Head-Tripped: A Sexy Rock Star Romance (Ad Agency Series Book 2) Page 4

  “What are you doing?” Elias asked.

  “Making some moola.”

  “¡Qué! You’re gonna beg?” He waved a finger. “No, no, no. I can’t allow you to do that.”

  She ignored him and lifted the violin to her chin.

  Boiling hot blood rushed to his face. He backed away and hid near the exit. A woman was begging for his dinner. How humiliating. He should just go. Run out of there. Escape.

  But then her music drifted over the white noise, sweet and delicate, yet powerful and mysterious. Like her.

  She wasn’t lying about playing the violin. What she wasn’t honest about was how good she was.

  An old lady listened for a moment then threw a dollar in the case. A guy in a suit stopped and checked her out then kept walking. Pennies for the performance of a lifetime. He would have given her five hundred bucks, maybe even a thousand. Instead, he stood there and gawked.

  After the song, she bent down and counted the money in the case. “Fifteen bucks. Enough for a couple slices of pizza.”

  He pinched his bottom lip until it hurt. “I can’t let you do that,” he said. “It’s against my religion to let a woman pay for dinner.”

  “We can eat at my place,” she said timidly. “But it’s in Brooklyn. And I only have ramen noodles.”

  “I love ramen noodles,” he said.

  5

  Sonata

  “‘Pretend to be two people! Why, there’s hardly enough of me left to make one respectable person!’”

  Soundtrack “Room in Here,” Anderson. Paak, The Game

  On the subway, Elias unfolded a newspaper and hid behind it.

  Effie peered over the top. “Are you a spy?”

  “I’m not crazy about the subway.”

  “Really? I love it. It’s fascinating. All these people in one place. Close your eyes,” she said.

  “What? No. That’s dangerous.”

  “Just do it. Come on.”

  He gave her a sideways glance then closed his eyes.

  “Now, listen to the music.”

  “The music?”

  “Yeah, the symphony of humanity.” The train screeched along the tracks and scratchy bass thumped through someone’s ear buds. Amidst the sneezes and coughs and conversational buzz, an elderly couple chatted. “I like that hat,” the woman said.

  “That’s her hair,” the man said.

  “Oh, my! It looks warm.”

  Elias chuckled.

  “Did you hear that?” Effie asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Keep listening.”

  Two guys argued at the other end of the train. The first one whined, “Look, I’m just saying, if you still loved me, you’d stop talking to your ex so much.”

  “If you don’t shut your mouth, I will fuck it,” the other guy said.

  “I’ll have to remember that line,” Elias whispered.

  She laughed.

  At the next station, a guy stood beside them and screamed into his phone. “Motherfucker, I don’t need you organizing my love life. You’ve been stabbed by two different women. The second one cut you with a SWORD. Dagger, sword, whatever. They come at you with blades, man.”

  Elias snorted.

  “See? What did I tell you? It’s fun, huh?”

  “Pretty entertaining,” he said.

  “That guy looks just like El Love.” A young woman pointed at Elias.

  Her friend didn’t look up from his book. “Yeah, like El Love rides the C train.”

  Paper crinkled next to her. Elias ducked behind the newspaper again.

  She peered behind it. “You okay?”

  “How many more stops?”

  “Two more.”

  He looked really nervous. Maybe he suffered from anxiety. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll let you get back to the Gay Times.”

  He tossed the paper on the seat, draped an arm around her, and spread his thighs wide.

  “You’re not gay, right?” she asked.

  “I’m definitely not gay.” He moved in closer, his lips within kissing distance.

  A freezing burn engulfed her—hot attraction laced with fear. Her first kiss in years was about to take place on a urine-soaked subway in front of a crowd of people. Another inch and she’d taste him. Was she ready for this? It didn’t feel right. She drew back.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Between her shoulder blades, the sting of her past throbbed. She rubbed the spot while a rambling schizophrenic captured Elias’s attention. A minute later, they arrived at her station.

  On the way to her place, she didn’t speak. Instead, she worried.

  Her therapist told her sex was as addictive as drugs. If Effie were seeking something lasting, she needed to take it slow, become friends first and build a solid foundation that way.

  Plus, she’d vowed never to sleep with someone again unless they were serious, unless she was in love.

  By the time they arrived at her door, she was so frantic she dropped the key twice.

  Elias picked it up the second time and moved toward the lock.

  “I’m a virgin!” she blurted out.

  His hand froze.

  “Well, not technically,” she added. “I’ve had sex, but bad sex doesn’t count.”

  “How much bad sex have you had?”

  She swept a dramatic hand across her forehead. “Any bad sex is too much.”

  “True.” He shoved a hand in his pocket. “Should I leave?”

  No, don’t leave. Please stay. “That depends, are you expecting sex?”

  “I’m just here for the ramen noodles.”

  “Oh.”

  He chuckled. “F-bomb, porfa. I’m kidding.” He caressed her cheek. “I’m cool with just chillin’.”

  “Is it all right if we don’t go any further than first base?” She winced.

