by L. D. Davis
Then there was the reason he was in Philly. Alden organized a series of galas to benefit a particular charity. When children are put into foster care, it tends to happen quickly, and they often are placed without necessities, like clothes, shoes, and personal hygiene products. Furthermore, they are often thrown into a new school and lack the supplies they need. The charity donates bags to foster kids that contain all of those things and more. There were six galas planned across the country over the course of ten weeks. Friction would be playing at every one of them, along with at least two or three other performers that would vary city to city.
If Alden hadn’t told me all of that, I would have continued to assume that he was a pretty face that happened to be able to sing.
Okay, so he was interesting, but he was still an arrogant, bombastic, horny windbag. My god was the man a horny bastard. He transuded sex from every pore of his body. A light gaze from his hazel eyes spoke a myriad of things he’d like to do to my body. The way his fingers delicately caressed any inanimate object was a promise of what those fingers could do to my flesh. His swagger as he approached even from a few feet away was an admonition of the things he could do with his hips and drew my attention to the monster that always seemed to be at least half awake. Even saying the most ordinary things, Alden’s voice dripped with salacity. Being friends with him was going to be difficult, because even I was affected by his blatant, potent, aura of sexuality, even if half the time I felt like punching him.
It wasn’t just his sexual dexterity that was the problem, nor his bigger than life personality. Regardless of how very little I paid any attention to Friction, they were known worldwide. There was nowhere Alden could go where he wouldn’t be known. Over dessert and coffee, Alden told me several stories about situations when fans got out of control. The stories were meant to be funny, but the half smile I had worn on my face was a smile of disbelief and horror. It was true that I didn’t want to share in any of his spotlight because of my own insecurities and a shady past, but it was also true that the thought of being in situations like San Francisco repeatedly was not appealing.
Fortunately, Alden would only be in the Philly area for the week before moving on, and our “friendship” would probably soon thereafter be forgotten. He admitted that he doesn’t really do friendships with women, that the few he had, he had for a long time already. And even if we were able to avoid the complications that came with a sexed up rock star, his schedule was insane enough to leave no time for friendships with the nerdy little girl from Philly that didn’t put out.
The next day, I slept late into the morning. It had not been too late when Alden helped me carry my luggage up to my apartment the night before, but being trampled by tramps and resisting the sexual static that crackled from a rock star takes a lot out of a girl. I had taken a Vicodin and slept like the dead. The only reason I got up a little before noon was because of the insistent knocking on my front door. As I stumbled out of bed with my eyes half closed, I had forgotten all about my injuries and twisted the wrong way. I cursed all the way to the door. I stood on my toes, peeked through the peephole, and sighed. I stood there for a moment, trying to decide whether I should answer the door or pretend I wasn’t home.
“I know you’re standing on the other side of the door,” Alden said. “I heard you cursing before you got here.”
I blew out a breath and opened the door a little. There he stood, dressed in a snug cable knit, dark blue sweater and a leather jacket. Looped through the belt of his dark jeans was a leather belt with a large gold buckle that spelled out “Rock Star.” The jeans were also snug, hugging his long legs and his long…
Oh, my god! Does that thing ever go down?
While I was busy looking Alden over, he was busy looking me over. When I blinked up at his face, his eyes were moving slowly up my body, lingering long on my breasts and lips before stopping at my eyes. I crossed my arms over my chest. I had forgotten that I wasn’t really dressed. I had on a pair of lavender silk sleeping shorts that barely covered my ass, and a matching camisole, and no bra.
“Why are you here?” I asked as a greeting.
“I came by to say hello,” he said. He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the doorframe that was closest to me.
“Hello, and goodbye.”
I started to close the door, but Alden put out a hand to stop it.
“Little One,” he said admonishingly. “Is this the way you treat your friends?”
“We’re friends, but we’re not friends.”
Alden’s smile was the kind of smile that would make an ordinary girl’s toes curl, but my toes were curling because the hardwood floor was cold, not because of the gorgeous man in front of me.
“You know,” he said conspiringly. “If you renege on your end of our deal, I get to seduce you into bed.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked irritably.
“You said you’d let me get to know you, that we could be friends. Without the friendship in place, I’m free to take you to bed.”
“You would be free to try, and fail.” I smiled sweetly.
“Are you reneging?” he asked, tilting his head and looking entirely too hopeful.
I forgot about covering up my chest and put a hand on my hip. “What if I am?” I challenged.
Alden’s eyes started at my toes and again, climbed my body. His voice was soft and sensual, and I could almost feel his words.
“Before you would even have a chance to close the door in my face, I’d have my hand on that silk between your sexy legs, rubbing it against your clit, pressing it inside of you. Your shorts will be soaked with your arousal. While my hand is busy sending you toward a climax, I’ll bend over and nip at your nipples through your cute little shirt until they’re painfully hard. Then I’ll put my hand in your soft hair, wrap it around my fist, tilt your head back, and kiss you. My tongue will stroke your mouth slow and precise, so you’ll have an idea of how it will feel on your clit later. While I’m kissing you, I’ll slip my other hand inside your shorts, push two fingers into your soaked entrance, and make you come so hard your pretty knees will give out and the only two things that will be holding you up are my fingers inside of you and my hand in your hair. Then, when you think you just might die from pleasure, I’ll carry you to your bed and the real show will begin, because…” He shrugged, licked his lips, and smiled. “That first orgasm was just a preview.”
