by Selena Kitt
“Only in the strictest sense.” Rob leaned down to kiss my navel. I couldn’t help running a hand through all that thick, curly hair, following the flow of it down nearly to his shoulders. There were very few men in the world who could really pull off long hair, and Rob’s was more medium than long, but rock stars could get away with it. It made him even sexier, if that was even possible.
“So, you don’t have a boyfriend?” He looked up at me, half smiling.
I shook my head. I still talked to Josh on Facebook, but I’d been single for two years. He was married now, and they had a little girl. We’d parted on good terms when his software company moved him to Texas. It had been a blessing in disguise, really, because we’d been on track to do all of that—marriage, kids.
But when news of his transfer came through, that’s when I really knew—he wasn’t the man I was willing to travel cross-country for. Looking at his little family in the pictures on Facebook, I knew I’d made the right decision, as painful as it had been at the time. Josh was a great guy. He just wasn’t my guy.
“Are you kidding me?” Rob scoffed, his breath against my tummy wonderfully warm. “A gorgeous woman like you?”
“Stop saying that.”
“What?” Rob feathered kisses over my belly, pushing the sheet lower with each heated breath. “Can I help it if you’re beautiful?”
“I’m no Katie.” I gasped when his tongue began following a path downward from my navel.
“Your skinny blonde friend?” Rob’s head came up sharply.
I raised my eyebrows at the disdain in his voice.
“Sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile. “I know she’s your friend but there are hundreds like her out there on the road.”
“Tyler seemed to take to her,” I reminded him.
“His type.” He snorted.
“She’s most men’s type.” Katie was a long, tall drink of water, built like a Barbie doll in real life. She was one of those women men couldn’t help thinking about naked and those thoughts seemed to compel them to pursue her, hoping perhaps they might get to fulfill their fantasies.
“I’m not most men.” Rob met my eyes and I melted—the man made me melt faster than ice cream dropped on hot concrete. It was those eyes, so dark they were almost black with flecks of grey like quicksilver.
“You can say that again.” I smiled, my fingers petting the stubble on his cheeks.
“Listen, Sabrina, I know the situation as well as you do.” He nestled his cheek sweetly against my hand, never breaking eye contact. “Tomorrow we go back to our lives. I don’t like it. I can tell you don’t like it either. But you said it—that’s reality.”
I didn’t like hearing him say it and I looked away, toward the window and the sunlight in the world that lay beyond. I hated it.
“Look at me,” he demanded. When I didn’t, he rolled onto me, thickly muscled thigh pressed between mine, face inches from my own. I felt the heat of his gaze and turned to meet his eyes. It was back, that dark, hot look. He wanted something, I understood that expression now.
“We have until tomorrow,” he reminded me. “We can spend it thinking about how little time it is or we can go out there and live the dream. You and me, sweetheart. Let’s go make it the best day ever.”
“One amazing day.” I couldn’t help but be caught up in his enthusiasm. I smiled up at him, loving the way his hair tickled my cheeks as he leaned in to press his lips briefly—too achingly briefly—to mine.
“Our day. One we can keep. Forever.” He whispered the words, soft lips grazing my ear, my neck, brushing kisses over my cheek and jaw, sending that electric tingle through my whole body.
“Okay.” I remembered Katie saying she wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through her fingers. Why should I? “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s start with breakfast.” Rob’s head came up, a grin on his face. “I’m starving.”
I laughed, putting my arms around his neck.
“I know the perfect place.”
~*~
Leo’s was packed on Sunday mornings and today was no exception. Rob had donned his “disguise” once more, including the goofy sunglasses. I rolled my eyes when he put them on. He held my hand as the waitress led us to the last available booth. Thankfully, it was near the back of the diner and Rob slid into the seat with his back to the door—and most of the patrons.
