Page 46 of Backstage

Damian pulls out his smug, mischievous grin that always makes my legs shake. “Why? You want to do something with a lot of women? I didn’t think you were so uninhibited,” he mocks me.

I roll my eyes at him and push him out of the room. “Get out before I change my mind.”

Damian raises his hands above his head with an innocent look and steps away. “Don’t ever let me change your mind,” he jokes before leaving, winking at me.

I close the door behind me, lean in, and let myself slide on the floor.

“What the hell am I doing?” I whisper to myself, holding a smile. There’s nothing to smile about. This is a disaster; my hormones have taken over my reason. He’s used to uninhibited girls throwing themselves at him and who know exactly how to make him enjoy it. He’s the god of sex, while I’m just a girl with few awkward experiences behind me. I’m not a virgin, but how can I live up to someone like that, a real ladies’ man? I’m gonna look like an idiot.

I take my phone out of my jeans pocket and send a message in our band’s group chat: “Sorry, guys, but I’m gonna stay in my room tonight and relax and sleep on a decent bed.”

Martin: “Use a condom.”

Taylor: “Don’t shout too much. Your room is next to mine.”

Luke: “Use protection.”

Lilly: “I said sleep, no need for protection.”

After a series of laughing emojis, I find another message.

Luke: “Sure, Damian will stay in his room too.”

Good job, idiot. I answer with the face emoji rolling its eyes, but I do not add anything else. It’s better not to make the hole that I have dug for myself deeper, a hole that is already big enough to bury me.

I get up and peek inside the bag I brought up with me: jeans, jeans, and more jeans. The only comfortable things are women’s boxer shorts and the tank top I sleep in. Awesome. This is the dullest outfit ever. I grab them, grab my room key and Damian’s, and get out before changing my mind.

The elevator ride to the top floor takes forever. I get to the landing and don’t have to search much to find the room since the door marked “Presidential Suite” is right in front of me. I pass the card and go in.

The apartment, because it is not a room but a real living space, has a sitting area with modern sofas and a breathtaking view, thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows; a dining area, a separate bedroom, and what I assume is the bathroom. There’s even a small balcony that overlooks a private terrace.

“Damian? Am I in the right room, or am I about to make a fool of myself with a stranger?” I shout because I don’t see him around.

I can hear him laughing from what I assume is the bedroom, and then I see him coming out with his hair in a man bun on top of his head. Could this man be any sexier with a messy bun and a smile that makes your panties melt? His light-heartedness, though, turns into a frown when he sees me.

“I said no jeans,” he says, sulking like a child.

I roll my eyes and wave him away with my hand. “I couldn’t come up half-naked just because of your phobia. Do you have a bathroom in this palace, or do you have to pee off the terrace?” I raise an eyebrow.

He bursts out laughing again and comes up to me, puts his hands on my shoulders, turns me around, and pushes me towards a slightly open door. When he leaves my side to open the door, I feel the cosmic void invading my shoulders. I look towards the bathroom, amazed.

“Is that a bathtub or a pool?” I wonder incredulously at the size of the tub in front of me.

Damian laughs the way he’s done since I walked in here. “A hot tub for...I don’t know, I think six people. You wanna try it?”

I observe his face while he talks. His expression is as sincere as a child’s, there’s no malice or any sexual reference in this proposal—just genuine interest in making me try something I clearly never done. “Are you coming in?” I raise an eyebrow inquisitively.

“I swear I’m keeping my boxers on. So, are you in?” His smile is hopeful.

“As long as you don’t laugh at my underwear,” I threaten, pointing my finger in his face.

“Why, what underwear are you wearing?” His forehead is wrinkled in a curious frown.

“Pink with cupcakes? But it’s coordinated!” I quickly add when I see him burst out laughing.

“I had no doubt you could wear something like that,” he says, amused.

I cross my arms to my chest, pretending to be angry. “Why? Am I no match for the women you sleep with?” I don’t know why that question surfaces in my mind, but I’m almost offended by it, and it bothers me to feel so vulnerable with a man. I’ve worked so hard to never feel that way again, and I’m not going to start with him again.

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