by Jade Webb
At the mention of the song, Daphni’s shit-eating boyfriend sidles up to her on the couch and drapes his arm possessively over Daphni’s shoulder. The guy is an absolute idiot, and it’s hard for me to mask my annoyance with him. Stealing another glance at Gabby, I can see it is equally difficult for her.
“Hi Drizzle,” Gabby says, with a strained smile on her face. It’s the same one she gave Melissa earlier, and I can tell it’s a practiced one.
“Damn, girl. You looking good!” Drizzle exclaims as his greedy eyes roam up and down her body.
I almost catch a flicker of disgust cross Gabby’s face, but as quickly as I see it, it’s disappeared, that same, tight-lipped, practiced smile in its place.
“Thanks,” she responds curtly.
Melissa chooses that moment to walk into the room. She glances around, able to sense the awkward tension in the air. “Daphni, we need to get you prepped for hair and makeup.”
Daphni nods and shrugs out of Drizzle’s embrace before sauntering over to fall into the seat in front of the large porcelain vanity. As soon as she is seated, two women swoop in behind her, one tackling her hair and the other spackling on the ten layers of makeup she has to wear.
Daphni turns in her seat and her hairstylist narrowly misses burning her with a curling iron. “Oh, Gabs, I almost forgot to tell you! We are going to the sickest club tonight after the show. Super exclusive, and we have the whole VIP section to ourselves.”
She turns her attention over to Melissa, who is furiously texting on her phone. “Mel! You need to get Gabby something to wear tonight.”
I watch with mild amusement as the color drains from Gabby’s face. As Gabby opens her mouth to object, Daphni shoots her a warning glare, prompting Gabby to snap her mouth closed, sealing her lips tightly.
“Fine, I’ll go,” Gabby relents. “But I can dress myself.”
Daphni lets out an audible sigh. “Oh God, Gabby. We are going to Tangiers.” She over-pronounces the name of the club, dragging out each letter. “You cannot go wearing that.”
Gabby’s shoulders slump down, defeated. I bite back a smirk as I watch her looking dejectedly at the book on her lap. I can sense her disappointment, and find it fucking adorable how sad she looks that she can’t spend her Friday night with her massive fucking book.
“So, we’re good, Liam?”
At the mention of my name, I tear my eyes away from Gabby and see Melissa looking over at me, a questioning look on her face.
“Eh?”
She sighs. “The club, Liam. Are we all set for the club tonight?”
I shake myself out of the trance and nod my head. “All set. We arrive at midnight. Front entrance will have the red carpet. We have VIP lounge secured and we will be bringing extra security just in case.”
Melissa nods. “Great. I need to run. Do me a favor and make sure Gabby gets a bite to eat before the show?”
Before I can object, she is darting out the door, catching one of the crew to issue a last-minute request. My eyes search the room for Gabby, but I can’t find her. I mutter a curse under my breath as I stride to the door of the dressing room and thrust it open. The crush of people around me is overwhelming, and even though I tower over most of them, somehow that beautiful, disappointed, and fucking beguiling brunette has disappeared.
6
Gabby
I load up my plate high with mini tacos and sliders before momentarily debating if I should get a second plate. Though I ate a few hours ago, my college-student instincts are still strong, and the lure of free food is a powerful one. Besides, I have a tendency to get nasty when I’m hungry, so feeding myself is really public service.
I am feeling even more on edge than usual. I attribute it mostly to the fact that in a few short hours, I am responsible for telling my sister that our mother is dead, and for ensuring that she doesn’t have a complete meltdown, so I can go to law school and finally escape the ever-looming shadow of my family’s legacy. I’m sure it would damper even the best of moods.
Still, I can’t help but feel that something else is nagging at me. As much as I want to deny it, I’m still upset about being manhandled like yesterday’s trash by my sister’s stupid bodyguard. It was bad enough that Jerry was gone, but then to have him replaced by some Scottish brute? And not only had he completely thrown me around, but he had the nerve to make fun of me, too? Of course, I knew the difference between Irish and Scottish. It’s just that when his penetrating grey eyes were locked on mine, it was a bit fucking hard to focus. His eyes are just so…intense.
