Serenade Me: A Rockstar Romance (Rock Chamber Boys Book 3) Read online

  “Your Australian tendency to shorten names is not your best feature.”

  “Aw, come on. I want to see you try to hook up with someone!”

  “I don’t ‘hook up.’”

  “Fine, just talk then. Just a quick ‘hello’; if she rejects you, you can make her regret it when she sees you performing. And if she says yes, then she’s going to want you even MORE after you play. Trust me.”

  She looks up at me with wide, bright eyes and I find it hilarious that she’s so invested in this. In the months I’ve known her, I already love her like a sister and it’s hard to say no.

  “Argh, okay, fine. Later. After the show.”

  “No, now. Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Ugh, nah, isn’t it better after she’s seen me perform? I’m like “rock band hottie” then.”

  “Yeah, but that’s no fun. You guys do that every night. Come on.”

  “Ugh. Fine. Who then?”

  She hops down from the stool and comes up close, her mouth by my ear. “In the corner, sitting by herself. Sexy blonde with the curls and the lips to die for.”

  I wait a moment before taking a quick glance. “I thought Hailey was the lesbian, not you.”

  “Shush.”

  “She looks so… unapproachable.” I squint, trying to make out her features. She’s looking at her phone, arms loosely crossed, her legs, in boots, crossed at the ankle.

  “She looks bored. Go cheer her up.” Cadence pokes me in the back.

  “She’s probably waiting for someone,” I say, even as I get up, strangely drawn to the woman.

  “Then go keep her company until then.” Her eyebrows wiggle with excitement and I can’t help but get caught up in it.

  “Oh, fuck’s sake. You owe me.”

  “Um. You sold an extra fifty thousand albums because of me, according to Dennis.”

  “Ok, fine. I owe you one less.” I take a big swig of my beer, choking as I swallow too fast. I wipe my chin with the sleeve of my leather jacket and push my way through the tables. A few steps before I reach her, I see she’s still staring at her phone. I turn and make a face at Cadence, who just gestures me forward. I can just make out that Sebastian and Brad are coming up behind her. Great, just in time to watch me make a fool of myself. It’s been a long, long time since I had to approach a woman.

  The table next to hers is empty and I consider sitting down.

  I feel more awkward than I ever have in life, not helped by the fact that I can hear Seb heckling me in the background.

  “Ahem.” I clear my throat, but it’s hardly loud enough over the din of the music and chatter in the bar. She doesn’t respond, so I’m not sure she heard me. I take a step closer and put my hand on the back of the empty chair in front of her and try again, louder. “Ahem.”

  “Yeah, take the chair, I don’t need it,” she says, not even bothering to look up.

  Kinda rude, I think to myself, which somehow relaxes me. Like I’ve got nothing to lose.

  “Ahem,” I say again, “I was just going to see if I could buy you a drink, you look kinda lonely.”

  “Excuse me? Just because a girl is sitting alone, she must be lonely? In that case, leave the chair.” I move my hand off the chair in surprise. “Now I have the chair for company. Satisfied?” She looks up, just as she says the last words, and stares at me, unblinking.

  And for a moment I falter. Her eyes, like giant marble orbs, are a crystalline jade green with a rim of hot chocolate brown. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like they can see through skin and bones and facades. I try to look away but I can’t. I’m mesmerized by them. It’s too bad her mouth needs a good length of duct tape over it, though.

  I take a breath to compose myself, telling myself to avoid looking her directly in the eyes, and decide that there’s no reason I should let her get the better of me. “Ahhh, I see.” I say, nodding to myself, tapping my chin, deep in thought.

  There’s a tiniest narrowing of her left eye, but it’s enough to show me, she’s struggling to stop herself from asking me what I mean. She loses the struggle, as I keep nodding to myself, purposely trying to annoy her.

  “See what, exactly?” she says, her voice hard, restrained, trying to sound like she couldn’t care less about my answer.

