Rory vs. Rockstar

“Hey!” Even though she was loud, Arsen could tell that under normal circumstances, she was a soft-spoken person. As a musician, he had come to notice such things about people. There was rarely a sound that escaped his trained ears. He rolled off of her, landing on the soft ground next to them.

The woman shot up like an arrow and stood stiffly, clearly not pleased with being trapped under him. Arsen just held up his hands in surrender, a wicked smile forcing its way to his lips. The woman just stood with her hands on her hips. Arsen composed his thoughts and readied himself to deal with the situation.

Dizziness threatened to overtake him as he stood up and looked around. He’d crashed the expensive Ferrari onto the peripheral wall of the house and there it lay, lodged right next to the small gate. Fuck, this is the last goddamn thing I need. Rage overcame him and he kicked the car hard. The pain that shot through his ankle was severe.

“Fuck.” He let out a loud grunt.

The only response he got was the sound of the car stereo kicking in. Strangers in the night, exchanging glances, sang Sinatra. The timing made him laugh. The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

Neither was the fact that by some miracle, he had escaped a big disaster today. Anything could’ve happened, but someone above was clearly watching out for me.

Although not a religious man, Arsen reluctantly thanked whichever power controlled the universe that he was still breathing. Strangely enough, he couldn’t recall the last time he had felt so alive.

“Should I call the ambulance? Or 911?” Her voice was softer this time, and it jolted Arsen out of his dizzy thoughts. It surprised him. Anyone else would’ve been scared after watching a half-drunk madman kick his trashed car. He knew that if he was going to get out of this mess, he needed her help.

Strangers in the night…

Arsen didn’t want to freak the girl out, but at the same time, the troubles that would come with a DUI would ruin everything. Even Don couldn’t hide that. He looked up and down the road for the presence of any paparazzi. Even they had given up against the torrential rain and stayed indoors.

He pulled out his phone to call his manager Don and grimaced when he saw that the battery was dead. Fuck. Don would’ve fixed this in a hot minute and no one would’ve known. It was just for such emergencies that he had memorized Don’s number by heart. No matter where he was in the world, he could count on Don to get him out of trouble. Too much was riding on Arsen and Insurrection for him not to.

Arsen felt his back pocket to see if his wallet was there, and thankfully it was. He probably had a couple of grand in there and could throw money at this girl to let it slide under the rug. He stole a glance at her. Stripped by the rainy cold, her face was pale and yet her bright eyes burned with a fiery courage that he rarely saw in people.

Or maybe she’s just pissed at me.

Arsen felt his legs wobble and realized that he had messed up his ankle, which seemed badly twisted.

“Can I come inside and make a phone call?” He showed the woman his dead cell phone. No reply. She just stood there, silently judging him, looking visibly uncomfortable. She stared at the wrecked car and looked around to see if anyone was watching. In the quietest part of quaint Montcove, no heads had poked out.

“I’ll just call someone who can come and help me out with this.” He was still trying to figure out if she knew who he was.

“Shouldn’t we just call 911?” She crossed her arms and seemed unsure about letting him in.

“I’d much rather we not. I’ve had a wee bit to drink.” He decided to come clean. “I’d appreciate your help. I promise you that this will be sorted out in no time at all.” Arsen hated to beg anyone for anything, but he had no choice. As a man who had spent his whole life fighting for scraps, he didn’t like resorting to it now that he was successful.

“Okay.” That was all she said as she turned around and walked back to the house.

Strangers in the night…

Arsen took one last look at the wrecked piece of machinery, took out the keys, and hobbled on behind her. He hoped she wouldn’t notice that he was checking out her ass on the way.

4

The stranger was sitting silently for the last fifteen minutes and seemed lost in his own thoughts. Rory had shown him the phone in the living room and had hastily gone inside to get her own cell in case he did anything weird. She hated this disruption in the night and was very suspicious of the reluctance of this man to call 911, but she couldn’t possibly let him sit out there in the rain, cold and injured.

She stared at him from the hallway window that looked onto the outer living room and tried to judge what kind of a man he was. He didn’t look like a criminal or anything, not that they had all that many in Montcove. He seemed to be wearing expensive clothes, although he had an odd sense of style about him. A black leather jacket, worn over a white tee. A scarf sat loose around his neck, and he wore tight black jeans paired with black boots.

In the lamp light of the living room, she noticed the slight reflections of his rings and the big cross that he wore around his neck. Doesn’t seem to be a religious guy at all, but who am I to know? She could barely make out his facial features, but even then she could tell that he had a strong, chiseled jawline under the close beard, and his thick, neck-length hair sat handsomely on his tall frame.

For a moment she even felt bad for him as she sensed the torment in his expression. But he had disturbed her nightly routine, wrecked the back wall of the house, and had acted like a raging lunatic.

As she thought of him landing on top of her earlier, Rory realized that it was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in all of her time at Montcove. The heat between them was unmistakable, colored by the scent of his aftershave, wet leather, and the intimate fragrance of pure man.

The desire that had crept into her core had terrified her as his broad shoulders hovered over her frame. His masculinity overwhelmed her. She was reminded of what it felt like to be attracted to a man, even for a fleeting moment. Although this attraction was stronger than anything she’d felt. He was a man who needed no comforting, and yet she had somehow felt inclined to do just that for him. To her, he seemed like a man with weight on his heart.

He raised his head as she walked back into the living room. The table lamp lit the hard set to his jaw, tendons flexing in his neck.

“I’m… I can’t seem to recall the number that I want to dial.” He had a low urgency in his voice.