The idea that Rush Osman cared one drop what I thought about him is disarming.
“What—” I start to say, and then veer away from What do you want now? and instead ask, “What did Striker do when you kissed his girlfriend? He must have retaliated in some way.”
All the amusement drops from Rush’s face. He’s silent for a moment, and then says tightly, “Yeah. He did. He destroyed my dad’s guitar backstage at Glastonbury.”
“Oh, crap. I heard about that. Not that it was your dad’s guitar, though. I’m sorry.”
Rush is about as angry as I’ve ever seen him, sparks dancing in his mismatched eyes. “Dad died when I was seven and Mum gave me his guitar, saying he would have wanted me to have it. One of the only memories I have of Dad is him playing that guitar. He liked to compose. That’s why I started to write music, so I could feel close to him. I still do, whenever I sit down to write. I’d talked about that guitar at award ceremonies when Striker was in the audience. He knew what it meant to me. I was a dick to him, and I probably deserved some retaliation.” He shakes his head. “But not that.”
His dad’s guitar, smashed to smithereens. What a horrible thing for Striker to have done.
“I wanted to kill him,” Rush growls. He’s back there, reliving the moment, a murderous glint in his eyes. “I wanted to beat that fucker to death. If it wasn’t for the boys getting me away, I think I would have.”
“Striker knows exactly how to hurt someone.”
Rush’s gaze swings to mine and he holds me tighter. “Yeah. You’ve got experience with that, too. I was this close to punching his teeth out after he drugged you.”
I’m amazed he managed to restrain himself in the circumstances. I rest my cheek against his chest. “Thank you. I’m glad you didn’t, but for your sake, not for his.”
“Why did he have it in for you in the first place?”
A nauseating ball of anger and humiliation forms in my belly. I try not to think of those days with Striker and Palatine, because reliving them is so painful. Rush went there for me, though, so I can do this for him.
I tell him about working with the band and how they all seemed more interested in fucking with me than getting the job done. “When they upset or confused me, they’d all laugh at me. Do you know what the sick thing is?”
Rush’s lips are a thin, tight line. He shakes his head.
“I laughed, too.” So weak. Pathetic. I should have known then how out of my depth I was. “It all went to hell, so I just ran out of there and I never went back. Next thing I knew…”
“You were reading about yourself online,” Rush finishes. “I always knew that motherfucker was unhinged, but that’s some next-level shit.”
Tell me about it. Working with Rush where everything’s superbly managed and I’m treated like a human being is like living on another planet.
“No wonder you were so wary of me at first,” he says, stroking his fingers through my hair.
The differences between Rush and Striker are profound, but I’m still a little wary. He’s a rock star, and he won’t always have this much time for me.
I can picture it so vividly, me alone in my apartment with a broken heart as the messages from him dwindle to nothing as he’s on tour or working on another album; reminders of him everywhere online and whenever I listen to music. Even that thought alone is enough to make me want to cry.
“What does the new Rush want?” I ask, attempting to change the subject. It’s an idle question, but my stomach drops as I realize it sounds like I’m angling for him to cement things between us. “I mean, what’s your focus now with the band?”
Stick to music and work. Safe topics.
Rush pulls me atop him so I’m lying flush against his body, my hands on his chest. “The new Rush wants everything to be different to how it used to be. I want this. It’s perfect.”
My hair falls down around us and he strokes it back with his hand as he smiles up at me. Breathtakingly gorgeous. Totally trouble.
I wake up and I don’t know where I am. The room’s bigger than I’m used to and the bed’s too soft. There’s someone sleeping beside me.
I prop myself on my elbow and gaze at Rush. He’s gorgeous in the daytime, but he looks so cute in his sleep. Tousled silver-blond hair across his pillow. Brow and lower lip soft. Big shoulders against the pillows.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep and spend just about the whole night in Rush’s bed. After the long day, the spanking he gave me followed by a searing orgasm, I pretty much passed out.