Stunned, I stood there, gaping at him as he openly adjusted his package.
“So, Little Noa,” Alden said in that same sensual tone. “Are. You. Reneging?”
For a second, for one serious second, I almost threw open the door and shouted, “I renege! I renege!” But that second passed, and common sense and my propriety settled in.
“You wish I’d back out,” I snorted, pushed the door open further, and stepped aside. I made a wide sweeping motion. “Come in…friend.”
Alden’s self-confident smile as he moved past me made me want to kick him in the teeth.
“Sit there,” I demanded, pointing to the couch as I moved across the room. “I need to get dressed.”
“I’m perfectly fine with what you have on,” he said sweetly as he sat down on the center of my couch.
I gave him a derisive smile before slamming the bedroom door.
I came out a few minutes later, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and Alden’s hoodie that I had ‘forgotten’ to give back to him the night before. His eyebrows rose slightly when he saw it, but he didn’t comment.
“Your neighbor came by, dropped off all of your mail from last week,” he said and pointed to the small dining table across the room.
My eyes widened. “You answered my door? Why did you answer my door?”
“Because someone knocked on it and you were unavailable.”
“It’s a good thing that Mrs. Q is an old lady and doesn’t know who you are. The last thing I need is for random groupies showing up at my door.”
“She may be
old, but she still wants me,” Alden said haughtily.
“What did you do? One of those pelvic thrust things?”
“Do you like my pelvic thrusts?” he asked as he got to his feet. To my horror, he did one slow motion thrust in my direction.
I gave him a bland look. “I don’t like your pelvic thrusts. Don’t you ever pelvic thrust me again.”
“Little Noa, if you ever renege, I will pelvic thrust you all night long.”
I ignored his statement. Ignored everything about it. What it implied, the prickling sensation that it sent down my neck and straight to my center.
“So, what did you want to do, friend?” I asked him. “Braid each other’s hair and talk about boys?”
“How about we go to the art museum?” he suggested as he came to stand beside me.
I looked up at him. “Really?”
“What? Because I’m a rock star – an awesome, good-looking, brilliant rock star – I can’t be interested in art?”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Well, I thought maybe you would want to go to the bar, start drinking, and maybe have a brawl. Isn’t that what you rock stars usually do?”
“I don’t brawl,” he said indignantly. “I kick ass, and I can do that shit any day, any time, in any place. I’d rather do something…substantial while I’m getting to know my new friend.”
“Okay,” I said after a moment. “We can go to the art museum.” I threw the rest of the mail back onto the table. “Let’s go.”
I was halfway across the room before Alden stopped me.
“Wait, don’t you have to like, go put on makeup or whatever?” he asked.
I stared at him. “Do I need to put on makeup?”
I knew that I was plain, but that was a little harsh.
Alden gave me an apologetic look. “That’s…that’s not what I meant, Little One. For the record, no, you don’t need to put on any makeup. You’re beautiful without it, but I don’t know of any women who go out with me without makeup. Like none.”
“First of all, no one ‘goes out’ with you,” I pointed out. “You pick them up while you’re already out. Secondly, if you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not like other women. I’m not saying I’m better, but I’m not like the women that you’re used to. I’m pretty low maintenance.”
“Thank god,” he said, looking truly relieved. “Because it takes forever for women to cake that shit on their faces. Let’s go.”
He grabbed my hand, plucked my keys off the key ring by the door, and pulled me out of my apartment.
***
We strolled through the museum slowly as Alden told me about all of the exhibits he’d been lucky to see around the world during his travels. He didn’t know a lot about art, but he had a deep appreciation for it, especially for impressionism.
“I love Renoir,” he murmured as we stood before Renoir’s The Large Bathers. “This is my favorite of his works, though he caught a lot of flak for this one. Do you know why?”
“This is very…defined,” I said. Alden looked down at me, seemingly surprised that I was answering. “In impressionism, the brush strokes aren’t smooth. The objects or people in the paintings may look…blurry. Maybe that’s not the right word, but in this painting”—I gestured—“his strokes are smooth. Even his use of light seems different from his other works. I don’t know a lot about art, so I don’t know how right or wrong I am on that,” I added hastily.
Alden smiled at me, not his “I’m going to eat you alive” smile, either. It was an appreciative smile.
“Good answer, Little One.”
“Why is this your favorite?” I asked him. I fully expected some long, boring artsy answer I wouldn’t get, but he surprised me.
“It’s a real portrayal of real women,” he said with a shrug. “They look so…soft and warm. They’re not thin; they’re not all angles and edges. Curvy. Smooth. Perfect.”
