by Nikki Wild
“That’s right,” I murmured, stroking him harder now. “You just lay back and let me take care of you…”
I lowered my lips to his weapon…
An hour later, we were freshly showered – together, of course – and in his Dodge Viper convertible. As he zipped in and out of traffic with the top down, we sailed along towards downtown.
After phoning in an order directly to the manager, we stopped in for breakfast at a small French café. Trent pulled a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses on, and we took our seat outside in the patio area.
A waitress brought us our food, smiling knowingly.
“Is that really necessary?” I asked him.
He flashed a small, cocky grin.
“Act like you know me,” he chuckled. “The paparazzi just love a random sighting on the streets, either from a cell phone pic or their own cameras. And I have a reputation for being…somewhat private.”
“Can’t see where anyone would get that impression,” I remarked as I took a bite out of a delicious, buttery croissant.
“One wrong move, one word out of context, and I could be sitting on a scandal that might burn me alive,” Trent replied. “My band is a bit of an anomaly in the pop world these days, and the others have been getting into the wrong kind of attention. Public intoxication. Caught on camera with a girl and a hotel room balcony. Shit like that.”
“And you’re spotless.”
“I’m a disaster waiting to happen,” Trent laughed. “I could fall into a serious heap of trouble. Last thing I want to do is that…anything that would jeopardize their livelihoods. So, I try to keep clean in public. Now, within the safety of my own home…”
“You get filthy,” I replied knowingly.
“With the proper company, definitely.”
I sipped from my coffee, dwelling on this.
“You’re sweeter than people think.”
“You wanna run that one past me again?” He tilted his head, crossing his arms and smiling cockily at me.
“No, I mean it,” I insisted. “That night that I watched you perform, I saw how you stepped down at the end to let them all have the spotlight alone. And you’re careful in public because you’re the most prominent member of the group, right? So if they get into some small trouble, that’s just the guitarist or the drummer getting up to mischief. But if it’s you, then the paparazzi might have something juicy to seriously impact your band members.”
“Well…yeah,” he sheepishly admitted. “Honestly, I’ve never been the type to look out for number one. When I rise and reap the rewards, I take care of my own. I’m fine being Team Grandpa so that they can get up to trouble that doesn’t directly hurt the rest of us.”
I nodded as I took another bite.
He can be a cocky bastard…
Possessive, dominating, quick to anger…
But he can also be a seriously upstanding man.
“And people say men are simple,” I smiled.
“People are wrong,” he grinned back, a toothy, cocky grin stretching across his face.
After breakfast was over, we headed further into town on the rest of our trip. The sun was high in the sky as he took me straight to a few luxury-clothing stores.
As he followed me inside, I turned quizzically.
“You’re coming in? I couldn’t imagine that watching me try on outfits all afternoon is going to be terribly exciting. Anything in town you need to do?”
Trent smiled wickedly, his cap and glasses still on.
“Seriously? There’s nothing I’d rather do than watch you try on all sorts of sexy little outfits for me.”
And so the afternoon went on.
I piled up on clothes, always being careful to pick only a couple of things. It was only at his insistence that I stopped bugging out at the price tags.
As I continued being modest, he shook his head and snatched a few tops, shorts, or leggings off of racks and added them to my arms. When it came time to try everything on, the garments he had chosen looked great on me – and they were even the right size.
He certainly had a good eye.
I’d always been way more jeans and a tee than cute sundress, but I had to admit that I liked how these outfits hung on my body. It was something special to see myself change under the mirror to someone who could embrace who I was, rather than improvise with thrift store jeans and old shirts from years ago.
I poked out from the dressing room, doing a slight twirl for him in a silky black dress he’d plucked from a rack.
“How do I look?”
“Positively ravishing,” he nodded. “I’d tear into you right here and now if I could.”
I could feel myself blush a little.
I still wasn’t used to so much attention.
“He’s right,” a passing attendant commented. “That’s a fantastic look for you. Although…I would prefer that you didn’t do that in my store.”
Trent and I shared a smile, and the attendant started to walk away before she paused, peering at him closely. Recognition flashed across her face, all of a sudden.
“You’re…Trent Masters?”
Trent instantly looked displeased, glancing over at her from beneath the concealment of his glasses and hat.
“I’m very surprised you noticed me.”
“It’s the voice,” she smiled. “Although you always wear the same hat and glasses everywhere, so you kind of stick out.”
He grumbled, and I stifled a laugh.
“It’s a huge pleasure to meet you. I’m Jamie – I’m a really big fan of your band! I just love Extra Kings from your EP!”
I disappeared back into my dressing room as they briefly chatted, although Trent looked highly uncomfortable to have been spotted.
I went ahead and redressed in my street clothes, packed everything up, and stepped back outside.
He turned and rose to smile at me, but I spotted the attendant a short distance away. She was trying to inconspicuously snap a smartphone picture of us.
