Page 5 of Pretty Obsessed

"What would bad be?"

"Like our music induces so much rage you now have a personal vendetta to kill me." He grinned and his eyes twinkled.

He needed to stop. It made him way too attractive.

"Not bad. You have good music. But aren't you like ungodly popular?"

Like selling out stadiums in seconds popular. They were like a better version of a boy band, with popular alternative music. A rockstar version of One Direction. Or maybe a better-looking version of Fall Out Boy. The type of rockstar fame that hadn't been seen since the early nineties when grunge and metal hit their peak.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Which was why I was surprised you didn't recognize me."

"To be fair, I still don't know your name. And I would have never been able to tell which instrument you played." It wasn't my thing. "I listen to a lot of music while I work but I don't watch videos or anything. I'm surprised you're here."

"One of the only places I can be—NDAs, remember. This is the type of place celebrities go for anonymity, isn't it?"

"That's not what I mean." I was embarrassed to admit what I'd meant.

"What then?"

Why was the sound of the lips around his dick suddenly the only thing I could hear? It rang in my ears, and I had to press my eyes closed not to stare. I regained my composure and opened them. He waited for my answer.

"Never mind." I didn't want to say.

"Do you mean why am I here paying for it when I could get one from anyone?"

"Yes," I said sheepishly.

He looked at the ceiling and half laughed.

"You don't have to answer."

"I want to." He paused, keeping his attention on the ceiling. "I am trying to figure out how to word it without coming off terribly."

I didn't push. He'd tell me or he wouldn't. It wasn't my business. I was only asking to satisfy personal curiosity.

"I'm not sure if you know how we got popular."

I shook my head. "No, not at all."

"It happened overnight. Quite literally. We recorded a couple of songs over a weekend that we'd been working on for months, and one of my bandmates put them up without telling anyone else, and we woke up to millions of listens and it only exploded from there."

"Wow." What else could I say? I couldn't imagine. Writing was usually a slow build as a career. The authors who exploded like that were few and far between, but I guess it was similar in his line of work as well.

"So we went right into recording an album and then a world tour. We're in the middle of that right now."

"Okay?" I pressed, invested in the answer even more.

"Well, let me tell you how impossible it is to date like this. I've tried dating apps and I either get banned within a day of using them because no one believes this is me, or when I finally got my manager to get a hold of them and tell them this actually was me, people were too weird about it and still think I'm catfishing."

"That sounds rough, but do you need a dating app?" It still didn't explain why he was here.

“What’s my option? Other celebrities, which I do not recommend, or some hookups with groupies, which seems also just weird. So I stopped.” There seemed like more to the story, and I was fascinated.

"Why was it weird?"

"Because they were all obsessed with the idea of me, not me. I’m a trophy to put on the wall or bragging rights. I felt used all the time. Ironic, right?” He laughed without humor. He closed one eye and showed me his clenched teeth. “I guess if sex is the only thing you want, it’s fine. But you can’t date someone obsessed with an idea of you. It just never works out. Either they stay obsessed which isn’t a relationship, or you end up not what they expected. I don’t think it makes for good chemistry. It also involved a lot of paperwork and NDAs and bodyguards. It got exhausting.”

"I guess I can see that. Why were the celebrities bad?" It might have been the writer in me, but I was intrigued.

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