RockMeTonight (3 page)

Once I was back home in my apartment, I thought about him.
What’s he like? What’s his life like? What’s he doing now? Is he with some girl
who had fallen all over him the night before? I mean, it wouldn’t be hard—look
at me thinking about him and I wasn’t even a fan of the band.

Before I could stop myself, I was checking their website.
Surely this wouldn’t be considered cyberstalking, right? I mean, it is a public
website out there for the world to visit.

When I saw Leggy on the homepage, I stared for who knows how
long. The other band members were pictured there as well, but my eyes were
fixated on Leggy in a pair of torn-up gray camouflage cargo shorts, red
suspenders dangling down over them, a black tank top and black combat boots. I
scanned the contours of his face, etching them into memory. And his eyes. The
mischievous look that I remembered from that night at Vamps was hinted at in
his eyes as he stared right back at me.

My eyes scanned down his body. The lean muscles in his
tattooed arms. The tank top was tight enough to reveal he didn’t carry an ounce
of fat on him. I pictured what his abs must look like underneath. With the
definition elsewhere, I’d bet money he had a six-pack that begged to be
explored by my fingers.

And his shorts. I caught myself staring at the bulge between
his legs and blushed even though nobody was there to know.

Quickly I looked to the navigation links and clicked on the
bio page. It didn’t contain any personal info about individual members, but
gave a brief history of the band.

Velvet Cocks formed five years ago as a dare between a
bunch of computer geeks. Some guys at a software company north of Boston were
looking for a way to unwind after staring at a computer screen all day. Three
of them—two software engineers and an IT tech—decided to form a rock band. Everything
about them was tongue-in-cheek at first—who could come up with a raunchy band
name, clever stage name, wildest outfit—as a sort of slam and homage to the
rock and punk bands they grew up listening to. The dare turned into something
bigger as they realized they actually played pretty well. Nobody was more
surprised about this than they were. In addition to playing their own twists on
classic songs, they started writing original songs, especially in reference to
the computer world they worked in and the books they read. Soon they began
touring underground clubs in New England at any place that would book them. To
their shock, regulars started coming to see them. After a few years, they were
signed to record their first album. They recently released their second album,
which they are promoting with shows in New England, New York, and DC. Still
geeks at heart, they all kept their day jobs working on computer technology.

Shit, he was telling the truth about being a computer geek.
Interesting. I leaned back and ran my index finger over my lower lip. I never
would have guessed any of that about them. They looked and sounded like a rock
band, not a bunch of nerds who picked up instruments and lucked out with a
rising band.

Maybe I was wrong to peg him as a groupie magnet and all.
Maybe I should not have made some sweeping generalizations based on someone’s
appearance. Maybe I was a cynical shit too quick to rush to judgment.
Especially when it came to guys.

I clicked on the link for their music page and clicked Play
to start a playlist of some of their songs. As I tidied up my apartment,
Leggy’s voice either screamed out lyrics in hard, fast songs or crooned softly
through the slower ones. Hearing the song in my apartment rather than a loud
club, I could make out more of the lyrics. I chuckled at a modern-day banter
between Holmes and Watson.

The song
Never Trust a Woman with an Asp
was a punk
rock homage to the tragic love between Antony and Cleopatra
.
There was a
witty exchange between Anne Rice’s brooding vampire Louis and the rock ’n‘ roll
Lestat in
Vampire Bromance.
Then there was that crowd pleaser
Let’s
Fuck All Over Paris—
the one song I recognized from seeing them play live
.
Listening to the lyrics now, I started to figure out the references. The
vagabonds and prostitutes. The joy of having nothing and the bleak despair of
being alone. Tropic of Cancer. Duh, now I got it. It was an ode to Henry
Miller’s sexual romps in France
.

Ally was right; they were a bunch of cheeky bastards.

Other songs included short punk rants against downsizing,
outsourcing, and merging corporations. Even though I thought the lyrics were
rather clever, most of all I was taken by his voice. Damn, his voice was sexy.
Whether he was waxing poetic to literary masterpieces or criticizing corporate
greed, his voice oozed a sensuality that crept right under my skin.