“Wait… that girl…”
Trent followed my line of sight, and caught her fumbling to hide the phone. Angrily, he stomped over towards her and held his hand out.
“Phone. Now.”
She looked like a deer, caught in headlights.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw you,” he explained. “She saw you. Delete whatever pictures you just took of us, right this fucking minute...or I’m finding the number to your district manager.”
“Okay, fine, fine, calm down,” she muttered self-importantly, pulling her phone back out. She swiped to her photos app and showed us the pictures.
It was four or five shots of him sitting there, and then one of me coming out and him standing. His hat had slipped a little, exposing enough of his hair to reasonably identify him.
“Delete them,” he growled.
“Maybe I don’t want to,” she insisted suddenly.
He whipped his glasses off, glaring down into her eyes. I could see her visibly shrink under his fiery gaze.
“Delete them right this fucking minute, or I’ll have your goddamn job in under five minutes,” he glowered. “You had one chance to meet your idol, as you so put it a few minutes ago, and you royally fucked it up. Now I know who you are, and I’m pissed.
“So, delete those fucking pictures in front of me or, so help me god, I will show you why you never want to meet your heroes.”
Her lower lip trembled.
The poor girl looked like she was about to break down into a heaving fit of tears.
Instead, with trembling hands, she deleted the pictures in front of us.
“Good,” he finally whispered. “The worst part was, I was gonna hook you up with some backstage passes for the next tour. But now? Fuck it, and fuck you.”
She was still standing there, speechlessly, as we strolled towards the nearest counter. As I walked quickly beside him, holding what was probably thousands of dollars in clothes, Trent
slipped his glasses back on without a single word.
Trent
My father used to say there’s no rest for the wicked. That’s primarily because it was true.
And I was plenty wicked.
Not even a full two days after being back home, I had to disappear off to make a press appearance with the rest of the band. We were going to be interviewed and placed in a bit part for an upcoming summer film.
Apparently, the director was a big fan.
He’d written this scene where we were performing onstage at a concert for the protagonists. We were more a set piece than anything, but even I couldn’t turn down the opportunity.
I hated the idea of dragging Angel along, though. After all, she’d been trapped in the back of a bus for the tail end of our nation-wide tour.
I felt she could probably use the rest.
When I pitched this promo to her, she agreed.
“It’s only a couple of days, right? Would it be okay if I just relax down here? Go have fun, and I’ll be waiting for you when you come back…”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I smiled wickedly, climbing across the couch to kiss her deeply.
But I had to get my rest that night, since I was hopping a plane at 4 in the fucking morning.
Instead of tearing her apart in bed, I got a halfway decent night’s sleep.
She was still curled up beside me, sleeping away, when I kissed her goodbye on the forehead.
“I love you,” she murmured quietly.
I paused.
What?
She rolled over, deep in sleep, and I was left to deal with what that meant to me…what it meant for us.
Oddly?
I wasn’t bothered with the idea. In fact…
Hearing it cemented something in my head.
Something strong.
Something we could build a foundation from.
I whispered loving words in her ear, watching a dopey, slumbering smile cross her lips.
With that, I quietly slunk downstairs and picked up my packed bags, stepping out the door. Locking it tight, I threw my shit into the trunk of my car and gunned it for the airport.
It had apparently rained overnight. The streets were slick with overlooked rain; the reflections of the streetlamps so late in the morning gave the roads an otherworldly glow.
I liked it.
Lights, rising from the darkness.
Reflected in all that was here.
It suited me.
I dropped the car off at a private lot near the airport, handed the keys to the valet, and strolled towards my destination with my suitcase in hand.
My chucks splashed indiscriminately through my own reflection in the puddles.
The night was cool, and greatly refreshing. A light mist hung around from the passing of the rain. After so much time on the bus, it was nice to have this rejuvenation in the air.
“Hey, bud.”
I growled inwardly.
Someone was nearby…
But I couldn’t tell where he was.
“Bud. Talkin’ to you.”
There.
Some tall, lanky guy in dark rags was loitering in the shadows just ahead. Hanging out near the airport. Stepping out from the dark to confront me. Looking for easy prey.
He thought that I fit that bill.
I almost laughed.
“Your wallet and your phone,” he growled, flicking out a particularly vicious switchblade.
I continued walking up, and he took a step towards me. As he saw that I wasn’t going to comply, he assessed me briefly, deciding that I was somehow bluffing in my confidence.
Fucking strung-out junkie.
I was half a foot taller and a lot broader.
“Stop,” he growled again.
“Fuck off,” I replied coolly.
He was tense.
Probably wasn’t used to this.
Criminals lacking imagination never know what to do when people don’t act according to plan. It’s early in the morning, the roads are deserted, and he has a knife.
The plan says, the victim stops.
The victim is terrified.
But me?
Hah.
I am, sure as shit, no goddamned victim.