“How ya doing, hon?” The waitress’ name was Jodie. That’s what her nametag said, but I came in there all the time, and knew her on a first name basis. She liked to tell me about her three-year-old son who had Down syndrome, how she’d found out during an ultrasound, but refused to have an abortion, despite her boyfriend’s objections. He’d bailed on her, so she was raising their son by herself on the waitress’ salary. She liked me because I was a softy and always gave her big tips, even though I probably didn’t make much more than she did.
“Good.” I was far better than good, but the words fabulous, fantastic, and phenomenal were not only insufficient, they weren’t meant for polite conversation. Jodie gave us each a menu and took our drink orders. I knew she was busy because she didn’t even stop to make conversation or even acknowledge that I’d come in with a man for the first time in two years.
“What’s good here?” Rob scanned the menu, but I saw him scanning the diner too, with a sidelong glance.
“They have huge omelets if you’re hungry.” I took a sip of the orange juice Jodie left on our table. Rob just had a water. “But I love their stuffed French toast.”
“Stuffed?” He looked at me over the menu.
“Cream cheese and cinnamon apples. It’s soooo good.” My mouth watered just at the thought of those two huge, fluffy pancakes stuffed with sweetness and topped with real whipped cream.
“Diabetes on a plate.”
“Pretty much.” I laughed.
He took a sip of his water, glancing around the diner. It was a typical Coney Island with tables in the middle, booths on the sides and a counter facing the kitchen. Every seat was taken and there were people waiting at the door. We’d gotten the last booth.
“Is that your phone?” I asked, hearing a low vibration.
Rob reached into his pocket, rolling his eyes, silencing it.
“Don’t you need to get that?”
“Not today.” He put down his menu, reaching across to take my hand as it neared the orange juice. “Today is about you and me.”
“Us?” Hearing him say those words was like a dream. In some ways it felt like I was still dreaming. His fingers, squeezing mine, still sent delightful pulses of pleasure up my arm. Every time I thought about the night before, a wave of heated memory made my throat constrict and my muscles tighten.
“Yes.” He smiled, his thumb stroking my knuckles. “Us.”
“Then take these off.” I snatched the sunglasses off his face, holding them out of his reach when he grabbed for him.
“No!” I laughed at the shocked look on his face when I stuffed them in my purse. Now it was my turn to reach for his hand, both of them. The electric sensation when we touched still shocked me. I’d never experienced it before with anyone else—but what did I expect after spending the night with a rock star?
“Give them to me.”
His expression changed, eyes growing dark. It was the first time I’d been at the receiving end of that look when he wanted something other than sex. He was a force of nature, any time, but when he wanted something, he was unstoppable. I might have surrendered to his desires—and my own—the night before, but this time, I wasn’t giving in.
“Nope.” I shook my head, seeing his eyes get even darker, if that was possible. The iris of his eyes blended completely with the ebony spot of his pupil, making them look starkly, utterly black. I was suddenly rethinking my decision to defy him.
“You really should give them back to me.” He didn’t raise his voice, but there was steel in it.
“Rob…” I squeezed both his hands in mine,
trying to transfer my feeling through my touch, meeting that pitch-dark gaze. “I just want to see your eyes.”
It took a moment, but his face softened, and the flecks came back to those obsidian irises. He shook his head and even flashed me a half-smile, lifting my hand and opening my palm to plant a kiss there.
“You’re asking for it,” was all he said as the waitress came up to take our order, forcing us to part.
I ordered the French toast, of course, and Rob ordered the “make your own” omelet with all veggies, making me feel slightly guilty. Jodie had completely ignored him before but when she came to our table this time, she got a good look at his face and all that changed.
“You’re Rob Burns! From Trouble!”
Rob didn’t say anything. He just sipped his water, looking pointedly over the rim of his glass at me while Jodie went on and on (and on) about how she loved his music and she had so wanted to go to the concert last night, but they were sold out come pay day and she couldn’t find a babysitter for her son. She told him her favorite song of all time was You Can’t Break a Broken Heart and would he autograph her notepad?
