CHAPTER NINE
DRAKE
The soldier’s name was Jimmy Redman.
I lied to Cha Cha. I do remember him, every aspect, from the kid’s puppy brown fucking eyes to the name his mumma gave him. My legs pound the rocky ground surrounding the house just after daybreak as I sprint the track my body knows well. Anything to remove the memory I thought I buried but managed to exhume last night because she asked.
Not that it's her fault. I decided that was the nighty night tale I’d tell her. Shit, I should have kissed her instead. Then I fessed up to being her stalker—one of—even if it was for a good reason.Ha. Breaking Cha Cha’s trust hurt more than I thought possible. Two fucking days with her, and I’m already well embedded into her sasaeng fan club.
Sign me up for the next tour.
Maybe her management team can put me in the waiting room with her pastel colored crew and lend me a costume to blend in.
I stop just above the house, staring down at the building. I bought the property when I left the military, needing somewhere to remove myself from the world. Hide from memories that haunted me, when being around people wasn’t the right place. Then, I slammed my feet into the track that I run now, with the house in plain view. There’s a much longer one that I’ll take her on later, that winds deeper into the mountains. The stunning views and quiet winds that speak of silent strength and sleeping gods beneath the soil will hopefully be enough to combat the nightmares Cha Cha suffers from.
They once were for me, and I hope this place will be the same for her.
I was selfish in bringing her out here. Hell, with her security budget I could have taken her anywhere in the world, hidden her on any continent. But Cha Cha is hellishly recognizable, and this is ground I’m intimately familiar with. Here, I’m king. Here, I know the land, and can protect her.
Here, she’s queen.
Shadows flicker across the windows inside the house. The movement means she’s up. Huh. I knew Cha Cha rose early on tour days, but I figured she kept those hours out of anxiety. Apparently, it’s a regular habit, or maybe I was right the first time and it’s a cycle she can’t break.
I jog down to the house, breaking off the track and enter through the back door, locking up after myself. Here, there’s no threat to her, but the need to keep her safe against the man I know will come for her is too strong. Even here, I’m all too aware of her needs to become blase.
Soft notes reach me as I unzip my jacket and hang the garment on a nail inside the door. Cha Cha toys with a melody I don’t recognize. I didn’t lie to her last night when I told her I’d listened to her entire unpublished catalogue. She circles the living area, her head down, her face obscured by her hair as shewrites notes on a notebook. Hell, she’s wearing my shirt, a grey one from my military days. The material hangs loose over her frame almost to her knees, like a dress.
When I glance at her legs, I get why. She was right; whoever packed for her while she was on stage picked…for a tour. Her legs are encased in black leather pants.. My mouth dries and I force my gaze higher. The full picture of her, leather pants, wearing my shirt, long black hair draped along her back…hell, she’s a sight. My cock kicks in my pants, the exhaustion of my run forgotten as my blood heats.
Cha Cha writes on, scribbling notes and singing softly to herself, oblivious of my study. I smile. Her home was full of handwritten notations, pages and Post Its everywhere. Most were in shapes of stylized flowers and animals, covered in lyrics she’d written in circles or ribbon shapes as though the music flowed from her in waves.
Grabbing a full water bottle and topping it up with a dose of electrolytes, I slug it back as I lean against the wall, watching her. Fuck, having her in my home is intoxicating. More than that. Seeing her create as she walks about, scribbling frantically, trying different wording…Christ, she’s beyond beautiful.
Nothing in my research trip promised me that the woman the world obsessed over—myself included, with my little crush developing daily in the two weeks I spent understanding who she was and the holes in her life—would slide into my world that differs so drastically from hers.
Cha Cha comes from a glitzy landscape where I’m far more rough and rustic. My history is brutal and hers is all auditions and tours. The one thing I’ve learned about her is that we both understand that work isn’t something we can shut off. It’s what we do, what we live. That’s the single commonality between us.
Her head raises, drawn out of her reverie. “You are a stalker,” she reproves me, though there’s nothing fearful in her voice.
Tension flexes across my shoulders at being caught out. The slightest smile curves her lips, and I relax, leaning back.
“You like stealing my clothes, princess?”
The hint of a smile becomes a full blown bratting out smirk as she peers up at me through her lashes.
Fuck me, that look should be illegal.
“You don’t want to see the top that pairs with these pants.” She kicks out a leg to demonstrate the leather that encases her like a second skin.
“Mmm.” Given permission to look, I do, sliding my gaze over her body.
Cha Cha tips her head to one side, unresistant as she returns the favor. It’s been a while since I’ve been aware of a woman checking me out. Usually, I do my job, and move right along. My scars—the ones both ironside and out—are baggage enough to weigh me down. Low enough I wonder if I’ll ever emerge. But Cha Cha digs her way under my skin, giving me reason to care. I close my eyes and inhale.
The difference of having her in my home is there, but it’s subtle. Something softer, sweeter. Like my house has been too harsh without her here. Missing her.
“I like the new song.” I keep my eyes closed, and don’t need to open them to know she’s creeping closer. Her soft footfalls are quiet, but she’s not silent.
“It’s not finished yet.”