The downside is that this tends to make a tweaked-out thief like him unpredictable. When the script in his head goes awry, even he doesn’t know what he’s gonna do, half the time.
Two choices:
Back down.
Strike.
But I had this guy pinned, and I knew exactly what he was gonna do. As he jumped forward with the knife, I easily sidestepped him. Channeling my momentum into a wide swing, I brought my suitcase up in a sharp arc.
He whirled back around to face me, but the case connected with his head, throwing him off balance and against a nearby building. As he reeled from the blow, I dropped the case to the side, stepping forward to try and tightly grasp his wrist.
Surprisingly, the fucker was agile.
He dodged my grip and slipped to the side, lashing out with the blade in an unpredictable volley of jabs.
We were back to square one.
Only this time…we were both ticked off.
“Couldn’t make it easy, could ya?” He grumbled. “Just had to go and make this a fucking mess, didn’t ya? You piece of shit!”
“Go the fuck home,” I commanded him.
He merely grit his teeth, taking a ridiculous defensive stance. His blade still stood at the ready, catching just the slightest bit of light.
Nobody else was out here.
It was just him and me.
“The wallet, and your phone,” he repeated.
Out of my peripheral, I took in my surroundings…and a dangerous but workable idea formed in my head.
“Go to Hell,” I grinned.
With a snarl, the bastard lunged again.
I was ready. I dodged out of the way, carefully planting my sneakers against the ground. He whipped around and whirled towards me again, but I jumped backward and gave his strike no purchase. His desperate lunge put him off balance. Out of control…
He was right where I wanted him, lined up to be on the receiving end of one solid punch. A certain satisfaction rolled through me as I connected.
I watched him clutch at his gut as he stumbled back from the blow, but he managed to maintain his grip on the switchblade. Carefully but swiftly, I delivered a kick to his head before throwing my weight into a shoulder tackle, pinning him by the chest up against the wall as I scrambled to get control of his arm.
Persistent fucker that he was, the switchblade was still in play, but he couldn’t maneuver it with my grip. I twisted his arm round into a submission worthy of my wrestling days back in school.
“Drop it,” I growled.
He chose to spit into my face…
So I broke his arm.
He screamed, finally relinquishing the blade to the wet concrete as he fell to his knees, I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
“Wrong time for this shit,” I told him. “I just came home with a girl who makes me crazy and now I have to leave her for a few days. Unlucky for you, I was already pissed off. I ever catch you on the streets again, I’ll break a whole lot more than that arm…”
I let go of him, and he curled up against the slick ground. The junkie probably wasn’t even listening to me through the sobbing and the pain.
I pitied him, almost.
Not enough to feel bad for him.
But enough to whip out my phone and call the police. I waited a couple of minutes as a cruiser pulled up, the officers dragging him off the pavement and throwing him into the back seat. I recounted what had happened as quickly as I could. With this minor detail to my night over, I bid the officer goodbye and nonchalantly lifted my suitcase back up from the ground. I had a flight to catch.
As I continued walking up to the airport, I wondered why I even bothered. A month ago, I would have left him there on the street to rot away, broken arm and
all. Wouldn’t be the first time… My past was full of dark alleys and fights I had no business winning.
He had dared to challenge me.
Dared to try and overwhelm me.
And he had paid the price.
As I walked through the revolving door into the international airport, I realized that I had been changing. It had been so subtle, but I felt… different. I felt like I was becoming something more, maybe, as weird as that sounded.
I felt like a better man.
All because of that girl.
All because of Angel.
Angel
I woke up the following morning, temporarily disoriented. At first, I didn’t recognize the ceiling above me – I knew it was going to take a few days at least for me to get used to that.
But then there was Trent’s absence. It took a moment, it finally came back to me.
The film cameo.
He had to do some promotion with the rest of the band, and that meant taking a few days away to film their scenes and do some video commentary for the blu-ray extras.
So, I lay around in bed for a while, enjoying the feeling of his sheets and the freedom of just being here.
It didn’t matter that my past was gone.
It didn’t matter that I didn’t have a job.
It didn’t matter that I had no money.
For this moment – this beautiful, shining moment – I was alone in the expensive house of a rising rockstar, the same very rockstar who fucked me whenever I wanted it.
And it felt good.
I clamored out of bed and threw on one of his shirts and a pair of my panties. Satisfied, I wandered downstairs to rummage up some breakfast.
My eyes fell on a clock.
Half past noon.
I must have slept GREAT.
I was halfway through a delicious, crisp ham sandwich when I heard the knock at the door.
My heart seized up.
Don’t answer it.
I hesitated briefly.
Just when I thought it was gone…
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
There was a muffled voice from the other side, and I thought I distinctly heard my name. But the voice was familiar somehow, and curiosity got the best of me…
I came over to the door, peering through the peephole. There, pacing angrily on the other side, was his band manager.