God, why did I let him get under my skin? He was obviously doing his job, and if I hadn’t acted like some idiotic, stammering mute, maybe he wouldn’t have felt the need to carry me out of that room kicking and screaming.
At the memory of him effortlessly picking me up, a warm blush creeps up my cheeks. God, what was it about men being able to pick us women up that caused our ovaries to melt like that? It must be some lingering biological glitch. Or maybe it was the fact that in his grasp, I was able to sneak a touch of his massive arms and imagine the terrible, dirty things he could do to me with those mini tree trunks.
Egh, not that I would know. At twenty-one, I was a unicorn: a virgin by choice, and not because I wanted to wait until marriage or save myself for Jesus. Rather, my celibacy was one of the ways I kept people at bay. I had tried hard last summer to secure myself a one-night stand and ditch the V-card once and for all. I did the research, got myself a Tinder account, and made sure to stash my purse with a variety of condoms in different sizes. I had every logistical contingency planned for. When I had finally made it to the guy’s bed and saw the poster of my sister, wearing a hot-pink bikini that matched the streaks of pink in her blonde hair, hanging on his wall, I decided there was no way I could lose my virginity with my older, half-naked sister watching me. I made up an excuse and ran, deciding it was an omen that I was simply meant to be a virgin forever. Luckily, God had invented vibrators, so my suffering was minimal.
I plop down into an empty seat at a long table. Since the show is set to start soon, craft service is a ghost town. I instantly regret not bringing my book along so I could study. When I had seen Liam distracted with Melissa, I had taken the opportunity to sneak out. While in the room, I could feel his eyes on me at all times. It was a disquieting feeling. Even when I wasn’t looking at him, his presence overwhelmed me. How was I going to spend the next three months with this guy? And why was I so hung up on him? I did not get hung up on men. My only celebrity crushes were Joe Biden and Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
I stab my fork into the spaghetti on my plate, twirling it in endless circles. Studying, Gabby. Just focus on studying, I command myself, as I pull my thoughts away from Liam and work out a tentative study schedule in my head. My professor had recommended studying at least four hours a day. If I can get it done in the morning, I can spend the afternoons taking practice tests. What I needed to figure out was which section I should start on. I really need to strengthen my logic and reasoning…
My thoughts get interrupted when a large shadow crosses over my table. I drag my eyes up, but my body can already sense who it is.
Liam.
I can’t help but feel my face pull into a scowl. “Can I help you, sir?” I bite out, surprised at how bitchy my tone is. I am never bitchy. Well, that’s not technically true. I am pretty much always bitchy in my head, but never out loud. For a second, I consider apologizing for my tone, but then decide against it when I remember how humiliated I had felt earlier.
An amused smile pulls at his lips at my formal greeting. He arches his brow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Sir?” he asks, and I swear his husky Scottish brogue is literally making my skin heat. How can one freaking word cause my body to react like this?
I fight the heat pooling in my center and force my eyes back to my plate, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious about the mess of food stacked high.
Liam pulls out the chair across from me and sits down. It’
s almost comical how ridiculous he looks sitting in such a small chair. I take advantage of the moment to steal another glance at him, instantly regretting it the moment I do.
He is frighteningly handsome. His strong, angular jaw is covered in a dusting of dark stubble. While I assume it would make most men look messy, like they hadn’t showered in a few days, it just makes Liam even more obnoxiously sexy. His thick arms are crossed against his chest, and his corded muscles ripple with every movement. He looks like he was crafted from every single forbidden fantasy I’ve had, late at night, with my trusty vibrator in hand. Never in my life had I come across a man who was so…masculine. I seriously doubt Liam has ever owned a pair of salmon-colored shorts with whales on them. God, why did that thought make me so excited?
