Ripping Pages (5 page)

Add that voice to some sex with my man, and boom, those were some fun times. James.

He was into hard rock and alternative music. I was into some of the old stuff I had grown up listening to as my mother was a huge 70's soft rock fan—Bread, Barry Manilow and Carly Simon were some of my favorites. I also liked the occasional pop song.

From what I remembered, Ripping Pages were pretty good. Really good, actually. James had told me more than once that they were one of the best-selling rock artists of all time. Wow, so Sloan’s brother was in Ripping Pages? Pretty cool. I walked over to the shelves that held the awards. I looked behind me to make sure no one had come in from the hallway to catch me being a total snoop. I turned back around and bent down to run my fingers along the shiny gold Grammy. It was from about eight years ago. Best new artist.
Damn. That’s legit.
I ran my hand along another Grammy feeling the cold metal under my fingertips. It was from four years before.

“Album of the year,” I heard a familiar, deep voice penetrate the quiet. I screamed and turned around only to lock eyes with the one guy who had been filling my thoughts the past few days. He stood there, brown hair a spiky beautiful mess, and perfectly faded jeans, a Mets t-shirt hugging his ridiculously defined body, and those hot as hell tattoos running all up and down each of his impressive arms. I’ve never found feet to be anywhere near sexy, but to see him standing there barefoot got my heart racing just a little faster than it already was. I just stood there staring—and unbelievably mortified. He had caught me snooping. Awesome.

He chuckled showing that flawless smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you, Sweetness. I just came out to grab another beer. I don’t think we've formally met. I'm Van,” he introduced himself as he walked toward me with his big manly hand extended in greeting. I took it in mine, and immediately, I felt lightheaded. It was so warm, and for some reason I wanted it all over me.
What the hell was wrong with me?

My cheeks still flaming from the embarrassment of being caught and now having very naughty thoughts about Van, I stuttered. “Oh. My. God. I'm so sorry. I was uh—I uh—”

He smiled the sweetest smile. “It's ok. Seriously. It's cool. Do you want a beer or something?”

“Um, sorry, I'm Tinley, by the way. No, thank you.” I looked down at the floor wishing it would swallow me whole.

“Tinley?” He asked in surprise. “So you're the sweet little Texan my sister told me about? Nice to finally put a name to that gorgeous face I've been thinking about.”

I looked up at him calling bullshit. Oh, this guy was smooth. Wait a minute. Van from Ripping Pages?

Back in high school, I was obsessed with celebrity gossip magazines, and I remembered reading about the notorious rocker, Van Whitaker who bedded every girl as long as she had a functioning vagina. No wonder he looked familiar. He was about six years older now making him close to thirty or so. He looked far better in person than he had in those shiny tabloids. Far, far better. Realizing how rude I was in not answering him and just gawking at his gorgeous form, I spoke.

“Van? Wow. Ripping Pages, huh?”

“Yes, ma'am. You a fan?” He grinned.

“Um. Sorry, not really but I have heard some of your stuff. My uh— friend was a huge fan of y’all.”

He chuckled a bit. “Well, that's refreshing.”

“What?” I asked curiously.

“Well, usually people are always fans or claiming that they are. I've never actually met anyone who was honest with me about it.”

I blushed. “I'm sorry. You guys are really good, and if I were into rock music, I'm sure I would love y'all.”

He smiled that heart-stopping smile again. “What kind of music do you listen to, Sweetness?”

I giggled, “Um, like Barry Manilow and Bread. Old 70s soft rock stuff.” I blushed again.
God, I was such a dork.

He smirked a deliciously sexy smirk and raised one perfect eyebrow. “Bread? Seriously?” He laughed.

“Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it,” I giggled at him.

He raised his hands in surrender, chuckling, “If you say so, Sweetness. Come on, I was just watching the game. Why don’t you come keep me company?” He popped the cap off the bottle of his beer and headed toward the now open door next to the bar.

“Oh. Thank you, Van. I am so sorry to intrude. I was just going to hail a cab and head home, actually.”

“That’s too bad. I was getting bored all by myself.” He feigned a pouty face.

“Why don’t you go down to the party?”

“Not my scene. I'm more of a homebody these days. Been there done that. Besides, my sister's parties aren’t my style. I don’t like to surround myself with her social climbing, pretentious ‘friends’. Present company excluded,” he smirked.

It made me smile. “Oh, I feel you. What game are you watching, anyway?”

“The Mets.” He motioned for me to follow him through the open door. It led to a secret room where the far wall was just a gigantic screen and the other walls were solid wood. He sat down on the first of four rows of what looked like plush gray movie theater seats. He patted the seat next to him and took a swig of his beer as I sat down. “You a baseball fan?”

“Uh, no.” I laughed.

“Football? Boxing? Any sports?” He grinned and took another drink.

“Does watching the Real Housewives fight count as a sport?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Ahh, so you've fallen victim to the reality TV addiction, too?”

“Guilty.” I grinned. He leaned in just a little and immediately his scent filled my nostrils. He smelled like fresh soap and beer and... man. It was curiously intoxicating, and I almost closed my eyes to savor it. Though, I didn’t want to look like a total weirdo.

“Well, I won’t hold that against you, Sweetness.”

My breath caught and then picked up as he turned back to watch the game on the screen. I was unsuccessfully trying to get my breathing under control when he turned to look at me again. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink. I don’t have anything but beer and maybe some coke, but I'd be glad to get you something.”

I was having all these odd feelings about this guy I didn’t even know. I was never one to immediately want someone the way I was wanting him. I wanted him to lean in closer and I wanted his hands all over me. I wasn’t that kind of girl. At. All.

“Van, I really should go. I'm sure you want to be left alone and not have some chick you don’t even know bothering you.”

