I know this man.
Well, as much as you can know someone from behind a screen or magazine spread. Or a shared look across a room.
Aiden fucking James. My former idol, when celebrity worship was my favorite pastime.
The lump that forms in my throat, hard and sticky, says that maybe I haven’t moved on as much as I thought.
Or maybe it’s just because when I lift my gaze, stormy gray eyes sear directly into my soul, stealing the breath right from where it rests on my tongue.
He’s mesmerizing in person.
Sharp. Raw.
Intense.
Angry.
Even though it’s not directed at me, I find myself recoiling slightly, taken aback by the murderous glint shining in his irises.
Still, my pulse kicks up, both in my chest and lower.
“Get your fucking hands off her, before I remove them myself,” Aiden clips, a darkness bleeding into his tone that indicates he isn’t messing around.
“Whatever. I could tell she wasn’t gonna be any fun, anyway.” The pervert practically spits at him, jostling me as he yanks back and hops from his stool. “Good luck with your dead fish, dick.”
Embarrassment scorches my cheeks, and I absently touch a finger to the scar at my mouth, trying to keep his comment at bay.
Pushing back the broken bits of the buzzer as the man slinks off, Aiden lets out a breath, reaching up to drag a hand through his hair. The dark-brown locks curl slightly over his forehead, and he flips them up, rolling his shoulders.
“You’re…” I start, unsure of where the sentence is going the second I open my mouth. I should just thank him and leave, but the weight of relief coursing through me compels me to stay.
Even as my mind screams to run. Not to let my broken soul taint his genius.
“Parched,” he cuts in, raising a hand and finally catching the attention of the bartender. The middle-aged blonde comes over for his drink order, a bored expression on her wrinkled face. “Scotch neat, please.” He steals a glance at me, then nods to her. “And a vodka soda.”
My eyes widen, and I reach out, spreading my palms on the metal counter. “Oh, no, that’s okay. I’m not—”
But the bartender scurries off to fill the order, ignoring my protests. I cover the stamp on the back of my right hand, unease tightening around my sternum.
“This seat taken?” Aiden asks, slipping onto the stool on the opposite side of where the pervert was.
We sit in silence a few moments, and finally the bartender returns. She slides our drinks across, scoops up the remnants of the buzzer, and then slinks down to the other end to assess more customers.
“I was here for an hour without anyone even asking me what I wanted to drink,” I say finally, reaching for my glass. Wrapping my fingers around it, I let the surface cool my heated palms, and take a tentative sip.
“You mean that asshole felt you up, but didn’t offer a beverage first?”
“Well, you know what they say.” I shrug, turning my head to look at him. It’s a little alarming how easy I find it to talk to him, all things considered. “Chivalry is dead, and all.”
He grunts, bringing his tumbler to his lips with a smirk. “That it is.”
After a beat, he drops his arm, returning his glass to the counter.
“What’s your name, angel?”
I sputter, choking on the alcohol as it works down my esophagus. Both at his question, and the fuzzy feeling I get in my center when he calls me angel.
Fuck, how I could ruin this man.
If he were anyone else, I might even try—but the sixteen-year-old buried deep inside me is begging me not to.
She still clings to the hope that one day, we’ll be whole again. That the stains on our soul might disappear if enough time passes.
But I know better; the darkness in us is a quicksand, seeking out others to devour.
So, I decide not to tell him my name, rock star or not.
I spin on my stool and down my drink, buying time. Try to play quirky and aloof, even though everything inside me is spinning out of control for a million different reasons.
“I can’t tell you all my secrets. Where’s the fun in that?”
His smirk grows as he takes another drink, and so does the fire in my belly. Goddamn, I should say thank you and go find my friends. Leave what is sure to be a disaster here at the bar.
Dragging the rim of his glass along his bottom lip, his eyes darken on me. They grow heavy. Hungry. I shift, uncrossing and crossing my legs, trying to alleviate the pressure between them.
“The fun,” Aiden says, letting his gaze drop to my mouth, then lower and back up, “is that I know what to call you when I collect my dues.”
My eyebrows scrunch together, and his jump.
“You weren’t for sale to him, angel, because I already paid for you.”
4
The laugh that tumbles past the girl’s lips makes my cock twitch attentively. In part because it’s an inherently melodic sound, soft and lilted, but more so because she seems surprised by it.
Like laughter isn’t something she’s used to.
Her crystalline blue eyes widen a fraction, and she covers her mouth with a dainty hand.
“Sorry,” she says around her fingers. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
“Would you rather I ease you into the idea?” I lift a shoulder, holding the tumbler to my mouth.
I don’t know why I ordered a drink—it’s been months since I tasted a drop of alcohol, and yet I’ve had hard liquor twice tonight.
My mother’s disappointment is almost palpable, but when I glance around the room, she’s nowhere to be seen, so I ignore the discomfort and take another drink instead.
Besides, drinking was never a problem for me. Not like pills were for her.
It was always just something I did in an attempt to make the emptiness inside me a little less glaring.