I was tempted to Google Leggy himself to find more about
him, but then I admonished myself to stop cyberstalking and slammed my laptop
shut.

Stop acting like a teenage girl with a crush on some rock
star. You’re a professional. You’re not sixteen. You have a career. Maybe it’s
been too long since you’ve had a lover. Maybe you need to get online at one of
those dating sites. It’s better than meeting some guy in some club, especially
some unattainable rock star.

I’d met Ally at the gym. She taught yoga and Pilates classes
there and I went to her classes a couple of times a week. We’d become pals one
night after class when we both stopped by the juice bar. Even though we were
polar opposites personality-wise, appearance-wise and just about any way you
could think of, we hit it off and quickly became friends. She was a thin,
strawberry-blonde, tattooed, outgoing animal lover. Everything about me was
darker, from looks to personality. I was far more introverted and private, not
close to many people besides my mom and she lived in New Hampshire. With my
secret, I thought the more distance I kept between people, the better.

Unlike Ally, I did not have any pets. Who would take care of
it when I had to leave town? That was my practical excuse. The real reason was
that animals sensed I was different. Dogs often barked like mad when I walked
by them in the park and their owners would apologize, being perplexed. “I don’t
know what’s gotten into her. She rarely barks.”

And cats. They wouldn’t come near me. Odd…

After work, I went to the gym to hit one of Ally’s classes.
She texted me earlier while I was at work and asked if I wanted to go out for a
walk after class. We often went out for a walk or a drink after class.
Sometimes we’d offset the calories we’d burned off in class with whatever junk
food Ally wanted to consume, or feed my addiction to cookies. With her
ridiculous metabolism, Ally ate whatever she wanted, which was usually
something picked up at Dunkin’ Donuts. She was the kind of woman that most
women wanted to hate because of that fact. However, with her bubbly and
outgoing personality it was impossible to do so. She had good genes. I, on the
other hand, had to stick to the healthy food or else I’d blow up to a pear
shape overnight. My weakness was cookies though and I was not going to cut my
craving for cookies no matter what the consequence. I’d cut out all the other
good fatty foods; let me have my one indulgence.

Oreos, chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, Fig Newtons… I could
go on. My favorite time of year was Christmas and not for all the gift-giving;
it was the cookie swaps.

Tonight Ally and I headed down to walk on the trails at the
nearby lake. She was dressed in yoga pants and a fitted pink tank top with a
matching pink workout jacket, which accentuated her slim figure. Her hair was
piled up on the top of her head into a messy bun and held by a clip. If I tried
to pin my hair up that way, it would look like something you might find after
the apocalypse. She probably did it without even looking in the mirror and of
course it looked casual yet chic on her.

Must be nice being her. Eat whatever you want, look great,
work in a low-stress environment, no furry little problem that pops up once a
month so you have to hide.

“Did you have fun the other night?” she asked.

“Yes, I did. Thanks for bringing me there. That club was
wild.”

“It didn’t freak you out too much?”

“No, not at all. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am a closet
freak.”

“Oh you definitely are,” she said and then took a swig from
her water bottle. “Everyone knows it’s always the quiet ones.”

Trying to sound nonchalant, I said, “It was cool of that
singer to buy us champagne.”

“Yeah, it was,” she said. “Didn’t I see him talking to you
on the dance floor later?”

“Uhhhh,” I didn’t want to replay the conversation. The one
where I came off as a bitch—again—for not telling him my name. “He liked my
dress. We talked about where to find clothes.”

She raised her eyebrows. “The singer of a punk rock band was
asking you for fashion tips? Obviously he doesn’t know how conservatively you
dress at work.”

“I’m a professional. I can’t dress in some slutty outfit in
the office.”

“How about in the gym? You and your shorts and T-shirts. You
have a killer body you’re hiding. Why not show it off?”

“I’m there to work out, not show anything. But thanks, must
be all the running that’s helped,” I teased.

“Must be all the yoga and Pilates from an awesome
instructor.”

“Oh yeah.” I chuckled. “That’s it.”

“So did anything else happen? With Leggy Bones?”

“Um, no.”

