RockMeTonight (2 page)

“Oh, I apologize if I was interrupting. I thought I heard your
friend here lauding your accomplishments and just wanted to extend my
congratulations.”

Shit. I didn’t have to sound so cold. I could be such a
bitch sometimes. Ugh. I replaced my haughty expression with one a little more
neutral.

Something bothered me when he spoke. I didn’t expect it—the
language he used. Lauding accomplishments? He spoke rather—what was
it—educated? Not what I thought a punk rocker would sound like. I knew that was
an unfair generalization, but in my defense, he belted out some crazy-ass
lyrics onstage.

“You heard correctly,” Ally said. “My friend hates having
attention focused on her and gets all crabby about it.”

Besides his sultry voice and rugged good looks, I found his
scent unbelievably alluring. A mixture of the salty sweat from playing onstage
and the distinctive musk of a human male. I resisted the urge to lean in and
inhale deeply.

Leggy laughed. “And then a strange bloke sticks his nose
into the mix to bring even more attention.”

“We’re celebrating her promotion.”

He turned to me. “That is a cause for celebration. Well
done. Would you allow me to buy you champagne?”

“Um, no, that’s not necess—” I began, but then Ally cut me
off.

“How generous of you. Yes, we’d love that.”

While he ordered champagne from the female bartender, I shot
Ally a look. She continued the silent eye conversation by opening her eyes wide
and nodding toward him. I opened my eyes wider in return, only my expression
meant
What the heck are you saying?
She shook her head and turned to
focus on Leggy. When the bartender returned with two glasses, he handed them to
Ally and me.

“What about you?” I asked.

“This is for you lovely ladies,” he said. “And I will excuse
myself to allow you to celebrate. Congratulations.” He bowed slightly. “I’m
sure you deserve all the accolades—and then many more. Good night, ladies.”

Accolades? What kind of punk rock singer speaks this way?
Wasn’t he just singing about fucking in the streets of Paris?

He moved into the crowd. I watched him until he disappeared
among the black-clad dancers.

I realized too late we hadn’t thanked him.

After we toasted and took a sip of the champagne, Ally said.
“Well, spank me cross-eyed! That was nice. Leggy Bones buying us champagne.”

“Yes, it was.” I circled the edge of the glass. “We didn’t
even thank him.”

“Shit, you’re right. He disappeared so quickly. Weird that
he didn’t stay for a drink.”

“Maybe he was just being a gentleman,” I said.

Ally rolled her eyes. “A lead singer of a rock band? Get
real. He doesn’t have to be a gentleman. I’m sure he can get laid whenever he
wants.”

Good point. “Well, I don’t know. How do you explain his
generous gesture then?”

Ally thought. “Beats me. But I wish it was Chee Keydood. And
that I was drinking champagne with him and not you right now.”

“Ally!”

“Just kidding.”

“Come on, let’s dance. Finally.”

“Oh stop it,” Ally said with a wave. “I’ve been dancing all
night.”

We squeezed in through the uninhibited bodies dancing wildly
to a Prodigy song,
Smack My Bitch Up
.After that strong drink, I
went out there and finally shook my booty the way I’d been itching to do all
night. But thoughts of that singer invaded my mind. I caught myself looking for
him several times, to no avail.

“Who are you looking for?” Ally asked, letting me know how
conspicuous my peeking really was.

“Oh nobody. Just checking out the goods.”

She glanced around. “Plenty of good things to see tonight.”

She was right. Forget that guy. He’s the singer of a punk
rock band. Probably being entertained backstage by a trio of women in revealing
outfits at that very moment. I diverted my attention to some of the other guys
in the club. Plenty of eye candy on the dance floor and they moved their bodies
well, which meant they might be skillful with their bodies in other ways. It
had been too long since I had a lover and my kind had a higher sex drive than
most humans. Unbearably high at times. What I needed now was a lover to help me
cope. Not a boyfriend, not any sort of relationship other than one to fulfill
our sexual desires.

Win-win for everyone.

* * * * *

“Love your dress,” I heard a male voice say while I was out
on the dance floor. A voice I recognized as the one who commanded the crowd
earlier, who congratulated me earlier, who bought us champagne earlier and who
now sent a quiver between my thighs as I heard him speak again.

