by Nikki Wild
That left Fame. Fuck that. If it wasn’t for fame, little miss reporter wouldn’t be out there trying to snatch a few juicy bits of knowledge to satisfy the vultures. They were never satisfied. They wanted to pour over every little detail of my goddamned life.
It was like my life wasn’t my own anymore. My private life was public. I left my emotions on the stage night after night, baring my soul for the money that kept this monstrosity of a rock machine running… And for what? There was nothing left for me. Hell, there wasn’t much left of me, for that matter.
It’s like I was some robot, mindlessly going through the paces every day. Wake up in a new hotel, a different city, get on the bus, drive to the next town, perform another show, get drunk, get laid, try to get some sleep, and wake up and do it all over again. It wasn’t fuckin’ glamorous, it was fuckin’ bloody exhausting, is what it was. That’s why so many of my friends were fuckin’ dead. They turned to the white stuff to keep moving. I wasn’t going to follow their example.
I chose this path, though. I was blessed, everyone said. I was living life to the fullest, riding on the edge everyday, living a life most could only dream of… I was adored by millions of people who didn’t really know me at all.
It was all a ruse. I couldn’t wait to leave America and get back home. I was completely out of place here, and it already seemed like the tour was crawling along at a snail’s pace.
Sure, I was talented, that was undeniable. I exploited my talents and gifts wildly, but what would the world be like if I hadn’t?
I shouldn’t complain, I know.
But sometimes, when I’m in the middle of it, on those days when I’ve partied way too much, or I have to listen to my brother rattle on and on about what an asshole I am, it makes it hard to count my blessings, because to be honest, the repetitiveness of the whole thing is a total bore.
On second thought, I was glad Catherine was here to shake things up a little. If my label thought I needed to have an in-depth expose´ done to prove my worthiness, well then I was sure going to give the beautiful Catherine something to write about.
But first, I had every intention of getting her naked. I’d seen that spark in her eyes. There was no hiding her interest…
She was just my type, and I wanted a good, long taste of her.
Because what’s work without a little fun thrown in?
I did mention how bloody bored I was, right?
Chapter 5
CATHERINE
When we arrived at TD Garden in Boston, a huge crowd had formed outside the parking garage. I couldn’t believe they were standing out in the heat like that, but when they saw the buses pull up, they went nuts - they were holding up posters and signs professing love to Ian and Liam, jumping up and down, and I think I saw a few girls crying.
Thankfully, the gate closed behind us, leaving them on the other side.
As we all poured out of the buses, the heat hit us with the blast of a hot oven. Quickly, we all went inside and were ushered down several long halls until we reached a cluster of dressing rooms that stood side by side. Each band member had their own room, with a big common room for everyone else. Everyone else meant me, Matt, and Big D and slew of other people that were milling around that I hadn’t met yet.
A large buffet was spread out along one wall and a bar was set up next to it. Matt and Big D began tearing into the buffet and helped themselves to drinks. I grabbed a bottle of water, and sat alone on a big couch. Matt sat down across from me, setting a heaping plate in his lap.
“Sorry about last night,” he said, in between bites.
“For what?” I asked.
“Liam. He’s kind of an asshole,” he said, with a shrug. I watched him shovel food into his mouth, his huge frame spread out on an adjacent couch.
“Isn’t he your boss?” I asked. I wasn’t too impressed with Matt at all. He’d hardly said a word the entire trip, and I was sure there was some important business he should be off taking care of now that we were here, instead of feeding his face.
“Technically,” he replied.
“How long have you been the tour manager?” I asked.
“Just a few weeks. The other guy left after Liam…,” he said, his words cutting off.
“Why did he leave?” I asked, looking away from him and trying to follow his gaze, landing on Liam and his sexy smirk.
“What are you doing, Matt? Don’t you have work to do?” Liam asked, walking over and towering over him.
“Well, yeah…” Matt hung his head and stood up, setting down his plate and shuffling out the door past Liam.
Liam sat next to me, his eyes flashing with mischief.
For fuck’s sake, he’s the sexiest fucking man I’ve ever seen.
Masculinity oozed off him, and I drank him in. Sure, I’d keep this professional, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the scenery.
“Don’t you have to get ready or something?” I asked. He was sitting awfully close. His hair had dried, leaving his black locks looking softer than mine. His long lashes were practically waving at me, and I pushed away a pang of jealousy. He was intense. If he had been anyone else, if he wasn’t such an arrogant bastard, and I wasn’t working, I’d have been doing my damnedest to seduce him.
Some people you meet are pure sex - every movement of his body screamed sensuality, his lips full and wide, his muscles rippling under his still open shirt. For fuck’s sake, I thought, does he ever close it? I hadn’t seen him without a bare chest since I arrived.
“All I have to do is strap on my guitar,” he replied. I shook my head in disbelief. “Sound check is in thirty minutes.”
“Sound check, right,” My voice cracked with desire. I cleared my throat, trying for professional again. “I was hoping we could spend some time together,” I said.