“Aww, I was hoping you’d say you gave him your number or
something. And how you’ve been secretly banging like monkeys ever since.”

Ooh. Was my fantasy that transparent? I felt my cheeks
burning.

“Come on. You know that’s not true. I left with you that
night. No secret lover for me I’m afraid.”

“You should get one. You work too much. And a secret lover
is as exciting as hell.”

The snows of January melted in the first week of February
only to return with greater gusto the following week. Like the rest of the
non-skiers in New England, I coped with the snows, dreaming about spring. The
weeks went by, the snow melted, and I thought of the enigmatic Leggy Bones less
and less. Although he still crept into my mind at the oddest of moments,
especially when I was alone in the evenings in my condo, the rational side of
me forced thoughts of him out.
He’s a rock star; you’re just one of many
fantasizing about him. You’re wasting your time.

So I moved on with my daily life as usual, burying myself
with work and Ally’s gym classes during the week and then finding a way to
unwind on the weekends. Most of the time, this meant more time at the gym and
then a bookstore to find a book to lose myself in. It wasn’t a wild life, but
one I was content with. And a way to have an attempt at normalcy to compensate
for what I had to deal with once a month. Those nights with the full moon, I
typically hid in the mountains up north where it was safer than staying near
the city.

Occasionally I drove into Cambridge or Boston to browse
around in funky little shops and bookstores, but today I stayed nearby in
Salem, Massachusetts, good ol’ Witch City USA, where I would find some fun,
eclectic reads at the Wiccan or touristy bookshops. I loved the ghost stories
they printed up of old haunted New England, even though if I read them too
late, they’d keep me up at night. Salem wasn’t too crowded at this time of the
year. As the winter was winding down, the streets were relatively quiet and I
found a parking spot on the main road easily. New England winters were not
known for their hospitality to residents or tourists. I imagine the only sane
visitors to New England during the winter were skiers and snowboarders and
since Salem didn’t have any ski mountains, the tourists were gone for the
season.

Today the winds were calm enough off the Atlantic Ocean that
I was warm enough in my LL Bean coat and gloves, but still breezy enough that
only a few other pedestrians walked along the shore. I took pleasure in the
lack of crowds. Once spring was in full swing, the sidewalks of Salem would be
chock-a-block with tourists clamoring to learn more about the Witch City and
the history of the Salem witch trials. The traditional witch museums and historical
tours remained year after year, but new attractions sprang up all the time.
Eclectic stores specialized in witchcraft items, wizard lore and pirate themes.
Ghost tours and other attractions designed to scare visitors popped up.

After having a coffee and muffin at a café near the Salem
Willows, I wandered down to a bookstore in the main part of town. I scanned the
new releases in search of something to sink into while I did my laundry this
afternoon.

“What an oddly pleasant surprise. Fancy seeing you again,
Cara.”

Cara? Why did that name ring a bell?

Oh shit—that was the fake name I used. Just once. With
one person. Who had that faint British accent.

I glanced up quickly to verify it was him. Seeing those
hazel eyes looking directly at me confirmed my hope or fear or whatever emotion
it was vying for dominance right now. I seemed to get lost for a moment,
mesmerized by the earthy-brown on the outer edge that faded into a mossy-green
gradient closer to the pupil. Then I looked down since the next emotion that
flooded in was guilt. Even though his band’s website was public, I couldn’t
help but think I’d been snooping.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” I said, finally finding the
sense to respond.

Looking away from his face wasn’t enough to distract me from
his presence because now my eyes assessed his body. He was wearing normal
clothes—faded jeans and a black T-shirt with a white skull on it. The shirt was
just tight enough for me to make out a cut torso beneath. He wasn’t overly
muscular like a bodybuilder, but definitely lean and cut enough that showed he
worked out regularly. A tattoo of the VC scrolled logo extended from under his
sleeve.

Hmm, what other tattoos did he have hidden under his
clothes?

“How could I not? You made it so difficult to get even a fake
name out of you.”

He smiled and it made me blush for reasons I didn’t quite
understand. What I did know was that he still looked hot as hell. Even hotter
now than he did onstage. A literary bad boy in a bookstore.

