Colliding with a famous rock band vocalist was an accident, but dating him was a choice.
Samantha Morris never imagined her path would cross with Raymond Lawrence, the charismatic lead singer of a rock band on the brink of international fame. But on...
Sitting down at one of the mirrors, I started on my makeup: a light foundation, concealer under my eyes, dark brown eyeshadow, winged eyeliner, and a couple of coats of mascara. As I finished, I caught Ray lingering behind me in the mirror's reflection.
He was fully dressed now—black Doc Martens and a red plaid sleeveless shirt completed his look. His black hair shone under the lights in that extremely messy look he liked.
Leaning close to my ear, he said softly, "Before we go out, we need to talk." His warm breath tickled my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.
I turned in my chair to face him. "About what?" I asked, arching an eyebrow that desperately needed a bit more brow gel.
Ray placed his hands on my knees and leaned in further. "The show," he said, his voice low. "You're staying with Adam behind the curtain."
I pouted, swirling back to the mirror to finish my eyebrows. "I've been to concerts before, you know," I said, watching him shake his head in exasperation through the reflection.
"It's different now," he argued.
I grabbed my burgundy lipstick. "How?" I asked, smirking as I applied it, watching his gaze lock onto my lips.
"You're the girlfriend of a band member now. That's very different," he explained, his voice softening.
"Nobody knows that," I reminded him, capping the lipstick.
"I'm not taking any chances," he whispered.
I stood, brushing past the chair, and cupped his face in my hands. "I move among them, Ray. Invisible," I teased with a mischievous grin.
He groaned. "Don't quote TV shows at me. I'm serious," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist.
I stroked his cheek gently. "So am I. Nobody knows who I am," I assured him.
His defeated expression told me I'd won this round. Moments later, Adam burst into the room, announcing it was time. I left ahead of the band, slipping into the crowd as they readied themselves.
The concert began with Logan pounding on his drums, followed by James and Andrew shredding on their guitars. Ray appeared last, and the crowd erupted into cheers.
As the music poured through the speakers, I let myself go, moving with the sea of bodies around me. Watching Ray perform was electric. He was the same as every other time I'd seen him on stage—but now, knowing him like I did, he seemed even more magnetic. More captivating.
And in that moment, as I watched him under the lights, I realized my feelings for him went deeper than I'd ever imagined.
The last chords of the song faded, and I took my cue to sneak out of the crowd and back to the dressing room. The heat and stickiness clung to my skin like a second layer, and I needed a moment to breathe. Over two hours crawled by before the guys finally joined me, smelling of sweat and adrenaline. They'd been taking photos with fans and signing merch, but now they collapsed on the leather couch, passing around a bottle of whiskey and picking at cold pizza leftovers.
Logan tilted his drink toward Ray, breaking the comfortable silence. "Need a lift anywhere?"
Ray glanced at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We'll be at Carlton's. It's only about five minutes away."
I nearly choked on my sip of whiskey as the burn hit the back of my throat. "We'll be where?" I asked, arching an eyebrow and nailing him with a pointed look.
The guys exchanged knowing grins, and Ray leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "I got us a hotel room," he murmured, punctuating the sentence with a quick, playful eyebrow raise.
A slow, involuntary smile spread across my face. "Oh, okay then," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the heat rising in my cheeks.
The rest of the band burst into laughter, clearly enjoying the moment at my expense.
By the time the whiskey bottle was drained and the last of the fans had drifted away, Louis arrived with the bus. They loaded up the equipment, making plans to park it for the night and crash. That left Ray and me standing alone on the sidewalk outside La Cigale, the night air cooling the lingering sweat on my skin.
The hotel was only a short walk, nestled among other pale gray and brown buildings along Boulevard de Rochechouart. Its black balconies and ornate doors gave it an understated elegance, though I barely noticed as we checked in. Ray handled the key, opening the door and stepping aside to let me enter first.
The room was dark, the heavy curtains letting only a sliver of streetlight filter in. When Ray flicked the switch, warm light revealed a long corridor with a wardrobe and mirror on one side. Beyond that, the room opened up into a small space dominated by a double bed with matching nightstands. A pair of chairs faced the windows, and a TV perched on a table against the far wall. The decor was simple—white walls, dark brown furniture—but it felt clean and comfortable.
I tossed my bag onto one of the chairs, suddenly aware of how much I needed a shower. The guys had already rinsed off at the venue, but I'd put it off once Ray mentioned the hotel. Grabbing my toiletries, I headed straight for the bathroom, leaving him to his own devices.
The hot water was a relief, washing away the grime and tension of the night. I took my time, scrubbing every inch of my skin until it felt new again. Wrapping myself in the plush hotel robe, I stepped back into the bedroom, towel-drying my damp hair as I went.
But Ray wasn't there.
I froze, glancing around the room. The bed was untouched, and there was no sign of him. My chest tightened. Where the fuck is he?
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