  “I see now, why you’re sitting in this bar… completely alone. Save for the piece of wooden furniture, of course.”

  She tilts her chin and there’s slight twitch of her eyebrow, but her stare is unrelenting. “It beats random strangers coming up and clearing their throat at me. Anyway, I happen to think the chair has been quite the scintillating conversationalist.”

  “I sincerely doubt the feeling’s mutual.” I say, patting the back of the chair, giving her my brightest smile.

  She catches her chin, just before it falls and clenches her jaw and purses her lips instead. I can see the fight building in her eyes just like I can feel it growing in me. What is it about her that’s making me so confrontational? I don’t have much time to contemplate it before she responds.

  “Oh really? You think you understand how wood thinks?”

  “Parts of me are very familiar with the properties of wood, yes,” I say suggestively, giving her a deliberate wink that I know she will find infuriating.

  Instead, she nods slowly, before responding. “I’m sorry, you must have misunderstood. When I said ‘wood,’ I didn’t mean a splinter,” she says and lowers her eyes to stare pointedly at my groin.

  Ouch. Sly wench, I can’t help thinking to myself, trying not to let it show on my face.

  “Yes, it seems we have have misunderstood each other. I was actually trying to initiate a conversation by being friendly and polite. It’s completely my fault that I didn’t know that you wouldn’t recognize manners.”

  “My mistake, I guess I shouldn’t let you take all the blame. I didn’t realize in your world splinter-sized… things are to be proud of and clearing your throat three times is considered polite. In my world, I’d rather you kept your throat mucus to yourself.”

  “Had a lot of experience with throat mucus in the past have you?”

  “Not until today, no, thankfully. Believe it or not.”

  “Oh, I believe it, it’s not at all hard to swallow.”

  “You must hear that a lot.”

  “On the contrary. You’d be surprised.”

  “Actually, no, I doubt there’s anything about you that would surprise me too much.” With that, she gives a wave of her hand as if dismissing me and the entire conversation.

  And as fun as it’s been, I can hear the band getting set up behind me. Time to cut and run, I tell myself. I give her a small finger salute and turn and walk away.

  Then something, something makes me turn back.

  Maybe it’s this inexplicable need to get the last word in. Maybe it’s just to prolong this strange interaction a little bit longer. Or maybe it’s just for a chance to look into those other-wordly green eyes she has one last time.

  She’s still looking at me, when I spin around. But she quickly looks away, back down at her bloody phone.

  I make my way straight back to her, pushing the chair out the way, and lean in, my mouth close to her ear. So close I can almost feel the soft hair on her neck, standing up, brushing against my lips.

  I can feel her swallow, hard, before I speak.

  “Before I go, though, I thought I should tell you. I, I was actually coming here to tell you, that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, in what I thought was my godforsaken life. But now, now I know there IS a God. I came to tell you, that the line of your neck, when you look up to glance at the clock above the bar, is the most elegant thing I’ve ever seen. I came to tell you that the way your hand has been rubbing up and down the curve of your calf makes me wish that I was with you, wherever you were walking that made your legs so tired. I came to tell you that that patch of skin right there, on the back of your left wrist, reminds me of the most delicate porcelain ever produce
d. And that the way your lick your lips after you take a sip of your gin and tonic should be considered illegal, and that no human being can be responsible for anything he says or does after seeing it. I came to tell you that you make me believe that the universe has plans for us all, and that everything leading up to this moment was to make sure that right now, right at this very second, I would be standing here. And you sitting there. And for us to be finally meeting, face to face. And for me to tell you, that my life starts now.”

  I don’t move.

  I just breathe, heavily. Having barely taken a breath since I started talking.

  And I just wait.

  Chapter Three

  Anca

  His breath is so close, so loud that it roars in my ears.

  Except, it’s not his breath.

  It’s my blood.

  Rushing.

  To my brain.

  To my heart.

  Up my neck and to my face.

  Everywhere and nowhere all at once.

