Page 22 of Hard Rock Desires
But seeing the blood, seeing the broken glass, brought back too many bad memories. I hadn’t been able to handle it.
I’d fled.
I felt bad that I hadn’t stayed to make sure Zain’s friend had been okay, but in that moment, I’d thought I was going to be violently sick, and the only thing I could think of was getting out.
I’d run down the stairs onto the street and hailed the first cab I saw. When I got home, I’d crawled into bed and shivered under the covers, not sleeping a wink.
The whole night had been a whirlwind. From the thrilling highs of the concert to the lows of my anxiety attack, those few hours felt as if they had taken place over days.
Lisa had called to check up on me the next day. She hadn’t pushed me about why I’d left. She knew enough about what had happened. Not everything, but enough.
She reassured me that the bassist was all right, that it really had only been a scratch, despite how much blood there was. It was a relief to hear, and I no longer felt so bad about peacing out.
I did still feel a little bad for abandoning Zain. I hadn’t said a word to him before leaving. He’d spent most of the night with me, talking and flirting. It had been fun, oddly enough. I knew he probably acted like that with all the girls he met backstage after concerts, but still, bantering with him was entertaining at the very least.
I’d almost thought that, near the end, he’d been about to invite me back to his place. My hand had been on his knee, and his arm had been around my shoulders. His fingertips had grazed my skin, and his lips had touched my ear.
My heart pounded just remembering it.
I wouldn’t have gone home with him that night. Probably. Maybe. The thought had crossed my mind, of course. A one-night stand with a hot rock star? It definitely had its appeal, in a way. One-night stands weren’t my thing any more than rock shows and drunken parties were, but there was something about Zain…
Of course, that had been before his friend’s accident. Before everyone had fallen into a drunken stupor and a guy had nearly ended up in the hospital.
That whole incident only reminded me why I avoided those kinds of parties to begin with. As much fun as I’d had with Zain, I’d had it thrown in my face exactly why that kind of life wasn’t for me.
In a way, I was lucky Zain was a rock star. There were no expectations. No commitments. We’d had a fun flirtation, but there was never going to be anything more than that. I was sure he’d already forgotten I existed. After all, he had thousands of fans, and no doubt dozens of girls or more to choose from. There was no reason why he’d have any particular thoughts about me once the night was over.
It was better to just write the whole evening off as a one-time thing. An exciting concert followed by a fun time spent flirting with a rock star. Nothing more than that.
Or at least, that was what I thought.
I had just gotten back from the classroom pantry. I’d needed to get more sugar to make up for the one I’d misplaced. The instructor had already moved on from sugar and onto the butter, so I needed to catch up fast. The class had only started ten minutes ago and yet it felt like I’d fallen so far behind.
“Uh, hey?” came a voice from the classroom door. “Is this French baking for beginners?”
I looked up to see a guy in dark blue jeans with a grey t-shirt stretched across his wide chest, standing half-in and half-out of the entrance. He had a hesitant look on his handsome face.
I almost didn’t recognize him. Without the mesh shirt, leather pants, artfully messy hair and confident stride, it was almost easy to mistake him for an ordinary guy.
But the man standing in the doorway was anything but ordinary.
My mouth dropped as Zain walked into the classroom.
The instructor greeted him and confirmed this was the class he was looking for. Zain looked slightly abashed, although with a cheeky grin, as he made excuses for his late arrival.
Hushed whispers filled the room. I caught the wordsZain Weston, andguitarist,andUntil We Break. There was no doubt at least a few people here also recognized him for who he was.
“You can pick any free station,” the instructor said.
Zain scanned the room, eyeing each student. I held my breath. Of course, he saw me.
“Hey, Grace,” Zain said with a friendly wave of his hand and a wink. “What are the odds of meeting you here?”
Every eye in the room turned to us. The hushed whispering peaked as the other students began hissing in each other’s ears. I didn’t want to imagine what they were saying.
Zain made a beeline straight to the open station next to mine at the back of the classroom. I looked over at him, aghast.
“What are youdoinghere?” I asked.
