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.