He moved closer, a crooked grin spreading across his face.
“Now you’re talking, luv,” his arm snaked around my shoulder, and he began pulling me closer, bringing his mouth to mine, his breath searing my lips.
“Not like that!” I said, shoving a palm against his chest, right before his lips made contact. “That’s not what I meant.” I struggled to breathe. Why did he have this fucking effect on me? It was maddening. “I meant, I want to schedule a time we can sit down and talk, please.” My fingers lingered a little too long on his chest, and I pulled my hand away reluctantly.
He nodded, that crooked smile still spread across his distractingly handsome face.
“Right, luv. There’s an insane amount of time between our sound check and when the show starts. Meet me in my dressing room after sound check and we can do whatever you want.”
“Talk,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Talk. Of course.” He winked again and my stomach flipped.
“So, I think we got off on the wrong foot, Catherine,” Liam said, as he walked into his dressing room. He hair was even messier, but somehow it looked even better. A light sheen of sweat caressed his skin, and I found myself staring at it, yearning to touch my fingertip to his slick, bare chest again. “I owe you an apology.”
“You do?” I asked.
“Well, I wasn’t exactly a gentleman.”
“You’re not really known for being a gentleman,” I said, wishing I could take it back as soon as the words flew from my mouth.
I was relieved when he broke out in laughter.
“Finally the truth!” he said, throwing his head back, his loud guffaw echoing in the room. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and cracked it open. “You want one?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Mercury.”
“Alright, that’s enough of that bullshit. Please call me Liam.”
“Alright. Liam.”
“That’s better. So,” he said, sitting across from me and chugging on his beer. “What do you want to know, Catherine from Rolling Stone?”
“Well, I have many questions. When I write a story, I don’t force it. I let it build from the inside out. I’d like to get to know you
better, so why don’t we start at the beginning?”
“The beginning? What - you mean like my childhood, or somethin’, luv?”
“Sure, that’s as good a place to start as any.”
“For fuck’s sake, can’t we talk about something more interestin’? My music or somethin’? Isn’t that what this is about? Selling records?”
“It is. And also saving your reputation, if it’s salvageable.”
“Hardly,” he scoffed.
“You can’t be all bad, Liam,” I said, smiling over at him.
“There are hundreds who would disagree with you, darling,” he replied.
“Liam, think of it this way. You’ve got a clean slate with me. I’m here to observe and listen to whatever you share with me. No judgement. No preconceived notions. If you don’t want something included in the story, just say so. I’m not out to get you, I promise.”
“Well, that’s refreshing to hear, luv,” he said, winking at me. “But you can have me if you want.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I groaned.
His laughter, the mischievous gleam in his eye, the way he looked at me with such unrestrained hunger every time he flirted with me - none of these things were helping me stay professional.
However, they were definitely having an effect on me. I just wasn’t sure that was where I wanted this whole thing to go. I also wasn’t sure I would be able to resist him.
Time would tell, but at this point, I was beginning to see that most of my time was going to be spent putting my energy into keeping my hands off of him. Or, keeping his hands off me.
If I could do that, I’d be alright…
If…
Chapter 6
LIAM
The last thing in the whole fuckin’ world that I wanted to do was talk about my past. But she was sitting there dripping sexy, flashing those doe-like green eyes at me, her blouse plunging to a deep v, showing off a good portion of what I was sure were perfect knockers. Every time she smiled at me, my cock swelled in my pants.
And here she was asking about my childhood. I just wanted to rip off her clothes and take her right there on the fuckin’ couch. Or, better yet, blow the show and take her to a nice five star hotel and give her a proper fancy fuckin’. A woman like Catherine deserved that.
I imagined what she’d look like, splayed out in my bed, naked as a jaybird, her long black hair spread out around her head, her eyes full of desire. She was already so goddamned beautiful, but I could only imagine how much sexier she’d be with my cock buried inside her.
It had been awhile since I met a girl who played hard to get, and I liked it.
She was going on and on about how she was just here to do her job, that she wasn’t judging me, that she had no pre-conceived notions about who I was. As if I cared if she judged me at all. I was used to that shit. Nobody in the whole fuckin’ world knew me for who I really was, not even my bloody brother. He was so sure he did, though. But I’d done an excellent job of not letting anyone in. I’d done that once, a long, long time ago, and it pained me to even think about that now. I’d done my best to make good on that mistake.
“So, if we could just start with you telling me what your parents were like?” Catherine asked.
“My parents? My parents were a couple of dysfunctional assholes that had no idea how to raise children.”
She blinked, and furiously starting making notes in her little notebook. I probably shouldn’t have, but I continued.
“My father was a postmaster. My mother was a house wife who could never do anything correct, according to my father. Hell, in his eyes, none of us could do right. He was angry at the world, and he took it out on us every night when he came home. Ian got the worst of it, being younger than me. I tried to stop it, but I was just a kid, what could I do?”
Her eyes filled with pity, and I looked away. That was why I kept my mouth shut about this shit. I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.
