Page 10 of The Rockstar

“I’m coming, Vi. Fuck!”

Delirious with pleasure, my momentum grows erratic, and I grip her thighs for one final plunge. I claim her mouth in a kiss as I sink deep into her and swell. Hot jets coat her walls as I feel myenergy drain, my legs feeling like I just ran a marathon and did a leg workout all in the same hour.

But it doesn’t matter, not as I stare at her flushed, just-fucked face.

Vivian is here. She’s mine. Everything’s going to be all right.

4

VIVIAN

The sun is finally out this morning, but I’m not excited to leave, even after Ryder offered to drive me.

He’s seated at the end of the couch, sipping from the same mug from yesterday. I’m still curled under his throw blanket, wearing his shirt and flannel pants, wondering how I’m going to act normal around him now, especially after the kisses and orgasm we shared.

And my God, everything about that moment was … something else. I can never drive around in my van anymore without feeling him, hearing him, seeing him.

“Can I ask you something?” My voice breaks the silence.

He glances up, mug halfway to his lips, and grabs my foot, resting it on his knee. “Dangerous words, but fine. Shoot.”

“What’s your favorite song of yours?”

He hangs his mouth open dramatically and wags a finger at me. “You’re not trapping me like that. I’m not about to sit here and admit I’m narcissistic enough to have a favorite of my own.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not a trap. Just curious.”

He watches me for a second, then he leans back and exhales through his nose, a faraway look in his eyes.

“‘Welcome to My Life,’” he says finally.

I sit up and curl my legs under me. “Really?”

“What, you expected me to pick one of the sexy hits?” His smirk is lazy, but his eyes sharpen.

“No, it’s just … my sister, Valerie, used to play that one on repeat, especially on Saturday mornings, and my parents would complain their eardrums were about to break. She says it gets her all hyped up for the day.” I moisten my lips and meet his gaze. “I always thought it was weird. The lyrics were about your lifestyle—touring, excess, all that—but it felt … wrong. As if you were saying something else underneath it all. I can’t point it out exactly, but there was something there for sure.”

His whole body stills.

When he looks at me again, it’s with this strange, almost reverent expression.

“Yes,” he says slowly. “People assumed it was about the luxury, the girls, the parties, the freedom. But it wasn’t. That song … it was about realizing I’d gotten everything I said I wanted—fame, money, recognition—and how little of it actually felt good. It wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

I sit up straighter, the blanket slipping off my shoulder. “Why didn’t it?”

He smiles, but it’s sad again. A quiet kind of ache. “Because I didn’t get into music to become a brand. I just wanted toperform. To make something people felt. I wrote songs in my bedroom at seventeen, thinking I could change the world, you know? I wanted people to listen to me when they’re happy or sad or heartbroken.” Ryder sighs and rubs the spot between his brows. “But the industry… It’s less about meaning and more about money. The label tells you what kind of sad they’ll allow. How much vulnerability you can show before it’s ‘off brand.’ And when you try to push back?” He shrugs, setting his mug down. “You get the reputation I have.”

The room goes silent again. My chest tightens, but not in pity. There’s something real about him in this moment, something raw and quietly aching.

I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to feel this connected.

“You still made people feel,” I say, trying to untangle all these emotions. “Maybe not the way you intended, but it mattered. Valerie played that song every time she was overwhelmed. According to her, the song quieted her mind.”

His gaze flickers to mine, and the air shifts again.

It’s not lust this time. It’s something deeper, something I should find terrifying. He sees me. And I see him.Not the version online. Not the one in stadium lights.

Just Ryder.

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