Hard Rider

I was ready to go home.

I was done.

And I couldn’t wait to take her with me.

Angel

“This is our last night on the road,” Trent whispered to me one early morning in the dark. We were lying in bed together, cuddling naked. It was swiftly becoming a favorite pastime of mine.

“I’ll bet you’re ready to be done with this.”

“Oh, you have no idea…”

I knew what I wanted to ask, but he never made it easy on me.

“So…” I started.

“So,” he repeated, a sly smile on his face.

“After tonight…what happens? Do I have to go back to Alabama, or…?”

Trent rolled over, propping up his face with his elbow. “Well, that’s up to you, honestly.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Trent grinned. “Kind of grown to like having you around for now. You’re just so great in bed,” he whispered, kissing my neck as he hand ran up my thigh. It sent a shiver up my spine, even if he was mixing in a little too much arrogance into his words for my taste. “I was sort of thinking you would come back with me.”

“What, to your place?”

“That’s right.”

I searched his eyes, but there was nothing there to tell me that he was anything less than completely sincere – regardless of his inability to be kind for more than a few minutes without making himself sound like an egotistical or insensitive prick.

Truth be told… I didn’t want to leave him even if I knew I was playing with fire. This thing that we shared, whatever it was, struck me as the flicker of a lightly burning fire. So far, we could pull back from the heat, save ourselves from the inferno in our future. Everything that we did only added fuel to the flames; it built up a glowering blaze that threatened to erupt into wildfire with too much tinder on the pile.

Am I equipped to handle it if I get burned?

I tried to push these thoughts aside, focusing on something true and solid. I needed another stone; I needed something else to take my attention, something to focus on when things grew too wild between us.

I will not be a burning Angel, I thought.

So, I agreed.

Why wouldn’t I have?

It’s not like I really had anywhere else to go, anyway.

The last performance night came and went, surprisingly quicker than I thought. I’d never thought to ask, but apparently the whole band – manager and all – lived in the same city. That made sense, explaining how they’d come together in the first place.

The tour had been scheduled to end at their hometown, earlier than usual. After they came back into the bus and cleaned up, the driver took us by each home, dropping each member off. As the prospect of rest came, each band member was clearly relieved, if not a bit exhausted.

They even allowed me out of the back of the bus to say their proper goodbyes for now.

I hadn’t heard anything but awful things about Steven, but even he seemed civil, given that the tour was finally over. Although, we clearly weren’t on the best terms after all; he angrily sneered at me when he saw me pop out to head for the bathroom.

Soon, there was just the two of us left, Trent and me, and the bus pulled up to a curb to let us out in a small neighborhood.

Throughout our entire time together, Trent had barely said a word about his place. I guess I came up with my own idea of where a rock star lived… Somewhere cold, industrial, and smelling of the filthy city.

As I stepped out of his car and gazed up the driveway, I realized just how wrong I’d been.

Beachfront.

Honest to God beachfront!

For such a cocky and egotistical guy, he’d been modest in his silence. Here I was, thinking he lived in some rudimentary, dirty old house, but the truth was just completely incredible. Sitting against the water with the ocean to its back, his house put me in awe. A place like this had to cost an absolute fortune...

Once we stepped inside, I realized just how big a star Trent really was… As beautiful as the home was from the driveway, the interior was on a whole different level. I’d never seen a house like this… Hell, I’d never been in the same county as a house like this!

For the generous den area, a massive 81-inch television screen dominated the space with ample sectional seating for a dozen people or more. One hell of an interior designer must have come through at some point, because nothing about Trent exactly screamed tasteful stone paneling or expensive, modern lighting.

A few entire bedrooms on both floors were closed off, collecting dust from disuse. He kept two – one for himself, and another as a practice room, with a few instruments around and a sound recording chamber.

I didn’t even know that he could play, but these guitars, drums, and other assorted instruments were clearly not just for display. As I thought about this, I remembered that his fingers were slightly rougher than the rest of his hands. Once I’d put two and two together, I came to have a deeper appreciation for his talents.

Trent’s small fortress of a kitchen featured top-of-the-line appliances, enough counter space to feed a full party, and cookery that would make a professional chef weep. For a girl used to a hot plate and a microwave, it was like stepping into heaven.

