Midnight Blue

  Pacing the stage, I threw them a crooked smile over my shoulder. I was shirtless, first sign that I was in a good mood. Usually I didn’t like the whole Justin Bieber see-my-abs shite. This wasn’t Hooters, and once you let your record label fuck you in the arse, the least you can do for yourself is keep your bloody shirt on. But I felt like I was standing in the middle of a bonfire singing that song to a crowd for the first time. Sweat trickled down my torso, and I could see on the huge screen behind me that the cameraman zoomed in on the drops running down my V-tap. I wondered how long it’d be before the video hit YouTube, and which would be more successful—my new song, or a picture of me fisting that starlet while coming all over her tits. Probably the latter. I decided to Google it sometime. It wasn’t like I fucking cared what people said about me, anyway.

  “There’s more where that came from.” I adjusted the mic on its stand and walked across the stage.

  The screams became louder, more frantic. Yeah, this wasn’t polite encouragement. This was hunger, immediate and greedy. I was vindictive and complicated and back. Fuck, I was back. I had lyrics in me and they were gushing out. It was futile to pretend Stardust didn’t have a hand in this. She did, and I was going to keep her until the last drop of greatness poured out of me. Or her. Whoever it came from.

  I looked down at my fans. Then up at the inky sky. Then in-between, to the space where a golden cloud of body heat and bright lights powdered above their heads, and smiled.

  I put my lips to the mic.

  My fingers strumming my guitar, I started to play “Man Meets Moon,” one of my earliest tunes. When I didn’t need a blue-haired girl to save me. When I was a teenager with an agenda and a lot of fucking mind to speak. A kid who didn’t know where the Chateau Marmont was and only knew about caviar from the movies. The video of “Man Meets Moon” had been filmed in Lucas’ basement by Blake. I’d had a zit the size of Beirut on my chin that day, but it still gave me the big break I’d needed.

  Alfie, Lucas, and the back guitarist followed suit. I gave the back guitarist a slight head nod, and his eyes widened in disbelief. Everyone on my tour knew what it meant. I hadn’t done that in two years, but it was time. He needed to cover for me while I crowd surfed.

  And I was going to crowd surf.

  Because tonight, it felt so real and right.

  Good and bright.

  Just. Like. Coke.

  “Oh, my life, that was bloody epic!” Blake jumped on Alex before the rock star could stumble all the way backstage.

  His bare chest glistened with sweat, and the red marks painting his abs and back made a blush creep up my neck. I knew they were put there by his fans, and I also knew what these fans thought about when they raked their fingernails over his skin. It was the same thing I thought about when I watched him move so confidently across the stage. Like an angry god. Mars. Out for blood.

  Blue-eyed girl.

  Just hearing his husky, hoarse baritone say those words made me rub my thighs together, trying to relieve the tension between them. He’d written about me. He’d sung about me. And, true, he’d referred to me as a mental rebound, but who the hell cared? He’d given me a song. I hadn’t even given him a kiss.

  I inhaled sharply, drinking him in. For the first time since I’d boarded the plane in Los Angeles, I was anxious and curious about my time with Alex tonight. About the hallway. Something had changed yesterday when we’d hugged. Better and worse.

  It was like we’d become closer and drifted apart at the same time.

  Standing in the shadows backstage, I let Alex have his moment with his friends. Alfie clasped his shoulders and shook him with an evil laugh. Fans took pictures of him. Lucas was smiling so hard I thought his face would split in two. Then Luc turned to me, almost in slow-motion, walking over and snaking his arm around my waist, yanking me into a hug, and burying his face inside my hair. I gasped. Sure, we were close. Kind of. We hung out, mainly on the plane and in hotel lobbies, but nothing more than that. There wasn’t some brave, soul-linking friendship between us. There wasn’t a bond. So, this came out of left field. Always one to please, I plastered on a reassuring grin and joined the claps in the circle of human appreciation that had formed around Alex, politely ignoring Lucas’ advances.

  “Brilliant, wasn’t it?” Luc squeezed me into his shoulder again.

