

  “I didn’t mention it to pressure you into taking—”

  “No pressure. I want to take you out.”

  “But money’s tight.”

  “I didn’t tell you so you’d pay for things. I told you because I can’t pay for everything you deserve. I can afford to take you out tomorrow night. Whatever you want to do.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” His gaze extends to the nightstand, and he reaches over to grab his phone. “I have a show tonight.”

  “I want to come.”

  He winks. “You did. Twice. As promised.” Patting his chest, I laugh, loving that we can talk so openly. It’s freeing. Moving next to me, he puts his feet on the floor. “Your test is tomorrow, so I can crash here. I don’t want to wake you.”

  “Wake me. I want you to come over.”

  “And I want you to study and get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day.”

  I’m tempted to argue, but I feel it might be wasted energy. Also, this was supposed to be a break that turned into three hours in bed, so I can’t complain. “Yeah, I probably should get back.” It’s just past five, so I climb out of bed and eye the notepad on the floor while I get dressed. “You’re working on a new song?”

  “Always.”

  Tugging my shirt over my head, I ask, “What inspires you?”

  “Life.” He stands and stretches. “You.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed to put my sneakers on but look up. Keeping my voice quiet, just between us, I ask, “What about me inspires you?”

  “What doesn’t inspire me about you?” An answer comes out so naturally that he doesn’t have to think about it. He sits next to me and rests his hand on my thigh. “That birthmark on your left shoulder blade, the way your hair tapers to the shape of the top part of a heart at the nape of your neck. There’s a freckle where your thigh meets your leg that remi
nds me of an acorn. The twenty different blues that make up your eyes, the valley of your hip to waist that reminds me of riding my bike as a kid with no hands. The color of your bare lips after being kissed. Strawberry juice that remains after enjoying the sweetest summer treat. Your incredible mind and the way you face life. You are tenacious and funny, brave, and so smart.”

  My throat is thick, the simple act of swallowing suddenly difficult. “I don’t know what to say. That is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I think you know more about me than I know about myself.”

  “No. I’ve just been fortunate enough to see you.”

  Simple. To see me. He sees me.

  His words are like a salve to my soul. I move onto his lap. “Thank you for taking the time.”

  “You’re immortalized in lyrics, but there’s nothing like the real thing.” He kisses me and then stands, setting me on my feet. “I need to shower. You need to study.”

  “Will I get to hear this song inspired by me?”

  “Definitely. I’m hoping it’s one of the songs we put on the new album. That’s if I finish it. I’m going to work on it a bit more before we hit the recording studio to record another song this evening. A slot at seven opened up, and our friend who works there called.”

  “I should leave you to it.” I put my shoes on. A few minutes later, he’s walking me out. His roommates are loud, even boisterous, talking about a game on TV when we pass back through the living room until they see me, and everyone goes quiet. Except Dare. He asks, “What?”

  “Nothing,” they reply and pretend to look busy—drinking or fidgeting with the remote. Obviously putting on a bad act.

  When the front door closes, I say, “That was awkward.”

  “Ignore them.”

  “Kind of hard. What was that about?”

  We cut across the grass to the curb. “Like I said, I don’t bring girls home.”

  “But you let me invade it.” Feeling incredible, I twirl in front of the car and right into his arms. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll take this kind of invasion any day, babe.” He chuckles, catching me. When my car door opens, grabbing our attention, we don’t get a chance to get lost in each other again. We both know it’s time to go. He shakes his head. “I will never get used to how tech-insane this car is. Wild what money can buy.”