by Casey Hagen
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
ROCK ME HARD
First edition. July 2, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Casey Hagen.
Written by Casey Hagen.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Rock Me Hard
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Rock Me Hard
One night...one chance to turn fantasy into reality.
NIKKI LANE WROTE SONGS about magical first glances and surrendered hearts, all while keeping hers locked away from lasting bruises. Even if she were willing to risk heartbreak, stardom and the relentless pace left no room for love.
It hardly left room for a booty call, but lord help her, she desperately needed a booty call.
She hungered for the heat, the wild abandon—so was it any wonder between the notes of the last song fading away and new beat yet to begin, that her eyes locked on tall, dark, and ready to rock her world in the front row? Standing in the sea of gyrating teeny boppers, with his back straight and confident grin, he stared into her soul and made her crave.
Aiden Powell buried his secret crush on Nikki Lane where his asshole twin would never find it and exploit it. When opportunity to see his crush in the flesh arises in the form of front row seats with VIP meet and greet privileges, he doesn’t hesitate to cover his afternoon patient appointments and head for the arena.
He has one chance, one night, to make his fantasy reality—and he would take it...
Chapter 1
“WAIT! DR. POWELL...something just came for you by courier,” Denise called to Aiden as he tried to skate by the front desk.
He should have known she’d catch him trying to sneak past her. She always had. It didn’t matter if Denise had ten patients waiting instead of the three actually standing there, she would always manage to do her job with startling efficiency.
With one handle on the door leading to the exam rooms and doctors’ offices, he reached across the tall counter and took the envelope. “What is it?”
“Not sure,” she said as she seemed to take a keen interest in whatever she spotted on her computer screen as though it were akin to the second coming.
“Yeah, I’m not buying that story,” he said.
“Fine, yes. I stole a peek. Turns out the house calls you made to adjust Rance Harmon’s daughter Maisey were much appreciated. He dumped a treasure trove of tickets in there for you. Sporting events, concerts, Broadway productions...whatever might interest you. Most of them date worthy.”
Which meant she either had laser vision, a crystal ball, or pawed her way through the stack. “Don’t start that again,” he muttered.
“You are entirely too much of a catch to be wasting away here in this office. You need to get out there. You should have a new pretty girl on your arm each week.”
“Wouldn’t that make me a man-whore?”
“I said each week, not every night like someone else we know,” she said, her lips pinching together. “And I said on your arm, not in your bed.”
“God, I can’t go there with you. You’re too much like a mother to me,” he said as the heat of embarrassment set the tips of his ears aflame.
She leaned over the counter and craned her neck to reach him. “Yes, well, it’s not so pleasant for me either, young man,” she whispered. With a quick peek around her, she turned back to him. “But, if you do find one that’s worth it, there’s no reason you can’t have a little fun. Just make sure you have protection.”
“Okay, this whole topic just needs to die.” Because if it didn’t, he had serious concerns about his cock’s ability to rise to the occasion when the time came without Denise’s face popping into his head.
“Did Rance happen to send a message along with the tickets?” Aiden asked, tapping the thick envelope on his palm.
“I’m sure it’s all in the letter in there,” Denise said.
Ah, so she had peeked. At least enough to know he’d put a letter inside. He raised a brow. “You didn’t read it?”
She winked. “Didn’t have time. Now scoot, I’ve got patients to check in,” she whispered behind her hand as though Anna and Stacy didn’t sit right next to her that moment, doing that very thing.
He knew he shouldn’t laugh—it would only encourage her—but he couldn’t help himself. She’d won him over three decades earlier when she’d taken the job with his father. From day one, she made sure to sneak him and Anthony lollipops behind his father’s back, buying Aiden’s undying devotion one sugary treat at a time.
And she’d never told a living soul that even as a grown man, he still looked forward to the surprise.
With the rest of his afternoon free from appointments and dedicated to paperwork while the additional doctors they’d hired on took the new patient consultations, he ducked into his office, closed the door, and dumped the envelope out on his desk.
A stack of tickets scattered across the surface from where they had lain tucked inside a folded note scrawled on Harmon and Lowe Public Relations letterhead.
And a watermelon Dum-Dum bounced out and rolled off the pile.
Yeah, even at thirty-four, he could still be bribed with the sweet goodness of watermelon.
He unwrapped the candy and popped it in his mouth before picking up the note.
Propping his feet up on his desk, he leaned back and started reading.
Aiden,
I can’t thank you enough for all you did for Maisey. She’s ecstatic to be back on her horse and right in the nick of time. I didn’t know who would have lost their mind first, her or my wife.
No one cared that I was losing mine.
So, to thank you, here’s a variety of shows and events coming up with some of our more prominent clients. I’m not really sure what you’re into, but I figured you’d find something. Feel free to pass on anything you don’t want.
