by Amiee Louise
Today is the twenty-fourth of August, and it is my twenty-seventh birthday. I wake up to Sam’s gorgeous smiling face.
“Good morning, my beautiful birthday girl.”
I smile sleepily and sit up. Sam hands me a mug of steaming coffee.
“Thank you, baby.”
He smiles that dazzling smile I love so much and climbs onto the bed.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, angel.”
I look at him and raise my eyebrows. “Does it involve you naked?”
He cocks his pierced eyebrow and laughs. “That can always be arranged, angel,” he says huskily and kisses me gently on the lips. “Get dressed, gorgeous, and I’ll show you. You’re going to love it, I promise.”
He gets off the bed and winks, leaving that phrase hanging in the air as he exits the room. I shower in record time, dry my hair, and get dressed. I pull on my Converse trainers and head down to the lower deck of the bus.
“Happy birthday, Peyton!” all the boys say in unison, and I grin widely.
“Aww, thanks, boys, you didn’t have to!”
There is an array of presents on the table along with a chocolate birthday cake topped with candles. Sam moves to my side and puts his arm around me.
“You deserve it for putting up with us, beautiful.”
“Blow out your candles, Peyton!” Jax says enthusiastically.
Bless his heart. We’ve actually become really close during the tour, and he is definitely going to be a lifelong friend. I tuck my hair behind my ears and lean down to blow my candles out, to a personal rock rendition of ‘happy birthday to you’ from the boys, with Brody on acoustic guitar.
“You have to make a wish, honey.” Lucas smiles; I close my eyes and make a wish.
I wish for a long and happy future with Sam.
The boys whoop and clap their hands. Sam pulls out a familiar scrap of black material from his pocket, and I bite my lip at the memory of being tied up, blindfolded, and completely at Sam’s mercy. I feel liquid heat between my legs and Sam cocks his head, leaning close to me, he whispers so only I can hear him.
“Remember this, angel?”
I look at him, and his eyes are hooded with lust. I nod, and he winks, pulling the blindfold over my eyes.
“Oi, oi! You could at least wait until we’re off the bus before you start getting kinky, dude!” Brody shouts, and the boys laugh. Sam leads me down the bus steps and out into the morning sun. He holds my hand.
“Keep walking forward, I won’t let you fall. I’ve got you.”
I do as he says, and we stop suddenly. He pulls off the blindfold.
“Surprise!”
He shakes a set of car keys in front of me and there in the car park at Wembley Arena is a brand new Chevy Camaro ZL1 Convertible in an identical purple colour to my old car and a white racing stripe on the centre of the bonnet. It is beautiful; I jump up and down excitedly.
“Do you like it, angel?”
I throw my arms around Sam. He picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging to him like a monkey.
“I love it! Thank you so much, baby.”
I press kisses all over his face, and we both laugh.
“You’re very welcome, angel, I’m glad you like it. I wanted to surprise you. You loved your old car, and nothing can replace that, but I wanted to treat you to something special. You deserve it, for being you, and for putting up with my shit.”
He kisses me passionately on the lips and sets me on my feet.
“Do you want to take her for a spin? She is fast, five hundred and eighty brake horsepower, a V-8 engine and she goes from zero to sixty miles an hour in three point nine seconds.”
I raise my eyebrows; I am impressed. I nod enthusiastically, and Sam laughs.
“Come on then, angel.”
He clicks the key fob and opens the driver’s door for me. I get into the driver’s seat; the seats are bucket seats, which hug you as you drive. They are a gunmetal grey colour, and the leather is so soft and comfortable. Sam gets into the passenger seat, and we both buckle up for my first test drive in my brand new car.
Happy birthday to me!
The day passes by in a haze of presents, birthday surprises and calls from my family and my friends. They all wish me a happy birthday and say they are eagerly awaiting my return home.
“Hey, sis, happy birthday,” Dexter’s familiar voice fills my ears.
“Hey, little brother. Thanks. I’m officially old!”
He snorts. “Twenty-seven isn’t old! I’ll be there soon enough! How are you?”
I smile. “I’m great, thanks, Dex, I’m actually enjoying being on the road with the boys.”
“Who would have thought it? Have we lost you to the lifestyles of the rich and famous?”
I roll my eyes to myself. “Hardly! How are things with you and Grace? How was Paris?”
Dexter took his fiancée Grace to Paris for the weekend, and he was going to propose. I haven’t had a chance to catch up with him about it.
“Paris was amazing, sis. I asked her to marry me at the top of the Eiffel Tower, and she said yes!”
I shriek, and I start to think to myself that Ruby’s dramatics have rubbed off on me!
“Oh, my god, Dex! That’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you. Congratulations!”
