Noah

The next time I wake up, Maddy's gone, and Lydia's yelling at me that I'm about to miss my plane. The Vegas show was the last stop on my North American tour, and now I've got eight dates in South America. Lydia Goldmann, super-agent and self-appointed substitute mom, takes her job seriously. As far as she's concerned, I'm in music for the money, and she's there to make sure I never screw up an opportunity to get paid.

South America is enthusiastic. Those fans spare no expense. So I'm going to get my ass down there on time, and I'm going to give them a quality show.

Even if I do feel like I'm the worst person in the world. How could I use and lose a sweet girl like little virgin Maddy? She opened to me like a flower, and my fucking people hustled her out like she was just another cheap groupie looking to add another name to the list of her rock star fucks.

There are girls like that. Sure, there are. But isn't it fucking obvious Maddy isn't one of them?

You know, all this time, I've never minded meeting the girls who keep the lists. Hell, I've sought 'em out. We both know why we're there. No-strings fucking. A cheap thrill for both of us. In and out and gone. I'm left with a satisfied cock and a peaceful mind, and she's left with a wild story to tell all her friends and a suggestive photo for Instagram.

Now I'm in a wide leather chair in the business class section of an American Airlines flight to Buenos Aires, and I'm still not sure what hit me.

It wasn't just another groupie, that's for damn sure. You can't fake losing your V-card. It's one to a customer, and Madison chose to give it up for me.

Fuck 'em and forget 'em, I tell myself. That's the rock star way. You don't get hung up on one chick. There's a million of them, and they all deserve a piece.

But...

Maybe I'm tired of being cut up into pieces. I'm not a fucking cake to get slivered to death by all the people who want a piece of me.

I put my face in my hands. Before the flight took off, the chirpy male flight attendant came by with champagne, and we all had a glass, but I don't even taste it.

Nailgun is sitting next to me. I'm not one of these shitty singers who make the help sit in the back of the bus. If I'm in business, he's there too. Besides, even if he is my smallest bodyguard, he's too big for an economy seat.

“Tell me again what she said when she left.”

“She didn't say anything. She was trying not to disturb you.” The way he shakes his head emphasizes the fact that we've been over this and over this.

“C'mon. She said something.”

“All she said was she didn't want to take the limo. I think she felt a little shy after. You know, some girls get that way.”

It was true. Surprisingly often, girls do the dirty deed and make themselves scarce. It's like they're using and losing me. Which I suppose they are. I'm a body to them. A famous body, but still a body.

A trophy.

Something to brag about to all their friends and keep a secret from their moms or boyfriends.

Fuck. I can't believe, won't believe that's all I am to Madison. Anyway, I've got damn good reason to believe she hasn't got a boyfriend.

“I want to see her again.”

“I'm sure that can be arranged the next time you're in Vegas.”

Of course, it can. I've done it often enough, rolled into a town where I've fucked a groupie before and sent a text to the groupie in question and twenty minutes later she's in my room. Somehow, though, I don't think it's going to be that easy with Madison.

“Did you know she was a virgin?” I ask.

He gives me the side-eye. “Sir. Noah. Sir. I'm sorry, but no. That's ridiculous. This girl was no virgin. She's a member of a club that seeks out successful guys to seduce them. We vet all these girls, and that's the background, and it's indisputable.”

“I don't believe that.”

“I hope you haven't done something stupid.” He sighs a mom-like sigh, which seems ridiculous coming from a guy his size.“It's our responsibility as your security to investigate everybody you get involved with. I think they're harmless, these girls. They're eighteen, nineteen years old, and they're basically about what everybody's about in Vegas. They want to meet older men with money. You're a little younger and a little less money than what they're going after, but I assume you're good enough for government work.”

There's no fucking way. I don't believe this. No fucking possible way.

“While you were sleeping, our people finished the security profile on the girl.” They keep a profile of everybody I've ever fucked. Evidently, this sort of thing serves a purpose beyond making it easy for me to make booty calls when I roll into some town where I've been before. If there's ever a stalker, it will supposedly help my people solve a situation faster. In other words, once a girl has fucked me, she's in a file forever for future reference.

What would sweet Madison think if she knew that?

Files can be wrong though. Investigators can make mistakes.

“Club Sugar Daddy,” Nailgun says. “That's the name of the club.”

“That's truly the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. Who was in bed with this girl? Me or you? I'm telling you this innocent baby girl was a fucking virgin.”

“She has a convincing act. I almost believed it myself.”

Then Kendall, who despite the wide seats in business class and the roar of the engines, has somehow managed to overhear our discussion, has to lean across the aisle and butt in on it. “I think you need to listen to what Nailgun's trying to tell you. This girl's a Vegas girl. She knows the score. It's about the money. It's cool. Just keep a rubber on it, and move on with your day.”

Keep a rubber on it. Fuck me. I never, ever do the deed without protecting myself. These days, any kind of rocker would be an idiot not to use protection.

But she was a virgin. And I believed her.

Fuck. The potential downside is huge if they're right and she's all about laying a trap for a rich dude...

Thing is, that doesn't parse with the baby-faced Madison I met. She's trying to front, trying to look all sophisticated, and maybe everybody else in the world is taken in by the mask.

But I'm not.

I see the sugar-sweet honey at her core.

The innocence.

The purity.

Bottom line: I don't care what my people say. My heart tells me to believe in Maddy, and I do. She's the real deal, and I'm calling her as soon as it's a decent hour in Vegas, and that's fucking final.

“I'm not listening to any more of this.” I pushed a button, and the flight attendant came around with the bottle of champagne.

“I can recommend the steak,” he says.

“Fine. Balsamic dressing on the salad.”

“Of course, sir.”

It's a night flight. I'm going east two or three times zones at the most, and there's no reason to be eating steak at eleven o'clock at night, except I'm a rock star going to South America and that's what we do.

Fixating on trembling virgins is not what we do.

Focusing on the music, that's what we do.