I’d never seen anything like this private black tie ball hosted by one of the more prominent families in New York. Everyone was dressed like they were attending a red carpet awards show. The champagne glass in my hand felt so heavy it had to be real crystal. Who used real crystal for a party of hundreds of people? What would the bill for broken glasses be, alone? Never mind paying for the never-ending platters of hors d’oeuvres, the copious free alcohol flowing, the countless wait staff, the decorations.

The Christmas tree in the corner of the room stretched all the way to the ceiling and overflowed with ornaments positioned just so. Opulence and shimmer abounded everywhere you looked, though owls seemed to be the main theme. Popping out among the branches I spotted a bunch of ornaments with white fluffy feathers and glittering beaks. Even the Charlie Brown tree Jillian and I had bought outside a bodega in Brooklyn and lugged up the three flights of stairs had set us back $70. How did these people have so much money? I’d never seen such a thing.

“You doing all right?” Ash asked, by my side as he had been all night. Including in the hallway. A flush of heat stole over my entire body at the memory. What that man did to me, I’d never experienced anything like it. “You want anything else? Gram has some salmon and…” He craned his neck looking over at a giant banquet table decked out with trays, “anything else you could possibly think of. Want to go check it out?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks.” Shame I wasn’t more hungry. My Aunt Irina would want me to fill my purse up with dinner rolls. Every time we went out to eat, she’d tuck an extra ketchup packet in her purse. Because you never knew.

I wondered if Ash’s grandmother had ever encountered a ketchup packet in her entire life. Though she didn’t seem too high and mighty. She’d seemed surprisingly friendly when we’d met, inviting Ash and me to tea. I’d have to ask the PR team about etiquette when taking tea with an older British woman, but something told me they’d have no idea. How to strategically flash your va-jay-jay to paparazzi while exiting a limo, the proper way to plump up your lips and pout while angling for the camera, that they knew. Not so much the traditions of elders.

“Want to go check out the band? They’re really good.”

“I’d love to.”

Ash held my hand, leading me through the crowd. It seemed to part for him, but I guessed that happened a lot for a rock star. Funny, I hadn’t known him long but I hadn’t seen much of the strutting cock-on-the-walk yet. I’d seen him hiding under my desk in a library, greeting his grandmother with affection and getting accosted by stuffy and displeased-looking older relatives. It was cute, I had to admit. I’d have to watch it with thoughts like that.

I could already tell, Ash was too good at the romance angle of this arrangement. Just the way he’d looked at me when I’d exited the limo had taken my breath away. When he’d first seen me tonight, he’d gazed at me the way every girl dreamed a man would look at her one day, as if I were some sort of celestial creature dropped down from above, beyond gorgeous in every way. Only Ash had enough of a carnal glint he didn’t make me feel like too much of an angel. He made me feel like he wanted to cherish, worship and adore me, only with Ash I had a feeling that would involve a whole lot of licking, sucking and finger-fucking. If only I could manage to feel less turned on by that thought.

He led me right up to where the band played at the far end of the ballroom, loud enough for people to dance nearby but not so loud as to deafen conversation in the rest of the party. How did the hotel get that exactly right? There must be a prescribed Waldof-Astoria decibel level.

“This guy on bass.” Ash pointed out a tall, dapper looking fellow clearly enjoying himself playing an upright bass. “He’s good.” The whole band sounded great to me, playing upbeat swing standards people of all ages could enjoy.

“He’s pretty cool.” I smiled, enjoying the jaunty tilt to his hat. Even in a tux, he had the whole hipster swing vibe down with a goatee, red suspenders and polished wing-tip shoes.

Ash scowled a bit. Jealous? That meant I had to tease him. With a sigh, I continued. “I wish he were my date tonight.”

“What?” There was a hilarious sharpness to his voice. I couldn’t help it, I broke my guise, a peal of laughter rising up.

“Well.” Ash recovered himself, straightening his tux that needed no straightening. “I mean, I guess that guy would be fine to hang out with. If you liked hanging out with guys old enough to be your father. But, Ana.” He turned to me, looking strangely serious. “You shouldn’t date musicians.”

