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I laugh, despite the nerves fluttering in my belly. Dad shifts from foot to foot as the lights begin to dim and a cheer works its way through the stadium.
I have a side-on view, but it feels like the best seat in the house as the speakers start to thrum. The music moves through me and expands in my chest, pumping in time with my hunger to see him, Aaron Blaze, the man of my fantasies.
I lock my hands over my belly, as my truly silly dreams light me up. I imagine my belly swelling with his child, his hand laid lovingly on the growing bump, a soft smile on his savage lips as he leans in to gently kiss my cheek. I feel the love swelling within until it becomes me, and then I let it all go.
It's so stupid.
Aaron Blaze wouldn’t even look at me, much less be attracted to me, much less want me forever.
I’ve been writing too many love songs, bad crappy trashy songs that reveal how much I’ve been obsessing over Aaron.
Suddenly the drums start, pounding through the arena, and then a spotlight appears on stage and there he is.
He’s wearing faded and torn jeans, and chunky brown boots. His customary leather vest covering his rippled chest, his hands raised to the sky, each muscle on his arm outlined in the bright lights. I’m sure I can even see the beads of sweat on his hot skin as he holds the pose.
“I have to go,” Dad whispers.
“What? Why?” I ask him, but I can’t look away from Aaron.
“I didn’t enable the security system when we came in. I have to go. I’m sorry. Just wait here. I’ll be back.”
“Okay, Dad. That’s fine.”
I hardly hear anything he says. Everything has shrunk down to this moment. All I can see is Aaron as the guitars strum, and he softly lowers his hand to the mic and lets out a husky note.
“Woman of my dreams.”
A shiver runs down my spine as I hear his voice in real life. I didn’t even know that was possible, but everything is trembling. My body is on fire.
His voice, his real life voice.
“But you were never...”
He breaks off, doing that croaking thing I’ve replayed so many times. Sometimes I imagine we’re saying goodbye on a train at night, in the rain, and it’s so romantic I could burst. I replay that sound and image that’s him holding back his tears.
I blink, realizing there are tears in my eyes. I can’t believe this is happening.
The drums grow louder and the song goes into full swing. He sings about how he could never find the woman of his dreams, how she never existed, she was just a figment of his imagination. I wish I could be the woman of his dreams, the one he sings about.
I clasp my hands to my chest, holding back a sob, as he paces up and down the stage. He’s so powerful, every inch of him laden with muscle, looking like he could explode out of his clothes.
“And you never let me go, you never had me so, the answer was always, was always... no, no, no.”
He’s walking right toward me.
I brush my hair down, as though he’s going to care, as though he’s going to notice. I even wore a nice dress tonight. At least, I hope it’s nice. He’s singing and raging and getting closer, walking right toward my end of the stage.
The song is coming to an end. He has no more lyrics. The guitars are slowing down.
Aaron Blaze is staring at me.
He stands with his hands at his sides, the mic trailing behind him, his chest heaving as his intense eyes pin me in place.
I do the only thing I can think of.
I wave.
CHAPTER TWO
Aaron
She’s short and beautiful, probably reaching up to my chest. Her dress is black and fitted and hugs her shapely body in the best way possible. Her wide hips lead down towards her thick luscious thighs. Hunger ignites in me, deep and possessive. It takes hold of me. She takes hold of me.
I need to guide her trembling hand to my throbbing manhood. I need to bend her over and expose those plump ass cheeks, kissing and nibbling her skin as I get closer to her soaked heat. The next song is starting and my bandmates are probably wondering what the hell I’m doing.
But I’m possessed. She lowers her hand after the wave, and I find myself smirking.
She’s cute and sexy and beautiful all rolled into one.
I raise my hand, waving back, and the excitable little thing clutches her hand to her chest. My primal need stirs, my balls swelling, as I judge her age. Twenty. I’ve never been the sort to fuck women backstage. I’ve never even had a long-term relationship or any relationship.