-Rance
Oh, hey, the tickets for Nikki Lane are for tonight’s show. Probably too short notice, but it’s her last show of the tour so I figured why not. They’re front row meet and greets. Maybe you have a niece or something who’s into her.
Thanks again.
Aiden’s feet hit the floor as he launched himself upright in his chair, the leather groaning under the force of his sudden movements.
He shuffled through the tickets, scanning one after another until he found them.
Nikki Lane.
The Nikki Lane.
Pop rock superstar.
Why she got under his skin the way she did, he had no idea. There was just something about her. Ever since that day he’d caught her on an episode of Crossroads with The Zac Brown Band, he’d been hooked.
Before that moment, she’d been a pretty face and nice voice on the radio, but not exactly noteworthy for a guy who tended to prefer southern rock and country. He’d bet the average age of her fans to be somewhere around sixteen.
But that day, on that show, she’d transformed from larger than life with her bold outfits, thigh-high boots, and electric guitar—someone he never really noticed on the radio—to this down-home country girl with faded blue jeans, her sleek cinnamon hair smoothed back into a high ponytail, and those thigh-high stilts traded in for a lovingly worn pair of cowboy boots.
With an acoustic guitar hanging over her shoulder, she strummed the st
rings and let loose with a charmingly vulnerable voice.
Her tone—shy, sweet, and impossible to dismiss.
It flowed from her lips as natural as breathing, with a hint of sadness and longing.
Like she missed something.
Or someone.
The episode propelled her up the charts even more than before. She’d tapped into the country crossover fans as they fell under her spell.
As did he.
He’d tuned into every interview from that point on to soak in her poise, grace, and vibrant enthusiasm, then reveled in her performances where she unleashed raw energy that swept her audience away on a wave of the electrically charged excitement.
He listened to her pop hits, studying the nuances of her voice and lyrics, searching for that woman scrubbed clean of the artificial, her heart exposed for everyone to see—but had yet to see her again.
And now he had a chance to see it all in person.
In the front row.
His gaze shot to the clock. Ten to four.
Meet and greet started at six thirty.
South Stamford, Connecticut to Madison Square Garden in just over two hours on a Friday?
He needed wings.
Unless he took the train. But then depending upon how late the concert ran, he’d be traveling back in the wee hours after fighting crowds pouring out of the show.
But...he could stay overnight.
Why not? He hadn’t taken a decent break from work in—well, who the hell knew how long since taking over the practice for his father. It might have helped if his playboy brother had stuck around to work on occasion, beyond his appointments that is, and helped him get things back on track.
His father had only managed to finish half of the remodeling projects to the office before the signs of dementia became too prominent to ignore. So the first thing Aiden had to do was make sure they were all completed which meant pouring over contracts and chasing the contractors who’d taken his father’s money and run.
It took him almost ten months to get it sorted out and get the work finalized. The thousands of crooks out there who took advantage made him question humanity. He’d worked seven days a week for the better part of that time while his brother, who always seemed to have one commitment or another, often to some leggy blonde or brunette, worked office hours four days a week and a half day on Fridays.
One of these days they were going to have a serious talk about that. There was no way in hell Aiden would let the imbalance of work become a habit while splitting profits with his brother fifty-fifty.
With the seed of discontent sowed, he made up his mind. Not only would he spend the night, he’d do so in luxury. Hell, maybe he’d even get a massage.
He picked up his phone and buzzed Denise.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Powell?” she answered.
“If you were going to stay in the lap of luxury in New York City, where would you go?”
“Oooh, I like the sound of this. There’s actually several places, but the one I’ve always wanted to go to was the Mandarin Oriental. Not a bad view from any room. Posh and pricey,” she said with a laugh.
“That’s the one. Can you do me a favor since I’m crunched for time?” he asked.
“Sure,” she agreed.
“Book me a room for tonight. Surprise me. Just do me a favor and keep it under a grand,” he said.
“Oh, yeah! I like spending other people’s money. Anything else?” she asked.
He slid the tickets into his pocket. “Yeah. If possible, book me in the morning for a massage before check out.”
“Well, it’s about damn time. I’ll get right on it.”
“Oh, and if my brother asks, don’t tell him where I am,” Aiden said. Not that he was hiding, but the last thing he needed was his brother crashing his good time. And he would somehow manage to do that. No doubt about it. Especially if he caught wind that Aiden was splurging for a night in a swanky room.
“Not a chance. Get some you time. You’ve been connected at the hip to that boy for thirty-four years. It’s about time you branched out for yourself.”
With a quick “thank you” and a mental note to bring the woman flowers, he hung up the phone and opened the door to his office closet. Catching a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror, he studied himself since he didn’t have time to go home, and there was no way in hell he’d go to a meet and greet in his workout clothes even knowing they were freshly washed.
