Romance: Rockstar Romance: Rock My World (A Bad Boy Rock Star and a College Girl Romance) (Contemporary New Adult Second Chance Romance) (2 page)

More than a few people around the bar cheered.  The stranger just tipped his hat and returned to me.  Reggie popped out from the office when he heard the commotion.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

“It's okay, Reg.  It’s been handled,” I replied.

“Good, but if anything happens again, you be sure to call me first,” he said.

Reggie disappeared back in the office, leaving
me and my savior
in peace. 

“So, do you go around saving women every night?” I asked, jokingly.

“Nope, but I’ve been the one on the receiving end of obsessed fans in the past.  At least it was a guy this time.  Girls can do some pretty crazy stuff,” he said.

I laughed at his boast. 

“Where are my manners,” he said, “I’m Ray.  Ray Harrison.”

This only served to make me laugh a little louder.

“Well, Hello
Ray
, great to meet a famous musician in a seedy bar like this,” I said, “hey, whatever you call yourself, thanks for saving me from that creep.”

He pulled off his hat and sunglasses and my laughter dissipated.  I recognized his face from the cover of the albums I had hanging above my bed.  It was the real Ray Harrison.

“You’re…” I stammered.

“Ray,” he said, smiling broadly before shoving his hat and sunglasses back on.

“But, what are you doing here?” I asked.

“It’s a long story.  I wanted to find a small place where I could think.  Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

I reached behind the bar and grabbed the bottle of tequila.  Gus raised an
eyebrow
but did nothing to stop me.  I took my purloined goods and found an empty booth in the back to settle into.

“You’re
the
Ray Harrison,” I said, “I can’t wrap my head around this.  This is amazing.  You’re my favorite musician!”

He sat there listening to my fangirl sentiment, and I poured shots into the glasses I had taken with the tequila. 

“To meeting my hero,” I said raising my shot.

“To possibilities,” he
replied
while he clinked my shot glass with his.

We both quickly downed
them,
and I started pouring another round.

“How long have you been singing for?” he asked.

“A couple years,” I replied, “This is the first place that would give me a chance to sing in public.  Reggie is a good guy.”

“Your music has a good sound, and after hearing it I thought you might be a good person to collaborate with,” he said.

My jaw dropped. 

“I thought some new talent might kick-start my creative spark.  It’s been a rough couple years for me,” he said.

He pulled off his sunglasses and hat, revealing his
wild,
unkempt long, black hair again. I had fallen asleep to thoughts of a moment like this.  I felt my head grow a little faint.

He reached out a hand and held me by the arm.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming,” I said. 

It really was the only possibility.  I must have fallen asleep on the floor with my headphones on again and dreamt the whole thing.

Then I felt a sharp sting as he slapped me across the face.

“Are you here?” he asked.

I didn’t realize I’d zoned out for a moment.  This was definitely real.

“Thanks, I needed that,” I said.

“I don’t like to hit people, but you had a crazy look in your eye,” he added.

“No, really, it helped.”

“So, what do you say?  Are you interested in writing together?” he asked.

“There’s no way I could say no to that,” I replied.

He held up his new shot.

“To new partnerships,” he said.

I raised my glass and downed the liquor quickly.  I felt the drink start to hit me, if only a little.  I quickly scrawled my phone number on a napkin and pushed it his way.

“I’m available
any time
after four.”

He took the note, folded it gingerly, and stuffed it into his jeans pocket.  Then he stood up and opened his arms wide.  I stepped
close,
and he wrapped himself around me tightly. 

“Get ready for a crazy ride,” he said.

I wrapped my arms around his mid-section in kind and held tightly.  We had
embraced
for a minute before he let go.  He snatched his things from the table and put his disguise back on. 

“You have an audience to get back to,” he said.

I looked to the stage; a few people were gathering around.  When I turned back to see Ray, he was already walking out the front door. 

I was so giddy that I almost forgot the words to all of my songs.  The crowd didn’t care, and some of them even sang along to songs I had played earlier. 

This was truly a night to remember.

3.

To my
surprise,
he called me back the following day.  I wasn’t prepared in the slightest.  He had a loft in the downtown
area,
and he wanted to meet there for a session.  I was beyond elated.

I had no idea how to dress.  Do I show up in my casual school clothing, or do I doll myself up?  I settled on something in between.

I pulled on my favorite skinny jeans.  They did a great job of showing off my long slender legs, and I would get a compliment or two whenever I wore them.   

Since I was pretty skinny already, I rarely had to worry about wearing a bra.  Most days I just didn’t bother, but today I decided I probably should, so I slipped into the sexy one I normally only wear when I go on dates.  Along with that, I pulled on a vibrantly colored button-up shirt that clung tightly to my shapeless top. 

I
tied
my dark brown hair up with a pair of chopsticks and covered myself with a light spring jacket. 

I was nervous the second I stepped out my front door.  He had texted me his
address,
and I made my way there a little early because I didn’t want to leave him sitting around waiting. 

I was used to walking around wherever I went.  The walking boots I wore were nearing the end of their lifespan, but they still looked
cute,
and I didn’t want to get rid of them.  They took me everywhere I needed to go.