  I hmm-hmmed in response, my smile faltering. Alex’s laughter continued as he took in the people around him, the boyish glint in his brown-green eyes making my stomach do cartwheels, and his head swiveled in slow-motion until his eyes landed on Lucas’ arm flung across my shoulder.

  The smile dropped.

  So did my heart. Straight to my underwear.

  Wicked heart.

  Traitorous heart.

  Unreliable heart.

  “Stardust,” he barked, and I didn’t know why his referring to me by my moniker made me blush, but it did.

  I swallowed hard and pretended to comb my hair away from my face, when really, I was hiding from the world. “What’s up?”

  “Need you for a sec. C’mere.”

  I disconnected from Lucas, walking over to Alex without glancing at any of the people around us. Most of their faces didn’t even register to begin with, which was becoming more and more of a problem when Alex was around. He surprised me by taking my hand in his and ushering me through the narrow, black maze backstage. I didn’t ask him where we were going. If he was feeding off of my fear and hesitation, I didn’t want to give him anything I wasn’t willing to part ways with. Like my dignity. Alex Winslow was a two-faced man. One was the cold, asshole devil he gave me now. The one who wanted me to kneel. The other was his playful, relaxed self. The one I’d hung out with at the laundromat. Needless to say, both versions were unpredictable, and I did the right thing by being cautious.

  We stopped at the end of the hallway on the opposite side from the dressing rooms. A small balcony overlooked the crowd of yelling fans, most of them still hopefully milling around, their eyes pinned to the stage. Pleading, wanting, wishing for their star to come out and maybe give them an encore. Another sliver of greatness. Alex led me to the black, metal bannisters, until we were in complete darkness, cloaked behind the huge projectors pointing at the stage.

  We were alone.

  In the dark.

  The chill of the Tokyo air whispered against our skin.

  Alex flattened a hand over my lower back, gluing me to the bannisters until the cold metal dug into my stomach. He crept behind me, his breath shallow and warm against the shell of my ear. His torso was still naked and he was hot, smooth, and hard everywhere. I longed to feel him, really feel him.

  “I told you to stay away from Waitrose.”

  “And I told you I’ll do whatever the hell I want in my personal life,” I whispered back, both our eyes still staring down at the screaming fans.

  “Are you gonna give me trouble?”

  “Me?” I gasped. Kinetic energy flowed between us. My skin felt prickly and agitated, like I needed to step out of my clothes and feel his skin or I’d die. “Why? I thought I was just a sport.” I threw the words he’d told Jenna when we first met. No, I hadn’t forgotten. Yes, they still stung. Just not as much as being so goddamn poor.

  He chuckled, his breath tickling my skin, his nose nuzzling into my neck. “You’re an enjoyable sport. Like footy.”

  “See how much you like me when I knee you in the balls,” I muttered.

  “Hmm,” he said.

  “Hmm?”

  “I was just thinking about you massaging them while you suck my cock.”

  “Never gonna happen.” I shifted, my center physically aching with want.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Help me choose her, then,” he rasped, dragging his lips up from my shoulder to my jawline.

  I let him. Let him touch me despite knowing everything. That he was an addict, a rock star, and an asshole. That he was in love with a girl named Fallon who’d broken
his heart, and he’d never quite managed to glue it back together again. That his broken heart meant he could never love again, not in the way I deserved to be loved, and so he was nothing more than a painting. A beautiful thing that could never be of use.

  “Her?” I asked gravelly.

  “The girl I’m going to be inside of while I imagine fucking you tonight.” The taunt in his voice had a lilt.

  My eyes broadened as I stared down at them. My competition. All young and pretty and keen. I wanted to turn around and slap him across the face, but that would only serve as a reminder that I cared, and I didn’t want him to know that.

  Slowly, I brushed my palm against the railing, smiling at nothing. He viewed me as a sport, which meant there would be a winner and a loser in our little game.

  “Isn’t gig night also hallway night? Are you bailing out on me for a playdate, Winslow?”