The outfit actually worked. Ditch the charcoal tie, loosen the collar of his burgundy shirt with the black crew neck showing underneath and his black slacks barely held a wrinkle. Roll up his sleeves to just under the elbow and boom. He’d pass.
He grabbed his cologne and refreshed what he already wore. Nothing he could do about the five o’clock shadow, but it helped play down the outfit, so he’d go with it.
With a dab of gel to his palm, he slid his hands through his hair. Shit, he really needed a cut. The waves were almost to the point that they had a chance to do battle with the gel and win.
Slapping his pockets to double-check the tickets were there, he grabbed his leather tote, his gym bag packed with clean workout clothes for the morning, then headed for the train station.
He rolled into Penn Station on the Amtrak Express an hour before meet and greets were expected to start.
Flagging down a cab, he headed to the Mandarin Oriental to drop off his stuff.
This was really happening. Nothing could stop him now.
His cab driver muttered and threw up hand gestures amidst the chorus of honks filling the air as commuters fought their way out of the city and those heading in for entertainment flooded their way in.
Okay, so maybe the city traffic could stop him. He drummed his fingers on the seat as nerves did a haka dance in the pit of his stomach.
New York City, charming despite the scent of exhaust and garbage filling the air, bustled with Friday night energy.
Lights flashed, electronic signs, billboards, the city aglow with the bustle of activity, never really becoming completely dark at night. Ordinarily he enjoyed the flash and the buzz of excitement, but tonight, the mile and a half, twenty-four-minute start—stop—start—skid to a stop ride had him grinding his teeth by the time he reached the hotel.
“You want me to wait?” the driver asked, pulling in front of the hotel.
“Nope. Thanks,” Aiden said as he swiped his card to pay the fare.
He had thirty-five minutes until the meet and greet started, only leaving him a fraction of time to check in, dump his stuff, and head for the subway.
No time for the panic attack he so wanted to have right about now.
The subway, even riddled with disgruntled youth, addicts, thugs, bodily fluids, and the stench of human discontent had to be better than the nightmare he’d just subjected himself to.
With no time to spare, he kept his gaze locked on the desk and pasted a smile on his face like he wasn’t running around with his ass on fire to get to a pop show full of screaming high school girls.
Because let’s face it, that’s what he was about to do. He was going to stand out like the creepy single uncle none of the nieces and nephews wanted to hug at the holidays.
He didn’t know if that made him funny or pathetic. Luckily, he didn’t have time to really examine it.
“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Mandarin Oriental. Checking in?” an immaculately dressed man asked from behind the counter.
“Yes, I have a reservation. The name is Aiden Powell.” He kept his laser focus on getting in and getting out. A whole row of Vegas showgirls could have been executing perfectly synchronized kicks in crotchless underwear right now, and he’d be like a eunuch staring at the crisp collar of the man checking him in.
The sound of the water wall gently circulating crystal clear H2O was likely meant to lull guests into a sense of relaxation, but for him, it might as well have been a constant drip in the middle of his forehead as the anxiety busting at hi
s overworked seams had him tapping his foot.
“Ahhh, yes, we have the premier Central Park room all ready for you, sir. I’ll have our concierge tend to your bags,” he said.
“Actually, that would be great because I’m running a bit late, and if I can skip heading to the room for now, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll just have you sign here and get you your key card, and I’ll have Manuel bring your belongings to the room for you.”
Aiden scrawled his name and tried not to wince at the price. This was throwing caution to the wind...something he hadn’t allowed himself to do, well, ever. His brother had been the go-with-the-flow free spirit who sauntered off wherever the current carried him. At least when it came to socializing and women. Well, Aiden could do that.
He just had to accept that later, when all was said and done, there would be pieces to pick up.
And money to transfer from savings.
It’s not that he was destitute by any means, but with his father’s illness, he’d been squirreling away every free dime just in case he had to draw on the funds in the future for his care. Because at least if money wasn’t one of his worries, he could focus on the other hundred knocking down his door.
He had no one to blame. He’d set the budget, and Denise had gotten him a room within that budget alright, with only two dollars to spare, which wouldn’t even buy him a bottled water.
“Excellent. And if you wish, I can have our driver take you anywhere you wish to go.”
“How much is that?” he asked and immediately felt like an asshole. He had the money, but if it was going to be some astronomical rate, he could suffer through the subway for three stops.
“It’s complimentary, sir,” he said with a slight bow of his head and smile.
Sold. “I would greatly appreciate it,” Aiden said.
“Excellent. Our car is already waiting out front.”
Sure enough, the minute he left the building, a robust driver opened the back door of a black Lincoln Town Car and smiled. “Where can I take you tonight, sir?”
“Madison Square Garden, please,” Aiden said as he slid in.