I turned and said, “Thanks.” This tight little black-and-red
plaid number was one of my favorites, but I didn’t dare wear it often. Then, at
a loss for words, I commanded myself, S
peak, speak
. “I see you’re a fan
of plaid yourself.” I nodded at his hat. “I found this dress in a vintage store
in Harvard Square.”

I said speak, not babble. Why would a guy care where you
bought a dress?

I realized I’d stopped dancing once he arrived, but with him
now swaying in front of me, I felt like an idiot. Something about him was so
disarming that I couldn’t just size him up, put him into a neat little category
into my brain. I joined him and resumed dancing, forcing myself to breathe
properly and move naturally. Whatever song was playing was slow enough and not
as loud as the other ones so we could hear each other.

“Yes, you can still get some excellent finds there even
though a lot of rubbish chain stores have moved in.”

Huh?

“I love the bookstores there too,” he continued. “You can
find some rare out-of-print books.” I raised my eyebrows to indicate my
surprise at a rock singer perusing bookstores, but he didn’t notice. “There
aren’t as many places to shop as there once were. The CD shops are all but gone
now. But this baby is a classic.” He motioned to indicate my dress. Then he
looked me up and down. If I didn’t know he was checking out my dress, I might
have had a few words for the unabashed eye-fuck. “Schoolgirl chick meets rock
‘n’ roll. Nice yet naughty all at once.”

Surprised he’d be that interested in my outfit, I teased,
“You’re really into women’s dresses.”

He laughed. “I’m going to bow out on replying
I’d like to
be in your dress right now
,although you clearly set yourself up for
that one.”

My mouth dropped open in an indignant protest, but he
continued. “Not women’s dresses per se, but I need to keep my eyes open for
eye-catching outfits to wear onstage.”

“You’re the singer, right?” What a dumb question. One I
already knew the answer to. And one he probably thought was stupid, as I
clearly should have noticed the singer of the band playing in the club that
night.

He didn’t call me out on it, luckily, but answered. “I am.
Leggy Bones. My stage name. Don’t worry, my parents didn’t hate me that much to
name me Leggy.”

“Do I dare ask your real name?”

“I’ll only tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Somehow I have the feeling you’ve used this line on women
before.”

“Not a bad way to introduce one’s self, don’t you think?
It’s better than the
I’m so-and-so. Nice to meet you
bull.”

I shrugged. “It gets to the point quickly though, doesn’t
it? And who has time to waste these days?”

“I suppose.”

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for the champagne. That
was very sweet of you. Thank you.” I put my hand on his shoulder to show my
appreciation, but my gesture backfired as jolts of excitement ricocheted back
to me, throwing me off.

“No problem. Hope you and your friend enjoyed it.”

“We did.”

“So what is it then?”

“What’s what?”

“Your name.”

“Oh.” I thought for a moment. “You know what? I could
probably make up any name right now that I wanted. It’s not as if it matters,
right?”

“Are you always this obstinate?” he asked.

I scrunched up my face a little. “I would say no. But my
family often calls me stubborn or pigheaded. I like obstinate better.”

“Don’t make that face. You look too cute like that. You’re
distracting me from the question.”

“Question? What question?” I tilted my head and smiled up at
him.

“You’re being coy.”

“Why don’t we say it’s Cara?”

“We can say Cara, but we both know that’s not your name. However,
if you want to play that way, nice to meet you, Cara. I’m Leggy.”

We stared at each other for several long moments, our eyes
searching each other’s as we sized the other up. Finally I said, “I don’t
understand why you really want to know. You’ll forget it five minutes after I
tell you. I mean, you’re a singer of a rock band. But I’m not a groupie. So if
you’re looking to pick someone up for the night, you’re better off looking
elsewhere.”

I was on the hunt for a longer-term sex partner, not a
one-night stand.

He laughed, throwing his head back. “A groupie? Come on
now.”

“I’m serious. I’m not going to go home with you no matter
how generous you were with the champagne gesture.”

