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Why did I think coming here was a good idea? Thank god the fans help to slow his chase, and I make it to the back of the field where people are more dispersed, sprawled out on blankets or slouched in foldable chairs.
Hesitating, I glance around for some place to lose him.
“Hey, dude,” he calls again. Calloused fingers brush my arm. How the hell did he catch up to me so fast? “You’re the guy from the bar the other night, right?”
Swallowing, I crack my knuckles and regretfully spin around to face him, heart slamming against my ribcage. “Uh… yeah, that’s me.”
His eyes glimmer with amusement as his smile grows. Picking up on my nervous movements, he takes a step back to give me space. “I knew it! What are you doing here? Are you performing?”
WhatcouldI say?No, I’m not in a place to ever perform on a stage like this again? I saw you staring at me two nights ago and couldn’t get you out of my head? Did I imagine you checking me out, or am I just overly desperate for any kind of attention? Selma told me you’re talented, and I cared enough to check you out for myself? I spent three hours of my morning watching videos of you spitting out water on stage and glistening with sweat like some sort of creep?
That’s why I’m here, right? Because I couldn’t drink my fill of him from behind a computer screen in my rundown house. Because I’m a fucking masochist. A loser that desired more of him, but only from the safety of the shadows where I could observe and not engage him.
My eyes dart around to the people watching us. They hover closer, Sharpies and band t-shirts in hand, mouths practically foaming in excitement. Other people pull out their phones to snap pictures. I wince, drawing back from him, but he matches my step and wraps a hand around my wrist. His brows furrow in concern as he gives me a light squeeze.
Oh god, can he feel my pulse practically jumping out of my clammy skin?
“You okay?” he asks gently.
I nod, though the direct attention is messing with my ability to string together words.
His head tilts. “What’s your name?”
“Z,” I bark out.
“Z.” He seems to roll this over in his mind, and then another smile lights up his face. “Z, I’m glad you’re here. I actually wanted to talk to you at the bar. Come hang with me for a while, yeah?”
Physically unable to shake my head, though my brain is screaming to abort mission, I let him guide me along the edge of the crowd toward a restricted area where the tour buses are parked. My heartbeat pounds beneath his touch, my eyes focused on his hand softly gripping me.
Wild thoughts run rampant in my head as I pick through my morning research. Could he be…?No. There’s no way. Nothing online mentioned anything about Mykhail Koval playing for the other team. Honestly, there wasn’t much tied to his name beyond his recent success with Atonement and his Texas roots.
Then again, what did the media get right?
I clench my teeth, shoving aside an onslaught of painful memories. Now isnotthe time to spiral down into that darkness.
Even if Hail was interested in men, he would never be interested in me.
He pulls me onto a giant, metallic tour bus. Thankfully, it’s void of life, though I glimpsed his band lurking at the back of the stage with the crew.
“Shouldn’t you be over there?” I ask, nervously picking at the frayed stitching along my trouser pockets.
He ignores my question, waving a hand at the small kitchen. “Grab a drink. I’m just gonna rinse off real quick.”
Then he vanishes into the back, and I’m left standing in the middle of Atonement’s tour bus. What if the rest of the band comes back before Hail returns? What if security assumes I’m some rabid fan trying to snap a dick pic of the metal god?
My body temperature spikes.Get it out of your head, Z.
I pinch the bridge of my nose for a few deep breaths. Snatching a Coke from the small fridge, I perch on the couch and try to look like I belong here, not like I’m calculating the time it will take me to get arrested. I don’t think I’d do well behind bars. I’ve been called too pretty for a guy, and while I’m quite tall, I’m too lean to hold my own in a proper fight.
A few minutes pass, and Hail strides into view clad in tight black trousers. He’s still in the process of tugging on a clean shirt, flashing me a defined, tan stomach. Swirls of beautiful ink cover one side of his body.
Fucking hell. Both nipples pierced. Why do I find that attractive all of a sudden? Maybe because they’re attached to this sexy metalhead that somehow exudes warmth like the sun, dimples and all.
I’m struck with curiosity over whether those piercings enhance pleasure. Would he moan and arch his back if I sucked on them? Beg for me to touch him? Tease him? Sink into him?
Hot blood hits my cock, and I jerk my gaze up to meet his eyes as he gives me a crooked smile. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
“Um, what?” I blink back at him, fingernails pinching away at the loose strings around my sleeves.