His dark-grey eyes catch mine watching him, and I can see a dangerous spark in them. He’s arrogant, and I curse myself for so blatantly checking him out. The last thing this guy needs is another boost to his overly inflated ego. I force myself to break eye contact, shifting my attention back down to my plate. I shove another forkful of spaghetti into my mouth, hoping that if I stuff enough food in there, I can prevent myself from saying something even more humiliating.
When I still feel his eyes watching me, I get annoyed and drop my fork on my plate.
“Can I help you with something?” A large part of me balks at my rude tone as the words tumble out of my mouth. Even when I have been insulted to my face, told by my own mother to go throw up my birthday cake because I looked a bit “pudgy,” and been followed by a psycho paparazzi for seven blocks, I kept a polite smile pasted on my face. I feel a bit guilty, but more than that, curious: what is it about this man that seems to make me feel okay being so incredibly rude? And since when did I get such a thrill from being such a bitch to a complete stranger?
Surprisingly he doesn’t seem bothered by my tone. He actually seems amused, which only further irritates me. He shrugs his shoulders and leans back in his chair, stretching out his long legs in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. He waves his hand over me. “Just enjoying the view.”
I roll my eyes and push myself up from the chair. I grab my plate and toss it into the nearest trashcan. My heart sinks at the thought of all that delicious food going to waste, but the idea of sitting across from him for another minute is even more intolerable.
I hear his footsteps chase after me, but I keep up a slight jog to get away from him. Unfortunately, my six steps are equal to one of his, and he catches up to me in seconds. I feel his touch on my forearm and freeze instantly. His large hand is warm and completely envelops my arm.
“Look, Gabby, I’m sorry. Can we please just start over?”
I look down at my arm, where his hand is still resting. Following my eyes, he withdraws his hand and takes a step back.
“It’s fine. We’re good,” I reply as breezily as I can muster.
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?” I ask incredulously.
He shrugs his shoulders in response. “Bullshit,” he repeats.
I shake my head and plaster on my practiced smile. “Believe me, we’re good.” I turn to walk away, but then his hand is on me again, pulling me back.
“Don’t do that,” he warns, his voice gravelly and his intense eyes locking on mine.
“Don’t do what?” I ask, my voice just above a whisper.
“Pretend you’re fine when you’re not. Put on that stupid fake smile. You’re mad. Tell me you’re mad.”
“I’m fine, serious—”
“Bullshit,” he interjects before I can finish my sentence.
His lips quirk and I can see that he’s holding in a smirk. I feel my blood pressure rising and before I can stop myself, I shoot out, “Screw you!” and turn away from him one final time.
7
Liam
I let the smile I’ve been holding back cross my face as I watch Gabby storm away. I can almost feel her hatred and because I’m a goddamn masochist, it fucking turns me on.
Something about pushing Miss Gabby’s buttons gets my blood pumping. Seeing her pulse race against her delicate neck, the crimson color rush to her cheeks, and her chest puff out in annoyance sends a surge of blood directly to my dick. Glancing around the room, I subtly adjust my hard-on before returning to Daphni’s dressing room.
I am disappointed when I don’t find Gabby waiting there. The opening acts for Daphni’s show have started and she is set to go on in about thirty minutes. I follow the entourage as they trail Daphni, adding their last-minute touches before her performance.
When Daphni’s out on stage, I don’t have much work to do except keep an eye out and make sure none of her psychotic teen fans try to rush the stage and grab her. Luckily, the arena employs its own security team, so I can mostly hang back.
I pull out my phone and shoot off a quick text to my sister in San Diego. She usually takes at least a day to respond to my messages, since she’s always running after my four-year-old niece and making sure my twelve year old nephew stays out of trouble. I try to check in as much as I can, but she’s a single mum and has her own load of issues to worry about.
I continue to wander about backstage until I hear the beginning of Daphni’s set. Though I’ve only been with her a week, I’ve already managed to memorize her set list. Her part of the show starts off with this monologue about love and darkness or some bullshit, before transitioning into her first song. Her music isn’t for me, but I’m not here for the music.