  “What’s first base?”

  “Anal.”

  “I’m down with that.”

  “It was a joke.”

  “I know. Let me in.”

  “Just so we’re clear, anal is way out in left-field, not even close to the bases.”

  “Effie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You gonna let me in?”

  “I guess.”

  “Want me to open the door?”

  “Please.”

  Inside, he took off his coat then rubbed his hands together. “Where’s that ramen?”

  “Never seen anyone so excited about ramen.”

  “I’m not.” He stepped closer. “I just can’t wait to see you bending over a hot stove in that little dress.”

  Their gazes collided, and her lamp flickered. The brick walls blurred to an abstract painting. A drip from the faucet hit the steel sink with a clang. In the distance, a siren whirred and her lungs trapped a panicky breath.

  She was hooked.

  The curves of his mouth. The pattern of his scruff. The cut of his cheekbones. His coppery-green irises. She memorized every detail, because as sure as the sun would set tomorrow, that man would break her heart.

  He captured a tendril of hair stuck to her lips and pushed it behind her ear. “You’re nervous.”

  She shook her head then nodded. “A little.”

  “Me too.”

  “Really?” She perked up. “Why?”

  “Because MSG does terrible things to me.” He cracked a sly grin.

  She wagged her finger. “You’re dangerous.”

  He clutched his chest. “Me? What about you, wild woman? I never crashed a wedding before you showed up. And I’ve never been chased by the cops.” He wagged a finger. “You’re a bad influence.”

  That sinking feeling swept in again. Time to change the subject. “Ready for some ramen? Still hungry?”

  His gaze traveled the length of her body. “Starving.”

  6

  Cadenza

  Soundtrack “I Put A Spell On You,” Annie Lennox

  This was the weirdest dream. Surely, he wasn’t really in
Brooklyn, sitting on the floor between a scuffed-up cello and an old electric piano, eating ramen noodles.

  “We can eat on my bed,” she’d suggested.

  “Too risky.”

  “Yeah, we might spill.”

  Or he might end up dry-humping her like a pre-pubescent boy.

  After he ate a bowl of the shitty noodles, he patted his belly and said, “Riquísimo.”

  A shy smile crept up. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  Except her bed. He was dying to get his hands on her sweet little ass.

  But even if she miraculously changed her mind, there was no doubt she’d expect something from him afterwards, and other than an orgasm or two and a goodnight kiss, he had nada to give.

  Women usually begged him for sex, not the other way around. Why then, was he hanging out in Brooklyn, making light conversation—something he hated—eating ramen—something he swore off years ago—with a complete stranger, albeit a spicy hot one—who wasn’t going to let him get past first base?

  What the fuck was first base, anyway? Kissing? Finger-banging? Clitoral massage?

  Whatever. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t getting any.

  So why was he there, then?

  Because this woman, this tiny tesoro, with her long golden hair, freckled nose, and milky skin, had cast a spell on him. Most likely with those eyes of hers. No one had eyes that blue.

  Sí, that was the only answer—she’d bewitched him.

  That’s why he was acting like a fool—punching people, allowing women to beg for his supper. Dios.

  Amped up—that’s what he was. Ready to explode. Like he’d gone feral. His muscles twitched involuntarily as if he were subconsciously getting ready to pounce on her.

  But also, he felt strangely at ease—tranquilo—like he belonged there with her.

  As she rinsed off the dishes, she hummed. She probably didn’t even realize it. Music just naturally flowed out of her.

  Shaking off the urge to bend her over the sink, he bounced on his feet. “You really play all these instruments?” he asked.

  She wiped her hands on a towel and joined him. “I’m learning.”

  He passed her a beat-up trumpet. “Let’s hear what you got.”

  She puffed her cheeks and played the military “Reveille” as if she’d done it every morning for the past ten years.

  It turned into a game: he’d hand her an instrument and she’d blow him away.

  After the third time, she stopped and frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m a circus freak?”

  “No, princesa. You impress me. And inspire me. I feel like writing music.” He picked up her crappy guitar. “You mind? I’ve got a song stuck in my head.”

  “Be my guest.” She sat cross-legged on the bed.

  He strummed a few chords.

  “You’re left-handed?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it’s a pain.”

  “Me too.”

  “You play violin with your right, though.”

  “I have to. There aren’t any left-handed violin players.”

  “None?”

  “It’s rare.”

  In awe, he stared at her. “You play that well with your bad hand?”

  “I got a raw deal in the womb.” She twirled her hair around her finger. “My sister and I are mirror twins. We look alike, except everything is opposite. She’s right-handed, I’m left.”

  “Me estás jodiendo! There are two of you?” He made the sign of the cross. Two of them! Ay ay ay! If he didn’t channel his sexual energy into something soon, he’d have to beat off in her bathroom.

  He blew out a loud breath, strummed a few chords, and then let his brain go on autopilot.

  She jumped up and grabbed the cello, adding harmony to his melody.

  “I like that,” he said. “It’s different.”

  “Pick up the tempo, like this.” She tapped her foot faster.

