Page 55 of Wish You Knew
I turned to see a gorgeous brunette, with sparkling brown eyes standing next to me, sucking on the straw poking out of her drink. Dressed in a black mini skirt, patterned vest top and a choker around her neck, she was on the wrong side of skinny for me. I preferred my women with a few more curves, although I didn’t instantly dismiss her.
“They’re okay.” I hedged my bets on the side of neutral. Too often in the past I’d fallen foul of the same question, only to be chastised by the singer’s girlfriend-slash-manager-slash-sister.
“Really? You think?” Her eyebrows raised. “Personally, I think they’re weak. No Trash Gun, obviously.” The corner of her mouth quirked, those brown eyes full of mischief.
I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified she knew who I was. Crazy stalker fans didn’t do it for me either.
“You with the band?” I asked, to be sure.
“Fuck no!” She laughed. “I’m staying with my sister for a few days. She’s boring as hell though, so I snuck out for some fun.”
Convenient…
“Sounds familiar.” I grinned. “Then shall we have some fun together?”
Twenty minutes later, Amy and I were in one of the VIP booths, sitting opposite each other. The drinks were free-flowing, a bottle of whisky had appeared and all I had to do was pour my own shots. Amy was drinking vodka and tonics, four glasses lined up ready to be consumed. She appeared to be able to hold her liquor pretty well. Easy to talk to, I’d discovered she was still at university studying media communications. Her parents had wanted her to do something more meaningful, like her sister who was studying medicine. Slightly nervous that her choice of university subject might make me a project for her, I’d kept most of my answers to her questions short and to the point. Never give too much away. You never know who might be listening. After the fiasco with Saff on tour and the recent faux pas with Rosie, I’d learned that lesson.
Her fingers snaked across the table to stroke my knuckles. “You’re nothing like I’d expected.”
“You know the media doesn’t always get it right,” I teased, enjoying the feel of her skin on mine.
“I’m not seeing the arrogant, full of himself, confident prick who struts about a stage, giving girls their first orgasm with only a look.” Amy’s lips closed over the straw in her drink and immediately I thought how they might look wrapped around my cock.
“Is that your kind of guy?” I leaned back in my seat, pulling my hand away. “Arrogant?”
She ran her tongue around her lips. “I prefer the term alpha.”
My eyes not leaving hers, I lifted my glass to my mouth and swallowed a large mouthful of alcohol. I deserved some fun.
Back in my flat, it appeared my mind and my heart were at loggerheads with one another.
Amy wandered around examining my few meagre possessions, pointing at the gold records on the wall and asking questions. Her level of nosiness began to grate. She wanted to know about everything. The nagging thought in the back of my mind questioned her motives. A media communications student hanging out with a notorious ‘bad boy’ who wasn’t far from the gossip columns? The back of my neck prickled.
“Do you want a drink?” I leaped up from the chair and went to the kitchen. “I’ve got some vodka here somewhere.”
She tossed back her hair and stared at me through narrowed eyes. “I’ve had enough to drink. I thought we were going to have some fun?” Amy pouted, and settled down on the sofa, patting the seat next to her.
My dick twitched uncomfortably. I couldn’t deny she was good looking, but I was having trouble putting my finger on why I didn’t want to leap into bed with her. The potential kiss and tell aspect was only one reason. There was something else.
Almost against my better judgement, I went to join Amy. As soon as I’d sat down, she swung her legs and straddled me, tiny breasts pressing against my chest, skirt riding up her thighs. Instinctively, I grabbed her arse, controlling her movements. If she wanted alpha…
Her lips landed on mine, tongue slipping into my mouth, hands gripping my shoulders to steady herself.
I tried to respond, tried to get into the moment with her.
It wasn’t the fact she might sell her story of her night with me which bothered me the most.
It was simpler than that.
She wasn’t Rosie Tatton.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Wait, stop,” I murmured against her lips.
When she continued, I grasped her shoulders and pushed her away.
“I’m sorry. You need to go.”