As I park along the edge of the stage, I find myself anxiously looking around for Gabby again. I’m a bit annoyed with myself at this new obsession. I met her six hours ago and now it seems as if I can’t go one fucking hour without thinking of her or plotting a way to insert myself into a conversation with her.
I was a dick to her earlier, too. I knew I was pissing her off, but I couldn’t help myself. I’ve got to stop being such an ass. We’ve got three long months together, and I cannot have her hating me.
I scan the backstage area again and just like that, my eyes find her. It’s like the mere thought of her caused her to just fucking appear. She’s leaning against a tall beam, just over twenty feet away, her eyes locked on her sister performing onstage. She doesn’t see me, and I take full advantage of the opportunity to drink her in.
Bathed in the dim light, I can appreciate her features more fully. Her profile highlights her long lashes and those full, sassy lips. She sways almost imperceptibly to the music, the only giveaway that she is moving being the subtle swish of her long, dark hair. She plays with her hands, twirling her wrists at her sides. She almost looks nervous.
I quickly turn away, nervous that anyone here can see how blatantly obvious it is that I’m checking her out. But a quick look around confirms that all eyes are on Daphni, so I have no witnesses to my pathetic leering. Gabby shifts her weight, sending the blouse hanging off her shoulder an inch lower, revealing more of her smooth skin contrasted with a lone, black bra strap. I almost groan imagining what kind of lacy bra she must be wearing underneath. God, her tits must be amazing. Everything about her looks absolutely amazing: the curve of her hips, the swell of her tight ass in those fucking tiny shorts. Just watching her sends a rush of blood directly to my semi-hard cock. Something about her just seems to inspire that little fucker.
Thunderous applause interrupts my thoughts and I reluctantly bring my eyes back to the main stage. This show is a huge fucking performance: over a dozen backup dancers, ten costume changes, and fifty crew members running around to pull this off each night. A pre-taped video starts playing, a distraction so Daphni can slip into another outfit for her next song. Choreographed to the second, Daphni hits every mark and starts the next song, emerging from a giant seashell dressed as what I can only assume is a mermaid. The crowd goes wild, and I’m convinced I’ll be needing bloody hearing aids by the time I hit forty.
As entertaining as Daphni is, I am finding conjuring ways I can continue to get Gabby’s cheeks to flush bright
red as she bites back the swell of insults I know she has perched at the tip of her tongue far more exhilarating. I turn my head again so I can spend the next hour fucking torturing myself even more while I secretly survey Gabby. But when I look, she has disappeared. I push myself off the wall and glance around at the dozens of faces surrounding me.
Though a wave of disappointment washes over me, the rational side of my brain tells me what I already know: there is no way a guy like me could ever be with a girl like Gabby fucking Monroe. Ignoring the very basic fact that her sister is essentially my boss, we come from two different worlds. She is American royalty who very likely grew up eating caviar on fucking yachts, while I am Scottish shit that scraped by on food stamps in tenement housing. We were worlds apart, and it would be better if I just accepted that now. And though I want to fight it, to just say “fuck it all” and taste those fucking tempting lips for myself, I know that there is too much for me to lose to risk it all. So I force myself to keep my feet planted on the ground, to not chase after her like I’ve done all afternoon, and to keep Gabby Monroe as nothing more than a fantasy.
8
Gabby
I follow Melissa as she leads me out of the backstage chaos. A second earlier, she had whispered that she needed to discuss something important with me in private. I trail obediently behind her as we make our way back to Daphni’s dressing room. Inside I spot Ellie, one of Daphni’s makeup artists, perched on the couch, flipping through a tabloid. The instant she sees us walk in, she tosses the magazine onto the coffee table and claps her hands in excitement.
“Gabby!” She squeals merrily as she grabs my hand, pulling me over to the seat in front of the large mirrored vanity. I look over my shoulder at Melissa, who is biting back an amused smile. Once I’m seated, Ellie runs her fingers through my hair, pulling out my ponytail. Confused, I let her work her fingers through my thick curls. Once she’s thoroughly assessed my hair, she smiles at me in the mirror. “We are going to make you look so hot for tonight,” she declares.