I looked up at him, expecting to find his eyes on the painting, but his eyes were on me, wandering slowly over my body.
Suppressing a shiver, I said, “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.
“Like I’m dinner.”
“Maybe I’m hungry.”
“Take your appetite somewhere else, Breck,” I said, moving away from him. “You’re not biting here.”
***
Over the next few days, I tried to get back to my normal routine. After hardly writing at all while in California, I cracked down on myself and spent almost two whole days lost inside of my made up worlds of love, lust, and angst. I didn’t leave the house; I cooked whatever was left in my freezer and fridge and sucked down coffee like it was going to save my entire life.
About half way through the third day, my fingers started to cramp. When I went to my fridge to get something for lunch, all I found was old milk, one cracked egg in a carton, and condiments. The freezer had ice-cubes and an ice pop left over from the summer. My cabinets weren’t much better. I had no choice, I had to venture out into the real world and go to the grocery store.
I sniffed in the vicinity of my armpit. I also needed a shower.
As I started across the apartment toward my bedroom, someone knocked on my door. I paused and stood stock still, looking at the door. I didn’t have the kind of friends that just dropped by, and my brother didn’t even know that I was home from California yet. Besides, Warren had a key and after the first knock, would have let himself in. The only other person it could have possibly been was…
“I know you’re there, I can hear you thinking about whether or not to open the door,” Alden Breck said.
I scowled as I marched over to the door. I threw it open and put a hand on my hip.
“You can’t just drop by here whenever you feel like it,” I said.
Hazel eyes peered through the black rimmed glasses he had worn at the airport in California. A Minnesota Vikings stocking cap was pulled down over his blond hair, and he wore a hood of another hoodie over that.
“If you’re trying to be incognito, you should probably wear an Eagles or Flyers hat,” I suggested.
“Good idea,” he nodded and then pushed past me to enter my apartment.
“I didn’t invite you in,” I said irritably, but closed the door behind him.
He turned around to face me with a small grin. “Yeah, but you wanted to.”
Cocky bastard.
“What are you doing here, Alden?” I crossed my arms and leaned back against the door.
“I wanted to see you,” he said simply, as if it were really that simple. “You weren’t answering my texts.”
“Because I was busy,” I said pointedly. Alden had indeed texted me several times, but I had only answered him maybe two or three times. “I try not to let anything or anyone distract me when I’m writing.”
He nodded. “I can understand that. It’s the same for me when I’m writing new songs. Am I distracting you now?”
“No, but I am about to shower and head out to the store. I think I’ve eaten every edible thing I had.”
“I’ll take you.”
“No,” I said slowly. “I can take myself.”
He took a few steps toward me until he was only inches away from stepping on my bare toes with his booted feet. I was completely unaffected by his nearness. Completely. Really.
“Friends go shopping with friends, right?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah, but—”
“So, are we friends, Little One? Or are you reneging?”
I rolled my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m going to go shower.” I slid away from him and started toward my bedroom. “Stay out here and don’t answer my door, and don’t touch my stuff.”
With an amused smile, he inclined his head once before I shut the door. Even though I was going to lock the bathroom door, I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to lock the bedroom door also.
Thirty minutes later, I was in the passenger seat of a Maserati Gran Turism
o that Alden had retrieved from his home in New York. I had been proud of my new Camaro, but Alden’s car made my car look like a dollar store discounted toy. I even felt underdressed for the car, like my forty-dollar jeans, fifteen-dollar Old Navy T-shirt, and my pretty black and pink Reeboks weren’t fit to sit on the black leather. Alden’s sweatshirt, which I not only didn’t give back, but had the nerve to put it on before leaving my apartment, cost almost two hundred dollars – I looked it up! That was more than everything else I was wearing in combination with whatever I would wear the next day. The hoodie was the only thing making me worthy to sit in the car.
“What kind of car do you drive?” Alden asked, as if he knew where my mind was.
“A Camaro.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s okay, you know, for the price.”
Car snob, I thought.
“Yeah, your car is okay, too; you know, for the price,” I said mockingly.
“Little One,” he said seriously. “This is a Maserati Gran Turismo.”
“Mmm hmm. It’s cute.”
“Cute? Cute?” Alden was appalled. “Baby, this car is not ‘cute,’ okay? Your car is cute; my car is manly. Zero to sixty in under five seconds, 453 HP, with a max torque of 460. You don’t call a car like this cute.”
I snickered. Alden shot me a look.
“Your Camaro can’t beat my car,” he said haughtily. “So, I don’t know why you’re snickering.”
“You’re right. My Camaro can’t beat your car, but my Bugatti Veyron Grand Sport can.”
Alden stared at me in shock for so long that I had to yell at him to put his eyes back on the road.
“You’re shitting me,” he said after a minute.
“Zero to sixty in two point six seconds,” I said with a sly grin. “Over a twelve hundred BHP with a max torque of a thousand. So, is your car cute in comparison? Yes. It’s cute. But the Bugatti trumps all.”