  He added a beat on the side of the guitar.

  She slammed her eyes closed.

  “What?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t sound right. It needs something. Ever heard of chaos theory?”

  “Like random events?”

  “Sort of. Everything in nature is chaotic—rivers, clouds, trees. This song needs a pinch of nature. It’s too predictable. Here, I’ll show you.” She picked up the violin and played his song. “Now, here’s chaos theory applied.”

  He shot up from his seat, electrified by the sound. “I get it. You’re building tension. It’s sexy.”

  “Yes!” She hooted and clapped and danced in a circle.

  He chuckled. Such a silly woman. “They teach you chaos theory at Juilliard?”

  She bit her lip. “I . . . um . . . spent a lot of time at the library.”

  Why did she seem embarrassed by this? As a kid, he actually lived in his elementary school library. But he wasn’t about to share that with her.

  Instead, he shared music. They wrote five songs together—one every hour.

  For two months, he’d been stuck, and all of a sudden she comes along, and he was a songwriting machine.

  “Okay if I play these songs with my band?” he asked.

  “Only if you invite me to the next show.”

  And just like that, his excitement shriveled up like a prune. The next show was in Europe. In a week. In front of a crowd of fifty thousand. Game over. Exhaustion washed over him.

  He set down his guitar and stretched his arms. “I’m beat. Mind if I crash here?” He put his hand over his heart. “I won’t touch you, not even if you beg.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said. “I don’t trust me.”

  “No problemo. Touch me all you want. Mind if I take off my shirt?”

  She pretended to cry and warded him off with cross fingers. “Yes.”

  He shook his head and laughed.

  “Stop being so hot!” she whined.

  “You first.”

  “Get in bed before I change my mind.” She turned her back and yanked off her dress. Before she slipped on a t-shirt, he caught a precious glimpse of side-boob and nipple.

  He adjusted his pants and lay down.

  She twirled around and locked her gaze on his hard-on. “Oh come on!” she shouted at the ceiling. “I’m not strong enough for this.”

  “Sorry.” He raised his hands “Can’t control him. He does whatever he wants.”

  She scrunched her eyes closed and turned off the lamp. The streetlight outside cast a yellow crescent on her profile. Side-by-side, gazes bonded, neither moved, nor spoke.

  How many women had he fucked in his lifetime? Too many to count. Even though he never touched drugs or alcohol, it took work for a woman to get him off. But all she had to do was look at him and he was ready.

  “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

  She hesitated for too long. “Not on the first date.”

  “This is a date?”

  “It isn’t?”

  “I don’t make my dates beg for food. And I rarely assault people on the first date.”

  “What about the Bar Mitzvah gang?”

  “Now them, I planned.”

  She stroked his chin. “I like you, Elvis.”

  “I like you too, F-bomb.”

  Her breathing evened out and just as the morning birds started chirping, she fell asleep. And just like a total creeper, he watched her until her pretty face blurred then disappeared in his dream.

  7

  Portamento

  “For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.”

  Soundtrack “Light of the Morning,” Band of Skulls

  Effie woke up in a pool of her own spit—on Elias’s tummy—right next to his raging erection. Well, someone was awake.

  She sat up and wiped her mouth. “Sorry about that.”

  “I love it when
hot women drool all over me.” He nodded to his morning wood. “Obviously.”

  The desire to mount him overwhelmed her. She covered her eyes. “Put that away, would you?”

  “Podría metértela en la boca.”

  “You just said something naughty, didn’t you?”

  He winked. “Maybe.”

  “Never mind.” She ripped her attention off his lap. “What time is it?”

  “Noon.”

  Reality hit like a bolt of lightning. She tore off her clothes and ran to the bathroom.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to teach a lesson in thirty minutes.” She hopped in the shower with her toothbrush.

  A minute later, he opened the door and stepped in. She spit out her toothbrush and dropped the shampoo.

  They knocked heads bending over to retrieve the bottle.

  He massaged his temple. “Jesus, I’m batting a thousand in the smooth move department.”

  She slapped her hands over her eyes. “Oh my God, I can’t.”

  “Can’t what?”

  He was grinning. She heard it in his voice. “You can’t be in here!”

  “I’m just gonna rinse off real quick.”

  She peeked through her fingers. “Are you out yet?”

  Yep, he was grinning.

  “Hard, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Yes! Now get your hard penis out of here.”

  “Not me, you!”

  She flattened her back against the wall and fake-cried under her forearm.

  “First, you took off your panties and bra in the limo.” He folded down a finger for every offense. “Then, you whipped off your dress in front of me. You slept on mi pija all night! And then you took off your clothes again. I didn’t sleep at ALL. Not un minuto.” His feigned rage was as adorable as his penis.

  His sexy stink-eye stayed stuck to her as he rinsed off then stepped out of the shower. “Paybacks are a bitch, aren’t they?”

  “You wicked man.”

  “Me?” he said innocently. “You’re the evil one. Can I use your toothpaste?”

  Yes, twice a day for the rest of my life. She gurgled nonsense under the shower.