  He kept silent for a few beats, and my heart picked up speed, before he swiveled me, his hand on my waist. We stared into each other’s eyes. The fans beneath us shuffled and shouted and hooted, yet it felt like we were all alone.

  “Are you fucking him?” His thumb pressed against my stomach.

  “If I am, you’d be the last person I’d confide in.” I took a step sideways. “I’m leaving now.”

  He caught me by the elbow, turning me around. My chest crashed into his, his now-cold sweat mixing with the fabric of my dress.

  “Lucas is a nice lad. But he’s not what you’re after.”

  “Oh, and you are? You’re in love with someone else.” I laughed bitterly.

  “I never said anything about loving you, Stardust. Now, fucking you is something else entirely.”

  “Well, when you put it that way.” I rolled my eyes before walking back to the busy hallway.

  He followed behind me, not catching my steps, purposely staying behind me. Preying.

  “Her,” I heard him say, and I snapped my head in his direction, my eyebrows pinched together. I couldn’t keep up with his stupid games.

  “Her, who? Stop speaking in codes, Alex.”

  “There’s no code. Look at where I’m pointing. Her. I’m going to fuck her tonight.” His finger was pointed at a pretty brunette who stood by a vending machine backstage, clasping a clipboard to her chest and talking on the phone. She was wearing tight jeans, a cropped Alex Winslow shirt, and looked deliciously sordid, every movement and curve in her body designed to seduce.

  I took a deep breath, trying not to lose it. It was hard, with Alex attempting to provoke me every step of the way.

  Think about Ziggy.

  Think about Craig.

  Think about the big picture.

  “Mazel Tov. Do you want me to hold your hand while you’re with her?”

  “That would be logistically challenging, but cheers for offering. Just have her sign an NDA before I take her back. I don’t fuck without a non-disclosure since Cockgate.” He lit a cigarette, strolling toward the guys, his back to his next conquest and me. My whole face flamed with anger.

  I took a few deep breaths to calm myself before following him. “You want me to go to her and ask her to sign a non-disclosure agreement before you have sex with her? And you haven’t even approached her yet?” I matched his step. Jesus H. If this was how Alex behaved completely sober, I dreaded to think what Blake and Co. had gone through when he’d been high as a kite.

  “Correct.”

  “What makes you think she’ll say yes?”

  He tapped my nose with the hand that held the cigarette, smirking down at me like I was the simplest creature in the world.

  “So fucking precious, Stardust. Just do it. We’re heading back to the hotel in ten.”

  And off he walked.

  I wasn’t his assistant. I was his sobriety companion. It occurred to me I wasn’t obligated to help him score. Furthermore, for the most part, it was probably for the best if I didn’t do that. I mean, there was no mistaking the current moving through my body. I was jealous beyond words, belief, and logic. But maybe that was exactly why I needed to let it go and comply.

  I needed to show him I didn’t care.

  I needed to show myself I didn’t care.

  We were one week into a three-month tour, and already he’d declared his intention to get me into his bed and turn my life upside down. I couldn’t give him this power over me. I had my family and future to think about. And they were more important than any British hunk with eyes like molten gold and a devastating smirk.

  I cleared my throat, squared my shoulders, and walked over to the girl. With every step I took, I inwardly prayed she was like me. Guarded and rational. That she would laugh in my face and tell me to take a hike. That she would turn red, personally walk over to Alex Winslow, and slap him in the name of feminism and self-respect. I stopped about a foot from her, tapping her shoulder to grab her attention. She turned around, a mixture of surprise and annoyance between the creases of her frowny face.

  “Hi.” I smiled, swallowing down my nervousness. Every muscle in my face betrayed me, and I was sure I looked at least a little psychotic. “I work for Alex Winslow. He sent me here because he’s interested in”—driving me nuts—“spending the night with you. So I’m wondering if you’d like that, and, if so, would you be willing to sign a non-disclosure agreement?”

  I wasn’t even sure where the hell I was going to find one, but my instincts told me Blake must have them handy. He was legally-savvy. Come to think about it, he was everything-savvy.

  The girl’s frown disappeared, replaced with a nose-wrinkled expression of disbelief.