“Thanks, Grace wants you as a bridesmaid, so she is going to be in touch in the next few weeks. She is turning into a bridezilla with wedding planning! I’m up to my fucking neck in seating plans and bloody colour schemes.” I chuckle, and he says, “Fuck me, her and Mum are a force to be reckoned with. I’ve actually never done so much overtime at work!”
“You should come and visit us soon; it’s been too long, Dex. Sam’s going on the European leg of the tour tomorrow he’s going to be gone for two months.”
He pauses and asks, “How are things with you and Sam?”
“Things are great. Actually, more than great.”
“There are stories all over the internet and the papers about him having some sort of breakdown while he was on tour?”
I tut. Typical Dexter, I would bet money that my mum has put him up to this.
“He has severe manic depression, Dex. He was off his medication, but he is totally fine now.”
He pauses, and I know he is probably frowning.
“Did he hurt you? If he’s laid a finger on you, I swear. I already gave him the ‘you hurt my sister and I’ll kill you’ speech.”
I smile to myself. “He hasn’t laid a finger on me, Dex. I love him so much. He is everything, and I can’t imagine my life without him in it. I can finally see a future with him.”
I hear him let out a sigh of relief. “It’s so good to hear you happy again, Peyton. There were times when I thought it was impossible, but it sounds like he is good for you.” He swiftly changes the subject, which seems to be a Harper family trait. “So what did the flash bastard get you for your birthday?”
“A new car. A Chevy Camaro ZL1.”
Dexter splutters, “Fucking hell! It must be love! Could we be looking at a double wedding?”
I snort in the most unladylike fashion. “I don’t think he is the marrying kind, Dex.”
With those words, Sam walks in and cocks his pierced eyebrow curiously at me. I stick my tongue out, and he heads into the kitchen.
“Every man is the marrying kind; it just takes a certain type of woman, sis. I never in a million years thought I would ever entertain the idea of marriage until Grace and I took that break from each other a few years ago. While we were apart, I knew in my heart I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, it was definitely a turning point.”
“My little brother, the romantic. Who knew! Besides, you and Grace have been together forever.”
“You should try it sometime; he might surprise you. Just because you’ve only been together a few months doesn’t mean it’s completely out of the question, and just because you got your fingers burnt in the past with Callum doesn’t mea
n all men are the spawn of Satan!”
We both laugh. There’s nothing like a conversation with Dexter to put things into perspective.
“You’re getting way too deep for me, Dex, I have to go. I’ll call you once I’m settled back at home, and we can arrange that visit.”
“You got it, sis. I’ll hold you to that; catch you later.”
“Bye, Dex, love ya.”
“Back at ya, Peyton, bye.”
With those words, we both hang up, and Sam leans over the table drinking orange juice from the carton. He cocks his pierced eyebrow and smirks.
“So, I’m not the marrying kind?”
Shit! He heard that? I feel my face burn with something that resembles embarrassment but also terrified of his reaction to the idea of marriage, as we have never had the whole marriage conversation before. I sit opposite him at the table, and he takes my hand in his, stroking my knuckles softly.
“I’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you, Peyton. I want to spend my life proving to you that I’m enough for you. I want to prove that I can be the man you deserve. Do you want me to propose? I’ll get down on one knee now if that’s what it takes, tell me what to do, angel, and I’ll do it.” My stomach does a flip, and I am surprised at his reaction. “Marry me?”
I laugh. Really? Did he really just propose sat at the table of his band's tour bus? No way, Newbolt! His face turns serious, and he puts his hand on his heart.
“I’m wounded, angel.”
He smirks, and I raise my eyebrows.
“If you want me to marry you, babe, you’re going to have to do much better than that. I want romance, hearts, flowers, a bedroom window serenades, the whole nine yards!” I quote a conversation we had at the beginning of our relationship. He throws his head back and laughs.
“Consider it done.”
He winks and gets up from the table, kissing me on the end of my nose. With that simple gesture, I know Sam Newbolt is going to be forever mine, lock, stock, and barrel.
The boys perform their gig at Wembley Arena, and they are amazingly flawless as usual; giving an immense, show-stopping, all-out rock performance to their beloved fans. Sam and the boys are on top form tonight.
“How the fuck are we doing, London? It’s so good to be back on home turf, we have missed you guys. Are we ready to rock?” The crowd cheers. “I can’t hear you; I said, are you ready to fucking rock?”
The crowd erupts into rapturous screams, and the whole place vibrates with the noise. Every time I see Sam up on stage doing what he loves, I am in awe of him. His stage presence, the way he interacts with the fans, his enthusiasm, and a true showmanship that would rival the likes of Freddie Mercury and Robbie Williams. He plays each gig as if it is going to be his last; he puts his heart and soul into every performance.