And smelled even more intoxicating. Although the scent of
his masculinity and the sweat from playing onstage had elicited an involuntary
sensual response from me the first time we met, now I found it even more
difficult not to bury my face in his neck. I would inhale the heady fragrance
of him, the faint scent of soap lingering on him. I’d bet it was Irish Spring.

Act normal. Act normal.

“What can I say?” I recovered quickly. “I guess I’m a
private person. So I don’t give out my personal information to someone I just
met. Not even to computer geeks who double as rock stars.” I flashed him a
flirtatious smile, which was a mistake. He looked at me so intensely that I
forgot my intention of flirting as my mind now swarmed with questions. Time
sped up and slowed all at once. Why was he looking at me that way? Did he
realize the effect he was having upon me? What the heck was happening? Whatever
it was, I didn’t like this feeling of being out of control at all.

I had to break the eye contact to gain some perspective on
the situation and regain some self-control. But when I looked down, I made the
unfortunate mistake of looking directly at his crotch, which threw me
off-kilter in a different way.

“Find anything promising?” he asked.

My cheeks burned.
Oh God, yes! There is so much promise
right there.

“Umm.” I looked up at him again.

“A book,” he clarified. “Did you find any promising reads?”

You idiot!
I scolded myself. I put down the second
book in the
Hunger Games
series in a conscious effort to break the eye
contact and regain some semblance of control. I had to rein in my raging libido
that was making an ass out of me right now.

“Not yet. The first book disturbed me so much. I kept
reading, wanting to know how it would play out. But I don’t know if I’m ready
to climb on the roller coaster ride again just yet. Maybe something lighter?
What have you got there?” I asked, looking at the book rather than at him.

You’re babbling. Stop it.

“The third book in this historical fantasyseries.
Definitely not a light read. I love these books so much that I hate them.” He
ran his hand over his close-cut hair as he laughed, his even, white teeth
gleaming.

“Why is that?”

“Because I can’t put them down. I can’t get anything done
without wanting to run back to the book to see what happens to the characters
next. And when something happens that blows my mind, I take it personally. Even
though I know it’s all fiction and the characters aren’t real. It’s
ridiculous!”

“Wow, that’s quite an endorsement. I may have to give it a
go myself.”

“Do it. No, don’t do it. You’ll love me and hate me for it.”

I looked up at him once again and felt my insides betraying
my attempt to control my emotions. “Well, now I’ll have to try one,” I said.
“Where are they?”

“I warned you,” he said with that mischievous smile that I’m
sure disarmed many other women besides me. “Come with me.” He led me to a
display with several books with images of goblets and crowns and other medieval
elements on the covers.

I picked the first one up. After skimming the back cover, I
said, “You know it’s really weird running into you here—at a bookstore in
Salem.”

“It’s not weird for me. I live in Peabody and come here all
the time.”

“I do too,” I said, sizing him up. Had I seen him here
before? Surely I would have noticed someone as good-looking as him. Unless I
was too caught up perusing the new releases.

“Which are you agreeing to—living in Peabody or coming here
often?”

I shook my head in an attempt to clear the jumbled thoughts
in my brain. “I come to this bookstore often. No, I don’t live in Peabody; I’m
in Beverly.”

“Nice town.”

I tilted my head as I appraised him. Even though he was
ridiculously hot, he seemed like a nice, polite guy. Not one of those assholes
who know how good-looking they are so they’re cocky as hell and their
personality is utter shit.

“Listen,” I began, “I’m sorry if I sounded bitchy at the
club. I’m not comfortable with strangers.”

“No worries.” He waved his hand. “I interrupted your
conversation with your friend.”

“Thank you for the champagne. It was very generous of you.”

“You’re welcome. So how’s the new promotion going?”

I shrugged. “More responsibility, but more money.” I looked
at the book in my hand. “So I guess that means more books.”

“You may as well get the whole series now then. You’ll be
hooked.” After a moment, he said, “No, never mind. Then I wouldn’t run into you
here again. And I’d really like to.”

