The tattoos were...stunning. I couldn’t make them out with the lighting of the photograph, but I could say I was intrigued.
His chest hair was less than a pelt, but more than a smattering—with tight black curls just waiting to be caressed.
Finally, he wore sunglasses that obscured his eyes. With his dark coloring, I assumed his eyes were dark brown, but I might’ve been wrong.
I stared at his photograph.
Then noticed the title of the article.The Next Lenny Kravitz?
Okay, I didn’t know much about music, but I’d heard of Lenny Kravitz. I clicked on the link to hisAmerican Womanvideo.
Yikes. Talk about objectification of women. Although that was sort of what the song was about. And thewoman? I searched and discovered she was actress Heather Graham.
And then I realized I’d spent ten precious minutes going down a rabbit hole that didn’t necessarily need going down.
Except…yeah. Malik looked like a young Lenny Kravitz.
So, I clicked on a link to a YouTube video.
And…sat in stunned silence.
Malik playing guitar. Malik singing. Malik making out with…yep, a guy.
Okay, well, that answers an inappropriate question that was swirling in your mind. Yes, he’s gay. Or bi. Damn attractive too.
And it’d been a very, very, very long time since I’d gotten laid.
I closed my eyes. Yep, Paul.
Over a year. Not since I’d left the firm. My former coworker
Well, shit.I need to go down to Davie Street this weekend, find a bar, and damn well find a hookup.Maybe I’d run into someone I’d turned down in the past because I’d been in a relationship with Paul. I sort of remembered an ironworker with a scar on his face and a bit of an attitude. He’d turned me on—but I’d turned him down. A firefighter? He’d been a ginger and super cute. And I seemed to remember a rugby player…
All these perfectly acceptable men whom I’d turned down because I’d fancied myself in love with my boyfriend.
What a crock of shit that turned out to be.
Another ping had me opening Bonnie’s next email.
Vancouver’s Favorite Son Moves from Violin to Electric Guitar.
Okay, that had me intrigued as well. I scanned the article that talked about how Malik had been a prodigy on the violin. The accolades he’d received as a young boy. The success as a young man. The tragedy of losing his parents at only twenty-one. Then, finally, his decision to leave the symphony to blaze a trail as a rock star.
The article chronicled his first eighteen months—the struggle to put together a band. Finding rehearsal space. Recording their first album.
I didn’t know much about music these days, but I was aware that making music was pretty easy with all the things one could do with a computer. But for quality production, old-fashioned was still best.
More rabbit holes.
What I wasn’t seeing was an explanation as to why—
Well, shit.
“I want to do more with my platform. One day I’m going to be a megastar, and if I can elevate causes that are important to me, then that’s what I’ll do. I have to be strategic, though. Use social media to my advantage.”
Okay then, at least I understood a little bit better.
A knock sounded on my door.
