2.
“I don’t fuck smug amateurs like you, Mr. Beckett.” I sneered toward his arrogant lips. Beckett replied with squinted, calculating eyes that seemed to be searching my expression for something more. He leaned back into his couch, spread his arms along the cushions and slightly pursed his lips in thought.
When I heard of Hands Like Heroes coming to town, I knew I had to get this Gig review in the bag. Hands Like Heroes were fucking huge- one half-decent review could go viral! Just one, tiny review and my career could fly me all the way out of this washed up place I’ve called home for too long. I already knew all there was to know about the band. I mean, there’s not much to know- three mid-twenties men with rock-hard torsos, intimidatingly sharp jaw-lines and a knack for producing some of the best, damn music of the century.
Men wanted to be them, women wanted to be with them.
They are your standard, cliché heartthrobs… and they were going to make me the most famous music journalist in the fucking country. If only I had properly prepared myself for the arrogant, gorgeous persona of Ace fucking Beckett. I had been sitting backstage, across from him for a total of five seconds before this conceited ass assumed I would fall to my knees for him. Two more seconds and he had the nerve to lean into me, just breaths away from my mouth and insinuating that this once in a lifetime interview couldn’t possibly be as enticing as a few, heated hours with Ace Beckett. If my eyes could roll any further, I’d be staring at my own spine.
“Are you sure about that?” There was this dark growl to his voice and an animalistic note to his gaze that caused me to push my thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache it left between my legs. His eyes flickered from my legs, back up to my face again as a slow, sinful grin spread across his face.
“We’ll see about that.” What an arrogant prick.I hated my body for betraying my thoughts.
I rolled my eyes once more and drew my focus back to the lightly crumpled sheets of questions I had prepared earlier. My palms were damp with perspiration and I could feel my pulse beating around my neck.
I strained my eyes back up to the vocalist for a slithering moment, to ensure he was ready for my next question. I was met with piercing, dark eyes and a smirk that catapulted my nerves into hyperdrive. Anger, arousal, confusion- I didn’t know what to focus on. All I knew was that my time with Ace was depleting and there was so much more to say. I cleared my throat, shook my head slightly and ran my shaken finger down the page, readying myself for the next question. The air was thick, the muffled sounds of delirious fans and cagey music played on the other side of the thin, wooden door, reminding me how ridiculous this man is to think I would sleep with him at a time like this. He hadn’t even asked for my name. Typical, fucking rock-stars. I let the absurdity level my thoughts, lifting my chin and raising an eyebrow to the task at hand.
“Mr. Beckett,” I started. “Tell me why you insist on writing such intense music about love, passion and insinuating monogamy, when clearly you are a man of taking what he wants, when he wants, from as many as he wants?”
My voice boomed confidently and I had to give myself a mental high-five for the passive note that I was sure to get a rise from. I smirked with purpose.
Ace chuffed slightly, not letting his eyes leave mine for a fleeting moment. My heart dropped, along with my confident grin as Becketts mouth slowly curved into a mischievous, self-assured, full blown smile. He let his big hands drop from the couch cushions and ran them down his dark, denim pants.
He leaned in once more, causing my heart to race uncontrollably. He stopped, just breaths away from me. I swallowed hard. He hovered in silence for a few moments longer, before whispering to me in the softest, low, masculine voice.
“Why don’t you ask me again after the show, Princess?”
And with that, the star stood up, stepped across my lap letting his leg brush mine- and left the fucking room before I could protest. What the fuck?
When I heard of Hands Like Heroes coming to town, I knew I had to get this Gig review in the bag. Hands Like Heroes were fucking huge- one half-decent review could go viral! Just one, tiny review and my career could fly me all the way out of this washed up place I’ve called home for too long. I already knew all there was to know about the band. I mean, there’s not much to know- three mid-twenties men with rock-hard torsos, intimidatingly sharp jaw-lines and a knack for producing some of the best, damn music of the century.
Men wanted to be them, women wanted to be with them.
They are your standard, cliché heartthrobs… and they were going to make me the most famous music journalist in the fucking country. If only I had properly prepared myself for the arrogant, gorgeous persona of Ace fucking Beckett. I had been sitting backstage, across from him for a total of five seconds before this conceited ass assumed I would fall to my knees for him. Two more seconds and he had the nerve to lean into me, just breaths away from my mouth and insinuating that this once in a lifetime interview couldn’t possibly be as enticing as a few, heated hours with Ace Beckett. If my eyes could roll any further, I’d be staring at my own spine.
“Are you sure about that?” There was this dark growl to his voice and an animalistic note to his gaze that caused me to push my thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache it left between my legs. His eyes flickered from my legs, back up to my face again as a slow, sinful grin spread across his face.
“We’ll see about that.” What an arrogant prick.I hated my body for betraying my thoughts.
I rolled my eyes once more and drew my focus back to the lightly crumpled sheets of questions I had prepared earlier. My palms were damp with perspiration and I could feel my pulse beating around my neck.
I strained my eyes back up to the vocalist for a slithering moment, to ensure he was ready for my next question. I was met with piercing, dark eyes and a smirk that catapulted my nerves into hyperdrive. Anger, arousal, confusion- I didn’t know what to focus on. All I knew was that my time with Ace was depleting and there was so much more to say. I cleared my throat, shook my head slightly and ran my shaken finger down the page, readying myself for the next question. The air was thick, the muffled sounds of delirious fans and cagey music played on the other side of the thin, wooden door, reminding me how ridiculous this man is to think I would sleep with him at a time like this. He hadn’t even asked for my name. Typical, fucking rock-stars. I let the absurdity level my thoughts, lifting my chin and raising an eyebrow to the task at hand.
“Mr. Beckett,” I started. “Tell me why you insist on writing such intense music about love, passion and insinuating monogamy, when clearly you are a man of taking what he wants, when he wants, from as many as he wants?”
My voice boomed confidently and I had to give myself a mental high-five for the passive note that I was sure to get a rise from. I smirked with purpose.
Ace chuffed slightly, not letting his eyes leave mine for a fleeting moment. My heart dropped, along with my confident grin as Becketts mouth slowly curved into a mischievous, self-assured, full blown smile. He let his big hands drop from the couch cushions and ran them down his dark, denim pants.
He leaned in once more, causing my heart to race uncontrollably. He stopped, just breaths away from me. I swallowed hard. He hovered in silence for a few moments longer, before whispering to me in the softest, low, masculine voice.
“Why don’t you ask me again after the show, Princess?”
And with that, the star stood up, stepped across my lap letting his leg brush mine- and left the fucking room before I could protest. What the fuck?