After the gig, we all pile into a waiting black limo and make our way to the after show party at Neon Nights, the club where the album launch was held. I am wearing a daring, black-lace mini dress with leather panels on each side. It is very short, backless, and way out of my comfort zone, but I feel sexy. I have teamed it with silver hoop earrings and black studded ankle boots. My hair is in soft, tousled waves.
After braving the press gauntlet with Sam and the boys, I step into the familiar surroundings of the club. It is just as decadent as I remember.
Sam has his arm wrapped casually around my shoulders, and he is more relaxed than I have seen him in weeks. He is smiling his dazzling, dimpled, panty-dropping smile, and I know it is all for me. He leans close to my ear, and his breath tickles my neck.
“Even though that dress is obscene, you look absolutely fucking stunning. It’s taking everything I have not to take you to some dark corner and fuck you until you can’t remember anything else but my name,” he rasps, and I shiver as I feel that customary heat between my legs. “Your tits are looking fucking exquisite. I think I’m going to have to do a lot of arse kicking tonight, you’re attracting a lot of attention, angel.”
I laugh. “It’s lucky I’m not wearing any underwear, and I’ll be going home with you at the end of the night.”
He groans at my words and I chuckle softly. He licks a trail up my neck and bites my earlobe. I mewl softly.
“Jesus Christ, you’re going to be the death of me, angel.”
He growls, and I get a secret thrill knowing that I have that effect on him. A man approaches us, and he smiles a dazzling smile as he reaches us. He is tall, lean, but muscular, tanned, and has short brown spiky hair. He has pale-blue eyes, and he is wearing a black suit, a crisp, white shirt with the top button undone and a loose turquoise tie. He is clutching a glass of amber liquid, and he pulls Sam in for a manly one-armed hug.
“Ryan, my man, how’s tricks?”
He pulls away from the embrace.
“Sam, so good to see you, mate, it’s been a while. Yeah, it’s all good, thanks, how are things with you?”
Sam smiles and nods. “Can’t complain, mate.”
Ryan looks me up and down. He licks his lips provocatively and raises his eyebrows.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to this extremely beautiful creature on your arm, Sam?”
Sam looks at me. “Angel, this is Ryan, he is Alistair’s brother and the owner of this club. Ryan, this is my beautiful girlfriend, Peyton.”
Ryan nods, and he offers me his hand. I take it and smile shyly.
“Nice to meet you, Ryan.”
He kisses my hand, and Sam rolls his eyes.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, petal. I’ve heard so much about you, and I’ve been looking forward to meeting the beauty who has stolen the famous Bolt’s heart.”
Sam throws his head back and laughs.
“So you can turn on the charm and try to get in her pants? That’s the reason I haven’t introduced you before!” Sam jokes, and both men laugh. But the way Sam says those words makes me believe that there is a hidden warning in there somewhere.
“Can I get you both a drink?”
Sam nods. “Yeah, that would be great, cheers, mate.”
Ryan nods and winks.
“Coming right up. I’ll see to it myself. If you need anything at all, give me a shout, mate. If you’ll excuse me.”
Ryan nods, slaps Sam on the back, and strides off. As he strides off, he exudes confidence and charisma. I can’t help thinking that he has ‘heartbreaker’ written all over him. Sam wraps his arm around me again and nuzzles my neck.
“Now, where were we before we were rudely interrupted?”
I laugh.
“What’s got into you tonight, baby?”
Sam chuckles softly. “Need you ask, angel? You’ve got into me, in more ways than one. I don’t know how I’m going to hold out until we get back to the bus; I intend to make our last night together a memorable one.”
“Good things come to those who wait, Newbolt.”
I wink cheekily, and two tall, muscular, tattooed men approach us.
“Newbolt.”
The taller of the two is an inch or so shorter than Sam, muscular, heavily tattooed and has long black hair flowing past his shoulders. Sam tightens his grip on my waist, and I look up to see a look I haven’t seen before; it looks like pure hatred.
“Draven,” Sam says flatly through clenched teeth. “You’ve not been hit by that bus then yet, I see?” Sam says coldly. I feel like I am at a tennis match looking back and forth between both men.
“No, unfortunately, I see you haven’t been pushed off that cliff yet.” Draven laughs and then turns his attention to me.
“Hey, gorgeous, what are you doing this with this fucking loser?” he asks in a soft American drawl. I narrow my eyes at him, instantly disliking him.
“Step into the dark side, babe, I’ll show you a good time.”
He winks. Everything about this man screams out slimeball, and I can’t quite believe the cheek of him. The man next to him steps forward, putting distance between him and Sam.
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry about him, darlin’, he seems to have misplaced his manners again. I’m Mitch Masters, and this fuck face is Draven Michaels. I’m the drummer, and he is the lead singer in The Devil’s Henchmen, we’ve been supporting Rancid Vengeance on this tour. He is not normally this rude.”