Jodie didn’t seem to notice Rob hadn’t spoken at all until he asked, “What’s your name?” with his pen poised above the pad she handed him.
“Jodie.” She beamed. I’d never noticed how busty she was before, but her cleavage was clearly visible as she leaned over to watch him write it down. She was so close to him, her curly dishwater blonde hair, all pulled back into a messy bun, brushed his cheek.
I sat and sipped my orange juice, trying not to look jealous, wondering when I was going to hear the “I told you so” from my new rock star paramour.
“Sabrina!” Jodie frowned over at me. “You never told me you knew Rob Burns!”
“I didn’t,” I piped up, realizing too late what I was going to have to admit. Heat flooded my face as I finished my sentence. “…until last night.”
“Ohhhh.” She raised one finely-plucked eyebrow as she straightened, looking between the two of us as Rob handed her pad back.
“It’s not what you think,” I protested.
“No, it’s exactly what you think, Jodie.” Rob grinned, leaning back against the booth, arms stretched out on either side.
“Well, I’ll get your breakfast right out.” She shoved her notepad back into her apron, smiling at him. “Thanks for the autograph.”
“No problem.” Rob winked at her and she blushed before she turned and hustled back toward the kitchen.
“You’re an incorrigible flirt.” I stuck my tongue out at him.
“I wouldn’t stick that out unless you intend to use it.” His gaze skipped down to my mouth and I remembered the soft press of his lips. He had me thinking about the bathrooms in back, wondering if anyone would notice if we both slipped away at once. I should have worn a skirt, I scolded myself. But this morning rational thought had won out and I’d put on a pair of jeans.
“All I said was I wanted to see your eyes.” It was the outright truth. His eyes did something to me—and I liked it. “And I do.”
“There’s always a price to pay for walking around naked.” His gaze left mine, skipping around the room, taking in the scenery from our vantage point—an elderly couple sharing a newspaper and an omelet, two guys wearing EMT shirts with radios on their belts whose ambulance was parked outside, a family with Dad, Mom and twin toddler girls, their hair pulled back in twin purple bows.
“Walking around without sunglasses is naked?” I reached for one of the little plastic containers of jelly on the table. There was a stack of them in a black container.
“For a rock star?” He nodded. “Pretty much.”
“I don’t understand what difference it makes.” I peeled the film off the top of the plastic jelly container, using my finger as a spoon. “I can still tell it’s you.”
“Of course, you can.” He smiled, watching me suck jelly off my finger.
“What does that mean?” I reached for my drink, forgetting how bitter it would taste after my sweet little treat. I drank some and gave a little shudder.
“How’s your orange juice?” He laughed at the face I made.
“Good. Why?”
“I’m just shocked you’re not hungover.”
I was too. I wasn’t much of a drinker and I’d had more the night before than I’d had in years.
“It must be the Rob Burns effect,” I teased.
“If I could magically cure hangovers, I wouldn’t have to go on tour.”
“Have to?” I blinked at him. “I thought you loved it.”
“Part of me does,” he agreed, looking around again. “Part of me… misses this.”
“Coney Islands?”
“Yeah.” His gaze returned to me, our eyes meeting, locking. It was familiar now, even after so short a time. My brain seemed to crave it, like a drug. I wanted him to look at me. Just me. “And drinking with pretty girls in blues clubs. And going home with them afterward.”
“I’m sure you go home with plenty of pretty girls.” I drank the last of my orange juice, looking at him over the rim.
“That’s different.”
“This is different?” I asked, clarifying.
“It is.” He gave me a slow nod, eyes never leaving mine.
What was he saying? I knew it was supposed to be clear, but I couldn’t quite believe it. Part of me wanted to believe it, and part of me couldn’t, because it was impossible. Rob Burns couldn’t mean that I was something different—special—to him. Could he? Because that would just be crazy. That was the stuff of dreams.
But this was a dream day, right?