“Not at all. It's actually nice to sit with someone, let alone a female who isn’t trying to get something from me.”

I felt the redness creeping to my cheeks. I knew what that “something” was that he was referring to…

I surely wasn’t one of those girls, but that didn’t stop me from wondering what it would be like to be with a guy like Van. Being twenty-one and having only one partner made me curious. He was insanely smooth, and I could see how so many girls threw out their morals for a night with him. He just had this confident sexuality about him that oozed from his pores.

I guess I could make small talk and get to know this man who kept making me think seriously inappropriate thoughts.

What was the harm in that, right?

“So, Van,” I started as he took another swig of his Guinness. I watched his throat work as he swallowed and turned to me.

Ok, Tinley, get it together and quit being a perv.

“Your home is just amazing. How long have you lived here?”

“Thank you. I've lived here almost four years. I bought it after the guys and I decided to take a break from the band.”

“Oh, so y'all aren’t together anymore?”

“Well, they haven’t released an official statement yet, so no one really knows this but, we've just started recording a new album. It's been over four years since our hiatus so we're a little rusty. The first single is supposed to be released soon.”

“Oh, wow, that’s exciting. Why did you take a break from the band, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Well, Chase, our drummer, got married and had a baby, and one of our guitarists, Beckett, wanted to venture out and do some things on his own, so we just took some time apart. Jensen, our lead guitarist and my buddy from high school, and I have been working together over the past few years on some new stuff. Ok, enough about me,” he said swigging the last of his beer and setting the empty bottle in the cup holder attached to the armrest. He turned to face me.

“Huh?” I said unsure.

“So, Tinley. What made you come to New York all the way from Texas?” He smiled and my heart did a little jump.

“Oh. Uh— well, my cousin, Tatum, lives here, and I have always wanted to see if I could make it on Broadway.”

He stared at me with amazement etched his features. “That is really awesome, Sweetness. That takes some balls. Have you made any headway yet?”

I told him about my audition and how well it went.

“Ahh, so that’s what the whole joyous spaz out session at the park was for.” He chuckled.

“Oh my God,” I mumbled and looked away mortified yet again. Why was I still sitting here?

He gently grabbed my chin and turned me to look at him.

My breath stopped, and for a moment, we just sat there looking into each other's eyes. His gray eyes sparkled with something—lust maybe?

His left hand still gently grasping my chin, he lightly moved my bangs from my eyes and tucked them behind my left ear. “Please don’t be embarrassed. It was the most adorable thing I have ever seen. I like the fact that you seem so real, Tinley. I don't get the pleasure of meeting people who are actually authentic.” He spoke so softly, and he was so frank, and I could see the hurt behind his eyes, and for some reason, I almost wanted to cry. He started to let go of my chin and as he did, he gently brushed my lips with his thumb—slowly.
Holy shit!
I wanted to grab him and kiss the crap out of him. But I didn’t.

We sat in silence, him watching the game on the screen, and I watching the floor wishing it would swallow me up, because I felt so awkward, and at the same time, I felt comfortable.

I was sure they had some medication for the way my mind was jumping in a thousand different directions.

Van broke the awkwardness by standing up and heading for the other room. “I'm getting another one. You sure you don’t want one?” he asked and he looked so kind.

“You sure you don’t have any Moscato D'Asti and frozen berries back there?”

“Moscato di whata?” he laughed confused.

“It's a wine. Never mind.” I chuckled.

When he came back, we talked for what seemed like hours about nothing in particular.

“Can I ask why you guys named the band Ripping Pages?”

“Yeah, we get that a lot, actually. It just means starting over. Ripping the page from the book of your life, and moving on.”

“I like that,” I smiled.

He was so easy to talk to, but something still hung in the air between us but it was a little more muted since he hadn't touched me again. Usually, I felt out of my element when talking to guys, especially drop-dead gorgeous ones. But for some reason, talking to this famous rock star in his home was natural and effortless.

After a while, we sat in comfortable silence watching the game, pretty close together and suddenly, the door burst open and in walked one of the ultimate bitches from downstairs.

She was already half undressed as she sauntered through the threshold in her black mini skirt sans shirt and bra. She was absolutely stunning. Even topless, not a flaw showed. She strolled in with her perfect long, crimson hair with her uber-perky boobs and her tanned skin. Her body was bangin'.
Bitch.

“Van, baby, I have missed you. I need you to fuck me so good, baby. I feel like it's been forever.” She stopped in her tracks as soon as she spotted Van and I sitting side by side. He looked at me with an expression of annoyance and embarrassment. Before either of them could say anything, I grabbed my clutch and ran out of the room, but not before I heard Van call my name and the whore in the doorway say, “Ok, baby, now that we've let the trash out, come do that thing with your tongue...”

As I ran down the stairs and through the swarm of people to the elevator, I felt like throwing up. Here I was falling for the charms of some guy I didn’t know a single thing about, except the one thing that should have made me stay the hell away. He was a famous rock star. Sex was his hobby. Girls were his game.

Gosh, when did I become an idiot?

Hadn’t I learned enough from the James fiasco?

I pressed the button for the elevator, grateful that it opened immediately, and pressed the button for the lobby. When I got out onto the street, I could feel the tears pricking my eyes. I really shouldn’t give a shit, but I did. I had been seriously broken, and I wasn’t even healed completely from it, and here I was stupidly letting my guard down and being blindsided by this douchebag with a girlfriend. No more. I came here for a reason and it wasn’t to be swooned out of my clothes by some famous rock star who would only see me as another notch in his belt.

I hopped in a waiting cab and the minute I got home, I checked my email and saw one from the theater. Rehearsals started in a few weeks.