AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I finally glance over my shoulder and immediately wish I would’ve just disappeared into my room.
Because what I see when I look back should be illegal.
Elijah’s dark hair is tousled and as wild as the swirls of hazel in his devilish eyes. In his hand, he holds a knife with a slice of red apple on the end, which he takes his time to eat.
In slow motion, his mouth covers the shiny metal with the forbidden fruit. His tongue darts out to coax the sweet slice the rest of the way into his mouth, and a lone juicy drop slides down the knife at a relaxed pace.
My mouth is dry—as in, Sahara Desert mixed with my unskilled father’s turkey last Thanksgiving dry.
Elijah waves the knife in circles in front of my chest. “You’ll probably want to bring extra panties with you too.”
Winking, he walks backward, and with the increasing space between us, it gets easier and easier to breathe.
Which is when I realize I’m using the tip of my finger to caress the exposed part of my chest through the V of my pajama top.
What the hell just happened?
I definitely can’t go to the show. How am I supposed to stand quietly while that man plays guitar, with his deep voice lulling the crowd into a hypnotized stupor?
No. I do not need to experience that.
Chapter 4
Pia
I enter the crowded space, and immediately, I’m bombarded with numerous posters of Elijah’s face plastered along the walls.
My pep talk to stay away from his show didn’t work. When Tarrah called and begged me to come out with her, I didn’t stand a chance. I had no excuse since I wasn’t on the schedule to work tonight, and besides, I didn’t want to give her any ounce of suspicion that I can’t be around Elijah because I want to spread him on an apple like a smear of peanut butter.
Micah is supposed to meet us here too, which is the other reason I couldn’t say no to a night out. The three of us haven’t gotten together like this in a while, and I miss the fun we used to have.
We started the night with a makeover.
After one look at the sparse options in my closet, I grew desperate. A strong wave of discouragement flooded my chest since the outfits that would’ve been perfect for tonight no longer fit.
I’ve traded the gym and long walks for sitting on the couch learning the craft and business of self-publishing, as well as the actual writing of my book. Any free time between restaurant shifts and family dinners has been dedicated to this wondrous dream I started pursuing last year.
Thankfully, Tarrah rescued me from my wardrobe distress. I don’t normally let her dress me up, given how different our styles are, but it was a relief when she bounced into my apartment with two totes full of sparkly dresses and skirts with matching—albeit scandalous—tops. A third bag was slung around her neck too, which overflowed with makeup products.
That’s how I’ve ended up with cherry red lips and a skirt glued to my thighs. When Tarrah wears this skirt, she needs a belt, and it fits in a flared fashion statement. My ass is made of more substantial foods than celery, unlike my aerialist friend’s, so it’s a fitted leather mini on me.
“You know the drill—drinks first!” Tarrah lifts her arm above the crowd and points to the bar.
The red lights cast the room with sex appeal like I imagine they do during boudoir shoots, not that I’d personally know. It’s been on my list to research for book purposes, though.
Which is not the reason I’m here for Elijah’s show.
Contrary to what he said, I don’t need him or his new band for inspiration.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway. In reality, he’s not a bad muse, and he’d make a droolworthy cover model too.
The lights darken around the stage, and the small chandeliers hanging above shed a soft purple glow over the rest of the room. The yellow twinkling lights surrounding the bar barely illuminate our faces, and if it weren’t for the flashlight on my phone, I wouldn’t be able to read the total on my drink receipt. Unfortunately, I’d heard the bartender correctly, and my jaw drops as I accept the ridiculous markup on a vodka cranberry.
Begrudgingly, I slide the signed slip back toward him, and I scoff when he doesn’t even thank me for the eighteen-percent tip.
I follow Tarrah back through the mob of people, who are dressed in outfits ranging from worn leather jackets to pristine silky dresses. There’s a mix of people here tonight, which is a testament to how many people Elijah has reached through his music.
I wish I didn’t find it so damn inspiring that I now want to write a rock star romance.