“Settle down, tiger. I’m not hitting on you. I’m just a
computer geek who mustered up the nerve to talk to a pretty lady.”

“Ha ha. Funny.” I looked at his outfit, which clearly
screamed bad rock ’n‘ roller, a far cry from someone calling himself a computer
geek. “Okay, Mr. IT, I’m sure I’m completely wrong. And you have a bunch of
computers and servers backstage rather than a bunch of groupies.”

He took a deep inhale and exhaled slowly before responding.
“Just because I’m a singer of a rock band doesn’t mean I have a gaggle of
groupies backstage.”

Gaggle of groupies?
I raised my eyebrows again to
indicate my skepticism. This time he caught it.

“Listen, I’m not some rock ’n‘ roll cliché.” The half-smile
that had been on his face until now disappeared into a grim line. “I am a real
person, not a caricature of one. Perhaps I overheard a couple of beautiful
women at the bar celebrating what sounded to be a momentous moment. I was
feeling pretty good after a great set and wanted to do something nice for
someone else.”

A part of me felt like shit as he did seem sincere. But
another part of me was wary. That could be his well-rehearsed excuse, just part
of his shtick to seduce unsuspecting women.

“Well, if that’s true. I thank you once again. Like I said,
it was sweet.”

He took that half-bow once again. “Good night, Cara. It was
nice not quite meeting the real you.”

“Good night, Leggy. It was also nice not quite meeting the
real you.”

He looked at me for another moment and then left.

I wanted to stomp my own foot with my stupid weapon-like
heels.

Damn, I’m such a cynical bitch.

Leggy

God, that woman was smoking hot!

Yet so cold and dismissive. Which made her all the more
intriguing.

I shook my head as I walked away.
Why am I always chasing
the ones who are clearly not interested?

“Leggy, great show tonight. You were awesome!” An attractive
blonde in a tight black dress walked alongside me.

“Cara” was right; I bet I could ask this woman to come
home with me tonight and she wouldn’t even think twice about it.

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate you coming out to see us.”

“Can we have a drink?” she asked. Her eyes were filled with
expectation.

The battle that raged inside me every time I was approached
by a pretty woman started up anew.

She’s hot. You should go for it. It’s not as if you’ve
never done it before.

Yeah, but that got old pretty quickly. What’s the point of
sleeping with someone who is only into you because you’re in a band? Most guys
would be all over that. They loved having a girl or two in every city. Juggling
women was a pastime. All that drama sounded exhausting. The awkward moments post-sex
always made me cringe.

Perhaps I’m not most guys. Perhaps I’ve had enough
meaningless encounters. It’s time for something more in a woman.

“Another time perhaps. I’m going to head backstage to cool
down after that set.”

“I could come with you. Keep you company?”

“You’re a beautiful girl and probably every other guy here
would love that. But I’m kind of beat and need to be alone for a little while.”

She didn’t bother to hide her disappointment. Then she put
on a brave smile and walked away.

I watched her walk away—tall, lean body in that tight dress.

What’s wrong with me? I must be turning into a big old
fogy in my thirties.

My thoughts diverted to the curvy brunette. Then to my hands
running over the curves underneath that dress.

A woman who shot you down earlier. A woman who is clearly
not impressed that you’re the singer of a rock band. A woman who wouldn’t even
tell you her real name.

I visualized bending her over my lap and giving her a good
spanking.

Ha, as if that would ever happen! She is clearly not
interested in you. Yet you’re still thinking about her? What a sucker for
punishment you are.

Lily

When I caught myself thinking about my conversation with
Leggy at work that week, I tried not to cringe and quickly forced myself to
think of something else. Luckily work was good for distraction from daily life.
There was always email to answer, documents to write up and new software to
learn.

After work, however, it was a different story. I’d log in my
usual hour at the gym, shower and come home for dinner. Many nights I picked up
something at the healthy fast food café next to the gym, but sometimes I became
adventurous and tried to experiment with whatever vegetables I picked up from
the farmers’ market, convincing myself I could actually cook. Some of these
experiments worked out well and others—well, I ended up picking up something at
the café after all. Since it was January in New England, the farmers’ markets
were long over so my kitchen went into hibernation.