“HOW,” I muttered breathlessly as I took it all in. “HOW CAN YOU AFFORD ALL OF THIS.”

“Friend of mine in the industry got it up his ass that he wanted to leave the country. Head somewhere exotic, like Hong Kong or something. I wound up getting a pretty killer deal...” He grinned self-importantly, carefully watching for my reaction.

“Still,” I murmured. My hands ran along the sectional couch. It was plush, comfortable, and looked like it had been barely used at all. “This thing probably cost more than I made all year…”

“This is the kind of money you wind up with when you’re smart, negotiate a good contract, and happen to strike it lucky with a few big singles,” he shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt that I got a competent lawyer involved at the start… or that we’ve been touring pretty much nonstop.”

Trent glanced around for a moment, lost in thought. “I think this is the first time I’ve actually stepped foot in this place in months. That’s kind of strange to think about, now that it’s all over and I can finally kick my feet up…”

“It looks like it. You could probably put most of this stuff back in the boxes, they look so new.”

“Yeah, well…material possessions were never really my thing,” he shrugged. “Just sort of weigh you down, you know? All I ever really needed was myself.”

“For someone who says that, you have a lot of it.”

“Look around,” he retorted.

I did, and I saw his point.

There was barely anything in the way of decorations. I could see now that on a couple of bookcases, he had some books…and a few awards, but a lot of empty space. There weren’t any paintings on the walls; he didn’t have the patience for extraneous pieces of décor on his countertops. Hell, the only thing that kept his coffee table company was the TV remote.

I flipped through living room cabinets, expecting a sea of blu-ray films or DVDs. That’s what guys like, right? Collecting up a sea of barely-watched multimedia to show off to their guests? Instead, they were almost all completely empty.

“My accountant basically forced me to buy this place. Said I couldn’t just leave my money sitting in the bank with the low interest rates… All this shit? It came with the house. Give me a ten by twenty hotel room and my guitar and I’m happy…”

“So… We’re supposed to live here? In a place like this?” Angel asked quietly, taking it all in.

“That’s the plan. We’re going to need to shop for some groceries,” he answered as he watched me peer around. “No point in stocking up prior to a tour, you know. Unless you have a problem with that…”

I almost burst into laughter.

“What did you want

to do for dinner?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” he smiled cockily. “I was thinking something nice, tender, and juicy. Maybe you. Serve you up on a plate, your legs spread wide for me… nothing juicer than that.”

I lightly slapped at his wrist as he reached for the hem of my shirt. “There’s time for that… but I’m actually really hungry. Can we order take-out? Is it too late for that?”

“Nah,” he chuckled, immediately fishing out his phone. “What’re you in the mood for? Anything in particular?”

My stomach rumbled, as if offering a suggestion.

“You know, I feel like I could go for a pizza.”

“Kind of what I was thinking, too…”

We rattled out the details and settled on it, and he placed an order to a gourmet delivery pizza spot.

About half an hour (and an autograph to the star-struck delivery teenager) later, we were settling down in front of the big screen on the couch and enjoying thick, greasy, cheesy pizza. A sitcom was on in the background – one of those late nineties shows that seemed vaguely familiar.

We didn’t have cable much while I grew up, so pretty much anything on the television was alien to me.

“This is amazing,” I told him when the commercial break came back on.

He flashed a smile. “The pizza?”

“All of it,” I confessed. “The pizza. This place. You,” I added seductively. “A couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t imagine having this kind of life…and now…for a little while, at least, I do.”

“Hey, none of this for a little while bullshit,” Trent told me, sliding down in the couch to look me in the eyes.

“You…can’t mean that,” I replied, gazing into his eyes. “There’s no way…”

“I mean it,” he whispered hungrily, pulling me close. “You are mine, Angel. You belong to me… no exceptions. None whatsoever. Do you understand? You’re MINE.”

“I…”

The sheer force of conviction burning in his dominant eyes took me aback. They were filled with fervent fire, burning deeply and brightly.

I will not be a burning Angel.

“Shhh,” he whispered, a finger to my lips. He drew me up from the couch, tossing me over his shoulder, and dragged me upstairs towards his bedroom. Every ounce of resistance I had melted away under the heat of his desire, because deep down, no matter how badly I might be burned… I wanted it too.