Nearly thirty minutes later I was staring at the front door to the building in which he lived.  Across the street sat a coffee shop, and being nearly 45 minutes early, I figured it was as good a place as any to center myself and let some time slip by.

When I entered, I was surprised to find Ray was there already getting a drink for himself.

“Lauren, great to see you so early,” he said.

I smiled and walked over.

“I didn’t want to make you wait,” I said.

“That’s thoughtful of you.  So, just giving you a heads up, I’m having a few people over next weekend.  You’re welcome to come and mingle if you want.  It’s just a few other recording artists, maybe a producer or two.”

I was a bit excited.  This might be my chance to make a career out of my music. 

“I’d love to,” I shouted a little louder than I meant.

“Great,” he replied, “maybe you can serenade them with that song I heard you throw down last night.”

“Of course,” I said.

I got my
coffee,
and he ushered me to his loft across the street.  The building looked old on the outside, as though it may have been a factory some 50 years ago, but had now been turned into an urban living space. 

To my surprise, the lobby looked palatial.  Everything seemed brand
new
but also dated.  The lights along the walls were in mismatched sconces, and an electric fireplace rounded roared in the lobby space surrounded by reclaimed brick. 

Ray clicked the call button on the single elevator and it merrily chimed open.  The buttons on the elevator didn’t have
number
, they had names.  He pushed a key into the chrome face, gave it a turn, then clicked the one that said ‘Harrison’ and up we
travelled
. 

It dinged and opened up to reveal his apartment.  We must have been twenty floors up.  The massive bay windows looked out to the city.  From this high up, I started to feel like a queen.

Despite all the modern features, the industrial space was sparsely populated with furniture.  His bed lied in the back around a dividing partition, but sheet music littered the floor around it.  In what could be considered the living room rested stacks of paper, each one another music sheet.  A couple guitars were strewn about with the pages, and a grand piano stood as a monolith in the center of the apartment.

His furniture was simple and comfortable.  He only had a couch and two matching
arm chairs
surrounding a coffee table. 

I took a seat in one of the
armchairs,
and he moved the guitar from the couch, plopping down with his coffee.

“You were expecting something else?” he asked.

“I honestly didn’t know what to expect,” I replied.

He chuckled and sipped on his coffee.  I picked up some of the pages from the table. 

“That’s a piece I’ve been fooling around with for months,” he said.

“It’s not bad,” I said.  I
was being
generous.  It sounded rough at best.

“So you know how to sight read music?” he asked.

“My mother is a school music teacher.  She taught me when I was a kid,” I replied.

“Be honest, is it any good?” he wondered.

“Honestly?” I asked.

He nodded, and his eyes told me he was really hoping for real feedback.

“It’s rough.  It doesn’t sound at all like you,” I said.

“What am I supposed to sound like?”

I thought about it for a moment.  I tried to remember the emotions that his first work elicited from me. 

“The first time I heard your music, my heart beat faster.  It was like someone was finally able to say the things I couldn’t say for myself.”

He smiled, took the sheet from me, crumpled it up and threw it behind him where several other crumpled sheets of music were already resting.

“This is exactly the kind of feedback I need.  I’ve surrounded myself with a bunch of ‘yes men’ who tell me everything I write is
genius
when I know it isn’t.  Deadlines are the death of creativity,” he said.

“Is that why I’m here?” I asked.

“You’re here because I needed a jolt of energy.  I need someone to help me understand why I started playing music in the first place.”

I didn’t feel as nervous anymore.  He was excited, and I was excited for him. 

“Is it true, what I read in the paper?” I asked.

“More or less,” he replied, “but they don’t know the details.”

“What are the details?” I asked.

“Nothing worth sharing,” he said.

I sighed.  I guess he wasn’t ready to place all his trust in me right away.  I could understand why he was holding back. 

“What happened with that Steven fellow,” he asked.

“Not sure, it’s only been a day.  He’s already badmouthing me on my twitter
account,
though.”

“When you’re done working here, you’ll have so many fans that his tiny voice won’t be able to reach you anymore,” Ray said.

I felt a surge of confidence.  I think Ray knew the other reason I was here.  I needed to become something more than a bar singer.  When I was with
Ray,
I felt like I really could be something more.  My music must have been good if he was willing to take me into his home.  Perhaps I really could make it as a professional singer.

I tried to push those thoughts to the back of my mind.  I didn’t want my own ambitions to take over. 

“Let’s get started,” he said.

I finished the remainder of my coffee and picked up more sheets of music.  He grabbed it out of my hand and threw it to the ground.

“Don’t bother reading that crap anymore.  I don’t want it tainting your natural talent,” he said.

I leaned back in my
chair,
and he picked up a guitar.

“This is all we’ll need.”

4.

I spent nearly every night after school at his place.  We’d make up funny songs and sing them to each other.  It was probably the happiest time of my life, just lying around and singing. 

He continued to write with frustration.  Even I could
tell
there was something blocking his talent.  The songs he wrote were still good, but they weren’t great.  By the time he’d finish one set of lyrics, he’d already be ready to toss it behind his head and try something different.