8
NOLAN
OCTOBER 2027
Six shows down and Benji keeps to his word because he’s supremely annoying. Golden retriever piece of shit. Before every show he kisses me senseless until all the tension bleeds from my body like a balloon slowly losing air. After shows, he fucks me however I want, which usually means a quickie in the bathroom of the VIP room in the arena. When we’re finished, he always rests his forehead against my shoulder, panting like he’s run a marathon.
A small part of me is pleased that I can break him down.
But he’s not a cure-all.
The stage is still one of the worst places in the world. Standing in front of the crowd, hearing them sing my own words back to me, feels like a thousand fire ants crawling over my skin, biting me until their venom finally stops my heart. One of these days, I’m going to drop dead on the stage. A cautionary tale that sometimes the thing you want most in the world is the thing that kills you in the bitter end.
“It’s date night,” Benji announces as he brushes his teeth.
“I have to do an interview with the local news.”
Benji rolls his eyes. “Tomorrow after the show,” he mumbles around his toothbrush, foam creeping out of the corner of his mouth.
“Yes… I need to prepare for it, you see,” I say blandly. “Do my due diligence.”
I watch as he spits the toothpaste into the sink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like a fucking caveman. Why the hell does that turn me on? Everything about this man is so annoying. Benji hurriedly grabs his ratty shirt from the counter and slips it over his head, looking way too good for only wearing dark jeans and a navy V-neck. His eyes are so startlingly light blue that sometimes I get caught up in staring at them. It’s like staring at the sky after a storm, with no cloud in sight. That’s Benji, no clouds at all.
“Don’t try to wiggle your way out of it. You know the rules.” Benji crawls back onto the bed to lie over me. His warmth seeps into my slightly chilly skin. “Nolan, be good.”
And then he kisses me despite my morning breath. I try to turn the kiss from slow and gentle into filthy; maybe he’ll fuck me if I’m nasty enough. But Benji pulls away to smirk down at me.
“Stop.”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“You think if you distract me with your nasty mouth, I’ll change my mind about the date.”
Well, he’s got me there. I shove him off, but instead of getting mad, the fucker just laughs as he falls back onto the bed. His messy hair and easy grin stir some odd feeling in my chest that I can’t explain. I don't want to try to explain it either. Benji is dangerous. Not in the sort of way I’m used to with the guys who fight back, but in the way that I think if I let him, he could do serious damage to my already tenuously hanging-on heart.
“I’ve never been to Ireland, so I want to see the countryside,” Benji says as he tangles his fingers together over his chest. He’s the picture of absolute serenity.
“We’re in Dublin.”
Benji turns his head to aim those annoyingly beautiful eyes at me. I have to suppress a shudder as I tug on a pair of ripped jeans. Black is my go-to color because it attracts the least amount of attention. So, black jeans, black T-shirt, and a black hoodie are my standard outfit. Plus, a good hoodie covers up all my tattoos which are my most recognizable feature.
Benji rolls off the bed with an annoyed sigh, at least I assume it’s annoyed. After tugging on a grandpa cardigan, he comes to an abrupt stop in front of me. Using his knuckles, Benji tilts my head up slightly so that he can press a soft kiss to the hollow of my throat. He nuzzles against my skin, taking a deep breath.
“You always smell so good in the mornings,” Benji whispers against my skin.
What the hell. I back away from him and roughly smack his hand. “Cut it out.”
I leave him standing forlornly in the middle of the bedroom. After brushing my own teeth, I stride toward the entrance of the penthouse, knowing that Benji will follow me without a word. Benji orchestrated the driver to take us somewhere that I have no clue about.
Surprises suck. I always want to know what’s happening. The driver is thankfully quiet as we climb into the car. I hate chatty drivers. Downtown Dublin rolls past outside the window in flashes of dark green. Everything is sort of dreary, the air crisp. Ireland reminds me of Northern California.
Benji makes a small sound, tugging my attention back to him. He’s wearing this dopey sort of smile that makes my stomach do that weird fluttery thing again. I push my sunglasses up over my eyes and turn back to the window so I don’t have tolook at him. We ride along for almost an hour until we come to a stop in a small town hidden among grassy hills.
“You’ll wait?” Benji asks the driver.
The guy looks at him like he’s crazy but nods anyway. Poor Benji doesn’t realize this guy has been paid to take us wherever we want without question. Like the goddamn puppy he is, Benji grins at me as he comes around the car to grab my hand.
“There is a castle,” Benji says excitedly.