“But it must be great to make music, to play shows.” I’d decided to shift the focus of our conversation. “You make so many people happy. I mean, look at Jodie.”
“I can’t.” His voice was low, throaty. “I’m looking at you.”
“I’m just saying.” I looked down, my finger following an old water ring on the table. I couldn’t look at him, not when he was staring at me like that. If I did, I had a feeling we’d be half-naked in the bathroom before Jodie could return with breakfast, and while that was a hot fantasy, I didn’t want to be responsible for getting the lead singer of Trouble arrested for lewd public behavior in a Detroit Coney Island. “It can’t be all that bad.”
“No, it’s not,” he admitted. “But the grass is always greener. I’m sure there are sucky things about being an elementary school teacher.”
“Hell yeah.” I laughed, starting to tick them off on my fingers. “The administration. Standardized testing. Parents. Paying for supplies out of my own pocket. Pretty much everything but the kids. The kids are great. Well, most of them. Teachers get no respect. Everyone thinks we have easy jobs and don’t even deserve the measly salaries we get paid.”
“And you get summers off.”
“Right?” I looked up to see him grinning at me and I couldn’t tell if he was teasing.
“That’s okay, everyone thinks I have an easy job and I don’t deserve what I get paid either.”
I laughed.
“Here’s your breakfast, Mister Rock Star!” Jodie appeared carrying a tray, setting our plates in front of us. My stomach growled. I knew I was hungry—a glass of orange juice and a little plastic container of strawberry jelly hadn’t even touched it—but I hadn’t realized just quite how hungry I was until that very moment. I hadn’t eaten anything since hours before the concert.
Jodie gushed, thanking Rob again for the autograph, and she’d run out to her car for a CD and would he mind signing the insert? He graciously put his fork down, taking the CD from her and flipping it open, signing not only the insert but the front of the silver CD itself. Jodie clapped and jumped up and down like a twelve-year-old, and I remembered thinking my reaction the day before might have been the exact same if I hadn’t been dazed by the door that nearly knocked me down the stairs—and the beautiful, perfect, rock god who followed.
“You’re very welcome.” Rob handed
back her Sharpie and her CD. “And thanks for breakfast, because I’m really starving!”
He picked his fork back up, cutting into the omelet, and Jodie took the hint.
“Enjoy!” She waggled her fingers at him and then hurried back toward the kitchen.
“Do you ever eat a meal in peace?” I wondered out loud.
“Not in public.” Rob shook his head, shoveling in eggs. “Especially without my sunglasses on.”
“They’re not magical.” I smiled, chewing a decadent bite of French toast. I didn’t even bother with syrup—they were sweet enough already. “They don’t transform you when you put them on. You know that right?”
“I know that.” He gave me a withering look as he took a gulp of water, washing down his eggs. “But it gives me a buffer zone. And sometimes it gives me enough time to finish my breakfast.”
“Is that why you eat so fast?” I nodded at his empty plate, looking down at mine. I’d only taken three bites.
“That’s why I eat so fast.” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, nodding toward a table in the corner. I glanced over, seeing a bunch of girls sitting where the family with the twin toddlers had been. The girls were younger than me—maybe eighteen or nineteen, just out of high school. I saw them talking, giggling and pointing, building up their courage to come over. Just yesterday I’d been on that side of the fence, and I could say, without a doubt, the grass was greener on my side.
With Rob.
“I’m sorry.” I reached into my purse, taking out his sunglasses and handing them back. Now I really felt bad. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged, tucking one of the earpieces under the collar of his t-shirt, glancing at the table of girls. “It’s too late anyway. Hurry up and eat or you’re not going to get to.”
“What do you mean?”
But by then the girls were crowding the table, six of them talking at once and all I could do was gape as Rob handled it all, getting out of the booth, standing as he wrote autograph after autograph. He thanked them, laughed at their jokes and returned their not-so-subtle attempts at flirting with just enough interest to satisfy them but not enough to lead them on. It was masterful, really.
