Page 3 of The Rockstar

“Old enough to have mood swings.”

I smirk. “Fine. I’ll look at it when the rain stops. But if you stab me and sell my organs, I’m gonna be really disappointed, and I’ll haunt you from the grave.”

She waves a hand. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve seen your chest and other body parts on TMZ. It’s not worth much, let me tell you that.”

Okay. Now she has my full attention. Just then, she shivers, arms crossed tight, goosebumps peppering her skin.

“For the record, that’s not very convincing.” I step back and hold the door open wider. “Get in before you drown on my porch.”

She steps past me with narrowed eyes, dripping water all over the wood floor. “Thanks for the warmth, reluctant host,but if YOU stab me and sell my organs, I’ll make sure you get electrocuted in your next concert.”

I shut the door with a sigh and gesture toward the fireplace. She doesn’t move, sizing up the cabin like it’s booby-trapped. Hell, maybe it is. I haven’t had company in … too long. So long in fact that my body has just realized we’re alone.

A beautiful woman and I. No, not just any beautiful woman. A beautiful woman with the fiercest gaze, most luscious curves, and big bullshit detector. A real package, this one.

“What’s your name?” I ask, moving toward the open luggage by the window, which I haven’t unpacked yet, grabbing a clean towel, an old band tee, and flannel pants.

She pulls something from her damp shorts and shakes it. Her driver’s license. She holds it out like a badge, her chin jutting out defiantly. Man, this chick is combative. How does one so small have such a big attitude?

I squint. “Vivian Lane, twenty-five years old. Huh. Cute photo. Your long hair looked good.”

She smiles the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “And it’s cute that you think I care about your opinion. It’s any of your business because?”

“Maybe because I’m the one letting you drip all over my cabin.”

She rolls her eyes and snatches the license back. “Says the rock god who’s forgotten what decency looks like.”

“Excuse me?”

She shoves the license into her back pocket. “You should be nicer to your fans. You let them stand outside for hours just for a glimpse. My sister waited two. She came home with aching feet and blisters.”

I stare at her, both confused and horrified. I didn’t know.

“I get to the venue an hour before the concert,” I say slowly. “I never thought about what happens before.”

“Well, maybe you should.” Her tone’s sharp, but her voice is soft around the edges. It’s as though she didn’t expect me to take it personally.

Rain ticks on the windows. I glance down the short hallway, then back at her, handing her the towel and clean clothes.

“You’re soaked. Here, you can change in the bedroom. I only have one and a small bathroom.”

That’s when she pulls something from behind her back slowly, almost dramatically. A knife. A damn tiny thing.

“You try anything funny, I swear I’ll?—”

I bark out a laugh. It surprises both of us. Damn, I don’t remember the last time I laughed genuinely. “That thing couldn’t open a can of beans.”

“I’ll aim for your throat then.”

That gets a grin out of me. God, this woman. She has subjected me to a wide range of emotions in the past fifteen minutes. Has it been only fifteen minutes?

Vivian snatches the clothes and disappears into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, not even bothering with a thank you.

I stand there, my brain finally getting the chance to catch up, wondering what the hell just happened.

The irritation from earlier? Gone.

Now there’s just this … odd thrum under my skin. A pulse I haven’t felt in too damn long. She’s not a fan. She doesn’t even like me. She’s only here because there’s no other option.

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