“You had another brother, too?” she prodded. As it always did when Lennon was mentioned, I winced. Sometimes the pain of losing him was still so fresh, I wondered if it would ever fade.
“Yeah. Lennon. My father let me name him. I was obsessed with the Beatles, even then.”
“That’s nice,” Catherine said, her voice soft and quiet.
“Lennon died of cancer when he was five. They found a tumor in his brain when he was three, and he fought hard for the next two. My mother brought us all to Philadelphia to have him treated by the best doctors in the world. He was the toughest little kid I’ve ever known.”
“I’m so sorry, Liam,” she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly. She had to know this shit already. Why was she asking these questions?
“It was a long time ago,” I said, standing up quickly and walking over to the bar. The beer wasn’t hitting the spot anymore, so I poured myself a shot of whiskey and downed it, then poured another. “Sure you don’t want a drink, Catherine? It takes the edge off.”
“It’s a little early - I mean, no, thank you.”
“Sure you aren’t judging me?” I asked, teasingly.
She laughed softly and held up two fingers.
“Scouts honor!” she said.
I smiled and nodded. The whiskey hit me quickly and it felt fucking fantastic. That was more like it. It was exactly what I needed to keep the demons at the edge of my consciousness, instead of taunting me in my head.
The other thing I needed was right between Catherine’s crossed thighs. Her skirt had ridden up, revealing a tiny sliver of inner thigh that I longed to run my tongue along.
I sat down beside her on the couch, and as soon as our legs touched, she scooted over. I smirked.
She was going to make me work for it.
That’s okay, though.
I enjoyed the chase almost as much as the conquering. And she might not know it yet, but I was going to conquer every fuckin’ inch of her creamy flesh.
“Let’s talk about you,” I suggested. Her eyes widened and she immediately shook her head.
“Me? Oh, no, that’s not why we’re here.”
“I couldn’t give a shit about that. I mean, I respect you have a job to do and all that, luv, but seriously, it’s all just horseshit. We both know what the Rolling Stone wants. You’ll write a puff piece about my tortured past and the way my music lets me fuckin’ work through it, and all the teenaged girls will read it and tear up about things that happened a long time ago… Lets talk about you. I bet you’re more interesting than all of my boring drivel…”
“You’re the most famous rock star on the planet, Liam.”
“Rubbish. What is fame but a constant headache? It’s not real. It doesn’t last. Tell me, Catherine, are you single? Have a boyfriend? Husband? Girlfriend?” I asked with a wink.
“None of the above,” she replied.
“I find that hard to believe,” I replied, putting my hand on her knee. To my surprise, she let it rest there instead of puling away.
“I work a lot,” she said. “I’m sure you can relate to that.”
“Unfortunately, yes I can.”
“Let’s talk about that. What keeps you motivated, Liam? What keeps you writing songs and performing? Your career has lasted a lot longer than most musician’s already, and you’re still going strong, still pumping out the hits.”
“Ian writes most of the songs. I’ve written a few, but I mostly just sing and play and look fuckin’ pretty…”
“But what keeps you going?” she asked, ignoring the way I downplayed my accomplishments.
“I guess the fact that I don’t have a fuckin’ choice. Everyone depends on me getting up there on the stage, making it to the next show, paying everyone’s salaries with ticket sales. If there’s no show, nobody gets paid. Nobody buys albums anymore… If you’re going to survive in music today, you’ve got to keep moving. The tour never stops.”
“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I replied
, taking another swig of whiskey. It’s warm embrace felt like home. I couldn’t wait for the show to be over so I could forget about everything. There was a time when I wouldn’t have waited, but I was trying to be on my best behavior and avoid Ian’s incessant nagging.
“Do you enjoy performing?”
“It’s a good escape. Sometimes I wish it lasted longer, because it’s the only time I feel in my element. Off stage, I’m bloody lost. I don’t really fit in the square world, you know? But on stage, I can just be me, and let the music take over.”
“That sounds….freeing.”
“That’s one way to put it. Now, let’s talk about you again.”
“Liam…”
“Where did you grow up, Catherine?” I asked. She re-crossed her legs, forcing my hand to fall away.
“New York,” she replied.
“And did you have a happy childhood?” I asked. Her eyes flashed over at me and I didn’t like what I saw there. I recognized the pain of the past all too well.
“Not really, but I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Now you know how I feel!” I exclaimed. I was rewarded with the sound of her laughter.
“I guess so,” she responded.
“You know what I say, Catherine?”
“What’s that?”
“I say fuck the past! In fact, let’s make a toast!” I held up my glass of whiskey, and she raised her bottle of water. “To the future!”
“To the future!” she echoed, laughing, touching her drink to mine. I downed the whiskey and poured another.
“Sure you don’t want some?” I asked.
“What the hell,” she replied. “You only live once, right?”
“That’s more like it!” I exclaimed. The amber liquid swirled around the crystal glass as I handed it to her. She took a tentative slip and then downed it in one shot, smiling warmly at me.
My cock twitched in my pants.
Chapter 7
CATHERINE
