Page 40 of Hard Rock Desires
“Okay,” she said. “Deal.”
Thirteen
Grace
When I’d asked Zain if I could wear a pretty dress to the party, I’d been half-joking. It was only when I opened my closet two hours before he was supposed to pick me up that I realized I had absolutely no idea how formal this thing was going to be. He’d saidsuit and tie, but that was what men wore to every occasion. It wasn’t as simple for women. Would a straightforward cotton dress be fine? Or was this an evening gown sort of occasion? Was I going to some red-carpet gala or a small gathering of friends and acquaintances?
What do I wear??I’d texted Zain desperately.
Clothes, he’d written back, ever so helpful.
He must have sensed my silent annoyance because he texted a few minutes later.
Kaylee says to wear a little black dress, whatever that is. Does that make sense to you?
That was actually helpful, yes,I replied.Tell her thanks for me.
I remembered that Kaylee was the drummer. It was thoughtful of Zain to go ask her.
Was she also going to be at the album release party? If it was an industry event, I would have to assume yes. Which meant the rest of the band was probably going to be there, too. It made me wonder how much his friends knew about me. How much he’d told them about me.
Surely they had all seen us at the VIP party, talking and flirting. I didn’t know if any of them had noticed how quickly I’d left. Did they know Zain had checked out every baking class until he found mine? That was pretty stalker-ish behavior, no matter how you looked at it. How had he explained that?
After I showered, put on makeup and got my things together in a small purse, I realized I should do a little research on Zain’s bandmates. They were celebrities. One quick search online and I was sure I’d find out more than I ever needed to know about them.
Of course, the very first result that came up was an article about Matthew Finnley falling into a glass table and slicing open his arm. From the sound of it, that kind of thing wasn’t all that uncommon, since there were tons of links to other articles with similar stories of him acting out and doing dumb things at parties.
But Zain texted me to let me know he was outside my apartment before I had time to look up anything else. I supposed it was for the best. If I was going to be introduced to his friends, I would want it to be on an equal basis. As famous as they were, I was sure they would prefer if I treated them like normal people and not like I knew their every public exploit.
I still couldn’t believe my life had taken this kind of turn. Meeting a date’s friends — if this was, in fact, a date — was a pretty big step, and one we were taking quite soon. The fact that they were celebrities threw a whole other level of anxiety onto the situation. The fact that he considered these bandmates not only friends, but family…
I was beginning to wonder whether or not this whole thing with Zain was moving too fast. I barely knew the guy and now I was meeting hisfamily?
I fussed with my purse nervously as I rode the elevator down to the first floor, that anxious feeling almost turning into nausea. But the instant I exited the apartment, the bubble of anxiety popped and dissipated, replaced with wide-eyed shock.
Zain was standing at the passenger’s side of the car, looking at his phone, wearing a suit. The black dress pants were crisp, and so was his button-up shirt. But the collar was undone, his tie was loose and his shirt was a bit untucked. With the artfully messy hair and casual stance, he looked sensually disheveled, as if he’d just gone for a romp in the backseat of the car.
I actually took a quick peek through the car window to make sure there wasn’t a girl back there.
Dammit, but this guy looked just as sexy in a suit as he did wearing leather pants. My belly warmed as a tingle began to form inside me.
Zain looked up as I let the exit door swing closed behind me.
“Hey, Grace, how’s—”
His jaw went slack and his eyes went round. I took great pleasure at the expression on his face, a sort of stupefied look.
He gave me the once over, taking in my bare legs exposed by the hem of my dress, and the cleavage revealed by my scooped neckline. His gaze lingered for a long time on my thighs and hips, and then trailed up to my breasts. By the time he reached my eyes, that gaze had turned hungry and heated.
“What’s your apartment number?” he demanded.
“What?” I asked. “It’s four-one-six. Why?”
“I need to know how long it might take to get up there and strip that dress off you,” he replied.
I flushed, a little thrill zipping down my spine and centering between my legs.
“We have a party to get to,” I reminded him, as tempting as it was.