  Loud. Deafening.

  What did he just say?

  I can see all the words flashing in front of my eyes, but none of them make sense.

  And the smell of him… masculine but sweet, like a thick, syrupy, dessert wine.

  It’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled before.

  I hold my breath to stop inhaling it. It’s making my thought process short-circuit.

  I shake my head, to try to get everything to settle back into place.

  That was a mistake, I think, as the side of my neck bumps up against his lips and sends something like a shiver through my body.

  But it’s not a shiver.

  I refuse to let it be a shiver.

  I refuse to believe it was a shiver.

  A shiver is a sensation born of fear, of excitement, of lust.

  It was definitely NOT a shiver

  It was a, um, shudder.

  Yes, shudder works better for me.

  He still hasn’t moved.

  But I can separate the heat of his breath from the blush of my cheeks now.

  So, there.

  You haven’t gotten the better of me yet.

  I feel him shift, and pull away from me, stretching back up into a standing position. Was he always this tall? Yeah, Anca, he grew a foot in the last 25 seconds, the voice of sarcasm taunts me.

  He’s looking at me. Staring. Why doesn’t he fucking blink and give me some respite from his gaze? What does he want me to say, to respond to what he’s just told me? I hope he’s not expecting something intelligent, because I’m coming up with nothing.

  Except this – his words have made me breathless. I am without breath.

  I open my mouth. And then close it. No, I can’t say that. I refuse to.

  Our eyes lock and now, his stare… it’s… it’s… changing. It’s morphing into… a grin now.

  A shit-eating, makes me want to slap the lips off his face grin.

  “And you said I couldn’t surprise you,” he leans in again, so close I can smell fruit in the froth of his beer.

  “Surprise,” he whispers.

  And before I can lift my hand and slap the smirk off his face, he’s gone. Disappeared into the growing crowd of people, who don’t know of the battle that was just fought.

  And that I fucking lost.

  “Fucker!” I hiss under my breath. I grab my drink and tip it into my mouth, the aggression in my actions making the liquid slosh and dribble down my chin. I ignore it, the cool drop sliding down my neck actually helping to cool me down while I simmer.

  Asshole! I curse again, this time to myself, feeling my eyes squinting as I try to send death rays through the dense crowd to wherever he is, imagining him clutching his heart in pain as I cast a hate spell over him. Cannot believe he said all that shit just to get me. Argh.

  Don’t you really hate that he DID get at you? Ugh, that voice again.

  Shut up, bitch. I tell myself, oblivious to the irony.

  I gather my things, shoving my phone into my bag. I don’t want to run into the asswipe again tonight. I’m just going to have to reschedule my appointment. I down the last mouthful of my drink, this time managing not to miss my mouth and push my way to the exit.

  Suddenly there’s a huge cheer from somewhere and everyone surges forward. I get caught up in the crowd of people moving like a wave of sloshed humans towards the direction of the back of the bar. I know better than to fight it, and just hold tight to my handbag, pulling it against my body and taking deep breaths, waiting for the tide of cheering drinkers around me to subside.

  There’s a squeal of feedback from a microphone, and then a female voice.

  “Welcome to the Muddy Pig! How are you all doing TONIIIGGHHHTT!!!!!!?” There’s a huge roar, and a sweaty guy in a flannel shirt next to me gives me a toothy grin and raises his half full glass at me. Despite my mood, I can’t help but smile back; his good mood, slightly infectious. “Judging by the crowd, I guess our best kept secret wasn’t such a secret. We have with us tonight, the lovely lads, half of them home-grown I might add, the ROCK CHAMBER BOYS! Take it away, boys!”

  There’s another roaring cheer, this time SO loud; I almost drop my bag as I try to cover my ears. There’s a surge from behind and we all move a few feet forward. I can’t help but get caught up in the excitement (and trust me, I’m trying). I crane my neck as the lights go down; there’s the sound of a few strings being plucked, then nothing.