“I—I—uh.” So many thoughts ran through my mind. Ugh, how
could I explain it?
Yes, I would love that too, because I’m so attracted to
you that I can’t stop images of being with you between the stacks from jumping
into my mind. But I’m not a regular woman. I have “issues” that you couldn’t
possibly understand. And that makes me unfit to be in any normal relationship.

When I still hadn’t gotten anything out of my mouth besides
that eloquent stutter, Leggy spoke. “I’d love to hear what you think about the
books, but I can understand your need for privacy. So I’m not going to do
anything to make you uncomfortable like ask for your number. Cheers. And enjoy.
It was very nice running into you again.” He waved his book in a parting
gesture and walked back into the stacks.

Well, hot damn. Just get my panties all in a twist with
nothing to look forward to but a new book!

So perhaps I am unfit for any sort of relationship, but that
didn’t mean I couldn’t take on a lover from time to time. Looking at that
badass rock star in the sci-fi section, I knew the time was now.

Don’t let those penetrating hazel eyes have any effect on
you. Just look at his body. Look at his hands, his lips. Think what he could do
with them.

Yes, I didn’t have to think about anything long-term, I
should focus on the present. What’s the harm in having a little fun with
someone? And no matter what act he played about pulling the computer-geek card,
he was still the lead singer of a band and surely apt to have women whenever he
wanted. Therefore, it should be easy to just walk into his life and walk out of
it, each of us going our separate ways.

No commitment. No drama.

I pulled out my card and wrote my cell phone number on the
back. I walked behind him and whispered, “Ligeia.”

“Excuse me?” he turned and looked at me with a confused
expression.

“That’s my name. Ligeia Everett.” I handed him my card.

His mouth dropped half-open. “You’re kidding? Ligeia. Like
the Poe story?”

He caught the reference. Always a good sign in my book.

“My mom read a lot of Poe while she was pregnant with me.”

“I would guess.” A smile spread broadly across his face as
he scanned my card. “Now that wasn’t so hard to give me your name, was it?”

“Not really.” I lowered my eyelids, realizing that I was
flirting. “My friends call me Lily. Ligeia is far too formal and kind of
weird.”

“It’s not weird at all. It’s lovely.” He whispered my name
with an odd expression as his gaze veered away off into the distance. Then he
faced me again. “I don’t think we’re friends yet, but I hope we’re moving in
that direction.”

“Maybe. My cell number is on the back.”

He turned it over and then flipped it back. “Director of
Marketing and Communications,” he read on the card. “At a medical research lab.
I’m sure that keeps you busy.”

“Which explains why I have very little time for a social
life,” I agreed. “Now you promised to tell me your name.”

“I did?” His brows furrowed. “Oh yeah, at Vamps
.
Hmm.
I think I’m going to have to make it a little difficult for you considering how
long you made me wait to learn yours.” He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote
his email address on it. “Tell you what. Send me an email with Cara in the
subject line. And then I’ll send it to you.”

I opened my mouth to protest. My plan for a night of
mind-blowing, emotion-free sex was falling down the tubes.
He
was
playing hard to get? Playing cyber games? Come on! Then I laughed at the
ridiculousness of the situation. “You really are a computer geek deep down, aren’t
you?”

He smiled. “Guilty.”

“You know I could just go online and find out your real name
in half a second.”

“I’m sure you could.” He leaned in and whispered, “But that
would take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?”

A thrill shot through me. Jolts of anticipation of the kind
of fun we could have together.

“Would you like to play?”

The lascivious tone told me all I needed to know about the
kind of play he had in mind. I nodded twice before I answered. “Yes.”

“Good. So would I.” Then he stood upright and extended his
hand for a formal handshake. “It was very nice to meet you a little more this
time, Ligeia. Ligeia,” he repeated. “It’s not formal at all. I think it’s
fantastic. Unique.” He looked at me as if appraising me. “I look forward to
your email.”

I shook his hand, disappointed that the games wouldn’t be
starting tonight, while at the same time knowing this anticipation fueled the
excitement.

“A little more progress each time.”

* * * * *

When I started reading the first book in the series later
that afternoon, I wanted to kill Leggy. He was right. It was confusing at
first. With so many character viewpoints, I didn’t know whom I was following.
But I was already hooked and finding it hard to finish my Saturday chores.