  I know, right? What a bastard. So just say no and we can all go back to pretending this never happened.

  “Alex Winslow wants to spend the night with me?”

  “Seems that way.” I hated her for not slamming the idea right away, hated him for sending me over to her, but most of all, I hated myself for being stupid enough to go ahead with it to prove something to the world.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I turned around, did a little hand-wave toward the guys, and caught their attention. All of them swiveled to stare at me. Lucas looked pained. Blake looked tired. Alex smiled his arrogant wolf’s grin, raising an eyebrow and his hand, tipping it slightly forward in a ‘hi’ motion.

  I hope she has an STD. I hope she has all the STDs known to man, and a few new ones she’d created all on her own.

  “See?” I turned back to the lady in question. “He’s in.”

  “Oh, my God. Then so am I! I mean, I’d like to look at this contract, but…” She had an Aussie accent. Suddenly, I took all of her in, gulping every detail. Her luscious black hair. Her dark, feline eyes. Her pierced navel and Snow White skin. My wide-eyed, freckled, average self hated every inch of her. And that made me feel guilty.

  I mustered a smile. “Fantastic. Be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I soldiered on to the boys, adding a fake bounce to my step. Two could play this game. I may not have a lot of experience, or millions of fans, or billions of dollars, but I was good. I was strong, and I was worthy. And, yes, I sure as hell was equal to him.

  “She’s in,” I said, yanking a bottle of water from the long table of refreshments behind them and unscrewing the top. Turning toward Blake, I took a slow sip. “Can you provide her with an NDA? She said she’d like to look at it, but judging by the time it took her to say yes, I’m pretty sure she’s a skimmer.”

  “Well, damn, Blue.” Blake’s eyebrows were kissing his hairline. “No wonder Jenna likes you. You have a good set of hairy balls on you.”

  “Not sure about hers, but mine are waxed.” I winked.

  All the guys laughed as Blake sauntered over to the girl with an agreement in his hand. It was the first time he’d called me Blue, and even though the moment felt like the end of the world, it also felt like a beginning of something. Of acceptance.

  All the guys laughed but Alex, who stared holes into my forehead, his look alone threatening t
o kill someone, preferably me.

  “You’re one cool bird, know that?” Lucas moved beside me, brushing his shoulder against mine.

  Alex grabbed the bottle of water I’d opened and put back on the table and downed the entire drink. “Pushover.”

  “Come again?” I asked, willing myself to stay calm.

  Alex angled his body toward mine, a dark smirk on his lips. “I said you’re a pushover. You did what I told you to do, never fighting back, never saving face.”

  “Saving face?” I blinked rapidly, trying hard not to scream in his face. This. Man. “I don’t need to save any face. You wanted me to hook you up. I did. You’re just disappointed I didn’t fight over you. But guess what? I’m not them. The fangirls. The women with stars in the eyes. When I look at you?” I took a step toward him, and he took a step forward, too, and it was all too wrong and too close and too intimate all at once. “When I look at you, I see something broken that isn’t worth fixing. And you look at me like I’m a cheap thing to replace the expensive one that’s been stolen from you. See, we’re all vases. And you’re the one scattered on the floor, shattered beyond repair. So I’ll let someone else pick you up. It’s really that simple. Have fun with your temporary glue.” My gaze swept across the room to find the mystery girl already giggling and signing the contract she pressed against Blake’s back while the latter was texting on his phone in boredom.

  Alex unleashed a toxic smile, his gaze narrowing on mine as he broke our physical stare-off and began walking to her.

  “Congratulations, Sport. You just became a war.”

  That night, I heard them through the wall.

  Their hands. Shuffling. Feeling. Searching. Finding.

  Walking down the hall. Our hall. Right outside my door.

  Stumbling. Giggling. Breathlessly whispering.

  Stop it, heart.

  Stay still, heart.

  Fight it, heart.

  Her name was Gina.

  I knew, because he leaned down and let her sniff his neck when she said he smelled like the malest thing she’d ever met. ‘Malest’ wasn’t even a word. And I immediately hated all the Ginas in the world.