  And then, like an explosion, there’s a burst of sound. Through the gaps of the heads instantly bobbing to life in front of me, I can just make out the four figures on the stage. They’re all males and playing string instruments; two cellos, a violin and a viola, playing something you probably wouldn’t expect from a string quartet.

  “If you know the lyrics, sing along, ‘cos I sure as hell don’t remember them!” A loud voice rings out, causing everyone to raise their hands and shout the words. Everyone knows them, of course.

  “I can’t get NO. Satisfaction!”

  There’s a thumping of three or four hundred feet on the bar’s floor to go with the hands raising in the air and the voices singing at the top of their lungs.

  The band’s strings pounding out the tune, filling up all the empty space. I find my own foot tapping, and I glare at it, telling it to stop. Somehow, I’ve found myself inching closer and closer to the front of the crowd and out to the side.

  Out of frustration, one of my elbows jabs into the guy next to me, but he just turns and grins at me, giving me a wink and moving to let me through. Something about the music is putting everyone in a good mood.

  Everyone but me that is.

  I get to the front and look up.

  And the fucker is smiling at me. Standing to the right side of the tiny stage, pulling his bow across his viola at an almost imperceptible speed, kicking his left leg out to the beat of the song, and fucking grinning at me. It’s humid in the bar; three hundred people crowded around a tiny space, dancing and singing and breathing their alcohol-riddled air will do that. It’s made my hair damp and I run a hand through it, pushing it away from my face.

  He watches me as I do it, the smile fading a little, but something grows deeper in his eyes. They move to mine, and I narrow them, switching them on to death-glare mode.

  His grin comes back and the he throws his head back in a laugh. He fucking LAUGHS. The violinist standing next to him kicks him in the shin to get his attention, and I half wish he’d broken his leg. He finally looks away from me as they all move to form a tight circle on the stage, the beat increasing and their playing gets louder. They’re building to an ending.

  “SING IT FUCKERS!”

  “SATISFACTION! SATISFACTION! SATISFACTION!” The happy hoards shout over and over, and it’s a cacophony of voices and stomping and music.

  And then it’s over.

  The cheers are louder than the claps, and I slink back a little, my back pressing against the wall. It’s darker here, and I’m glad for it. I don’t want to b
e seen trying to catch my breath. Breath lost in the excitement of it all.

  They really do put on a good show.

  ***

  The rest of the set is no different.

  Song after song, they build the crowd into a frenzy. Even ones that start like a ballad, or a well-known classical piece that would you would think would be better suited for a church or chamber hall, just when it might get boring for some, they glide effortlessly into a popular rock or pop song and it’s like there was no transition. And everyone is on their feet.

  It does NOT bode well for my growing hatred of him.

  The way he flirts with the crowd. Not just the women, but the crowd as a whole. Never taking a moment to still his bow on his viola but interacting through his movements and his expressions. He doesn’t say much, so I don’t have to hiss at the sound of his voice, but he doesn’t need to.

  They’re all masters at manipulating the crowd.

  And as much as I want to leave. I don’t. I find myself wondering what else they’re going to play and lamenting the idea of missing it.

  When their short set is up, the disappointment is palpable, mine included. But no amount of begging seems to convince them of an encore.

  When I see them putting down their instruments, I push away from my hidden spot against the wall and make for the exit. I hear footsteps behind me, and then his voice.

  “What did you think of the show?” he asks. And I turn before I know what I’m doing.

  “What show?” my mouth forms the words before I can think of something else to say. Something cleverer. Something scathing. Something to make him feel like he’d made me feel before.

  “Aw come on now. I saw you watching us. All of it. It’s okay to admit you liked it.”

  “I have no problem admitting things that are true. I just don’t make up long speeches full of lies to rattle off to complete strangers though,” I say.

  For some reason, that amuses the asshole. And he grins and brushes the sweaty hair from his face in a way that I imagine would send most women into a horny frenzy.

  “Guess what?”