"Here!" he heard a group of females shrieking from the bar. They were pointing at someone. A brunette.
The object of the group turned slowly to face the stage. And him.
"Any song request, babe--" his voice trailed as soon as he saw her.
Recognition was swift. He'd been looking all over the campus for her...the girl from the bus who had haunted his head for weeks.
His blood pounded and his senses reeled, finally waking up after years of being numb. Sweetbabyfuck!
No one ever made his heart race before. Until this girl.
And her Bambi eyes.
He won't be leaving this venue alone, he vowed.
Without lifting his gaze from her lovely, flushed face, he opened his lips and began his serenade.
"Woke up to the sound of pouring rain. The wind would whisper and I'd think of you..."
TIARA
"Woke up to the sound of pouring rain.
The wind would whisper and I'd think of you … "
Tiara recognized the song. Of course she did. Who wouldn't fall for Sebastian Bach's signature 90s piece? Not even years of strict Christian upbringing could stop her for fantasizing that the Skidrow frontman wrote the song for her. But that was before her father found out she was listening to ‘unholy, devil' music and destroyed all her CDs, including the rare vinyls that she painstakingly saved for and rummaged from garage sales.
She thought no one could ever top Sebastian's ‘I Remember You' … even seasoned lead singers were intimidated and backed off from making covers of that song.
Until now and him … the hot guy from the bus …
He had prototypical rock god looks-lithely muscular, broodingly dark, and oozing with raw sexiness. He even rocked the tight jeans and the tats. Who was she kidding? The man was smoking. But it was his voice that really sealed the deal.
He sang the power ballad with aplomb, sailing through the high notes with ease... totally owned it. His voice poured out of that mouth without artifice or gimmickry … filling up the emptiness of her soul to fullness. It sent goosebumps to spread out all over her body.
Strangely, she felt connected to him on a much deeper level. She was equally surprised when she felt a strong sense of possessiveness-that the song and his amazing voice was meant for her … more than everyone else inside the venue.
The bar was bursting at the seams with bar rats hollering and screaming for his attention. He wasn't paying them any mind. He never took his eyes off from her.
People began to turn to where she was sitting. She could feel her cheeks growing warm as she tried not to freak out from the collective sea of curious stares. She ignored them and concentrated on the singer. Bad move.
Even from across the room, she saw the undeniable hunger in his intense eyes. He eyed at her like a condemned man and she was his only salvation.
Her heart sped up as her chest tightened.
He was openly, unapologetically, eye-fucking her .
She was jostled out of the moment when Karen elbowed her side.
"Amazing, isn't he?" she screamed.
Karen's room mate, Diane, snorted.
"Better watch out, ‘lil girl … he fucks like an animal, too-" she drawled.
"Don't mind her, honey. She's bitter 'coz she never got a call back," Karen retorted.
Figures.
"Who's he?" Tiara found herself asking.
"That, my dear, is Zeke Blade."
Even his name made her shiver.
She couldn't recall feeling this strongly for anything or anyone in the past. It scared her. Enough to want to run out of here before his set ended.
Zeke Blade? No, that ain't right. His name should be Trouble.
Big Trouble.
ZEKE
Zeke knew he had to move fast lest she disappeared again.
He cornered her before she could open the door, placing both his hands flat on either side of her body.
"Hi."
Her head snapped up, her beautiful eyes mirroring her fear and turmoil.
"What do you want?" she whispered. Her lilting voice was lovely to his ears, warming his insides in a way no alcohol can.
Damn, she was so close, he could smell her. And he wanted more than a whiff … he wanted the entire bouquet.
"I just want to talk," he declared. "I'm Zeke, by the way."
"We have nothing to talk about," came her jumpy reply.
"I have to disagree. We have plenty of things to talk about. If you'll only give me a chance … Tiara." Shit, he never pleaded with a girl before.
Her eyes narrowed. "How'd you … "
He smiled down at her. "I can be resourceful when motivated."
"Look … Zeke … I'm grateful for what you did on the bus. I really am. But you didn't have to intervene."
"They wouldn't bother you again. I made sure of it."
"I can handle those boys on my own-" she seemed flustered, especially when he couldn't stop looking at her delectable lips.
"Are you doing anything tonight?" he asked.
"What?!"
"Will you go out with me?"
"Why?".
"Why what?"
"I don't understand why you're doing this."
"I just want to take you out for dinner, babe."
"No … sorry."
"It's just dinner, Tiara. It's on me."
Her eyes widened before she lowered them and smiled almost sadly.
"I can't go out with you."
He frowned. He didn't expect that. "Why not? You have a boyfriend?"
She shook her head. "No, I don't. And that's not it. I don't date. And if I do, I don't think musicians would be a good idea."
He was crushed. This chick was really doing a number on his ego. "Ouch."
"I can list ten things why I shouldn't."
He leaned toward her ear. "And I'm gonna tell you why you should."
She was about to speak but he held a finger to her lips to silence her.
"One, a musician knows how to listen. He can tell your moods and nuances just by hearing your voice."
"I don't need a shrink."
He chuckled. Man, he's got his work cut out for him.
"Two, he believes in emotion. How can he not? It's bound to happen after hearing tons of love songs inside his head."
"I don't do emo either."
That made him roar with laughter. She was spicy and he liked it. A lot.
But he was running out of lines.
Time for his trump card.
"Lastly, if you go out with a musician-meaning me-you're the girl I'm gonna sing for, the face to all those songs I've sung in the past. Only you. So, I'm gonna ask again and hope you'll reconsider. Tiara Angela Bailey, will you have dinner with me?"
ZEKE
A decade and a half later …
He was freezing his butt off. NYC has turned into an iceberg. He was sure of it. Zero fucking degrees and not even a degree more! The weather bureau lied through their teeth. Incompetent fools. The air was so frigid his nuts would certainly fall off from exposure, rendering him useless. Not truly a great loss, as his southern bits barely seen action months after he got out of the hospital to recuperate. He hardly left his Miami home except to take his dog, Duke, out for a run along the beach during mornings.
Miami weather spoiled him too much, leaving him completely unprepared for NYC's frigid weather.
Drawing his leather jacket closer to ward off the sudden gust of wintry wind, he lowered his head and briskly walked the crowded sidewalks of Manhattan's Lower East Side Avenue.
The stretch used to be teeming with crack and meth heads. He knew that from experience. That period of his life was well-chronicled by the press; when he hobnobbed among then-fellow junkies. How they welcomed him like a homecoming king every time he dropped by to get his fix. Why wouldn't they? They shoot up and got high on his account. They blast and crash together then repeat the process, chasing the highs incessantly … only to find rock bottom and unfortunately for some, dead end six feet under.
He shivered as he literally walked down the unpleasant memory lane.
He should've asked his driver to wait for him at the restaurant where he met Corrine Harris, head writer at Rolling-fucking-Stone. They were doing another cover on him, a slant on him being rock music's version of Robert Downey, Jr … except that Robert got to don a shiny red costume and play Ironman nowadays while he … let's just say that his present condition was comparable to a rusty sink drain.
He was furious when when he heard about it first-hand. As if there weren't enough trash written about him over the years that they needed to do another fucking piece.
Next to lawyers, media men (and women) were his least favorite people. Fucking piranhas, all of them were out for his blood from day one.
But his management people begged him to keep his rapier tongue in check and be on his best behavior. Ryker even called him that morning to make sure he'd be at the interview. He'd fallen off the wagon too many times to instill trust. Can't blame them, really.