I had to laugh again. “Said the musician.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m saying it. We all suck. Nothing but late nights and touring and groupies. It’s not for you.”

“OK, Ash.” Settle down, I wanted to say, but I turned my attention to the band. I got it. He didn’t want me getting attached to him. He was warning me off, setting boundaries. Letting me know that whatever had happened out in that back corridor didn’t mean anything. None of this did. I was hired help.

“Asher.” His grandmother appeared by his side, looking impressively grand and lively though I guessed she had to be in her late 70s. “Why don’t you join them and sing us something.”

“What?” For a famous singer, Ash looked shocked at the request. “You’ve never wanted me to sing at this party before.”

“I’d love it.” She smiled at him and I could already tell, she was going to get what she wanted. I bet she always did. “We all would.” She gave me a quick look and I realized she wanted me to join in the persuasion.

“I’d love to hear you sing, Ash.” I meant it, too. I’d heard him enough times through my earbuds while walking down the streets of New York City. What would it be like in person?

“Yeah?” He looked at me, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. What a mouth. I loved it when he kissed me. And earlier, he’d said he wanted to taste me. I didn’t think I’d survive that. OK, grandmother standing a few feet away. I needed to fan myself and reign in my thoughts.

“Let’s have some Frank,” his gram decreed. Without waiting for Ash’s green light, she raised an index finger to the lead singer. Just that slight gesture caught his attention. He knew who was signing his check that evening. At the end of the current number, he excused himself for a moment and hopped over to us.

“Wonderful music tonight.” Ash’s grandmother sparkled at him.

“We’re having a grand old time.” He looked it, too. I bet his earnings for this party covered some nice presents under his tree this Christmas.

“Would you be so kind as to let my grandson sing a number?”

“Yeah, no problem.” He turned and suddenly seemed to realize who he was standing next to. “No shit!” he exclaimed, a hand to his forehead. “Sorry.” He looked back at Gram, realizing he’d cursed.

“I understand.” She nodded her forgiveness.

“Hey, man.” Ash extended his hand. “You guys sound great.”

“Wow, what are you doing here? I didn’t have any idea—”

“Asher’s my grandson.” Gram sped things along. “Now, if you’d be so kind.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The band leader gave himself a little shake, clearly trying to pull himself together.

“Be right back.” Ash gave me a smile and a quick kiss on the cheek. Damn if it didn’t feel so right.

“I do hope he’s treating you well, dear.” Ash’s grandmother kept her attention on her grandson as she spoke.

“Sure.” What would she think of all of this, his elaborate ruse to rehab his image? Something told me she wouldn’t approve.

“The trick is to expect nothing less.”

“Oh.” I nodded. It sounded easy when she said it.

“Never settle.” Now the dazzling force of her sparkling blue eyes looked directly into my soul. She tapped me lightly with something on my arm for emphasis. A small fan, I realized, which she then folded up and discreetly tucked into the end of her elbow-length glove. So that was where people kept their fans. Not that I’d ever actually talked to anyone in a ball gown with a fan before, but I’d seen my share of period films. I liked my Jane Austen.

“All right, you guys and dolls, we’ve got a crazy treat for you.” The leader spoke into the mic. “Any of you out there ever heard of a cat named Ash Black?”

A roar erupted from the dance floor, along with a few high-pitched squeals. I guessed there were a few people who were fans, though from what I’d seen they weren’t his immediate family members. His older brother, in particular, seemed to give him a frosty reception earlier.

“Hello, hello.” Ash took the mic and strut front and center, clearly in his element. He unbuttoned his jacket. I swallowed in anticipation. “This one goes out to my favorite girls. You know who you are.” He pointed over to his grandmother and me, and I think we both glowed a bit at the dedication.

Turning to the band, he snapped his fingers and gave them, “and a one, a two.” The band magically came to life, playing out the opening chords. A brass section set the tone, a few guys on trumpets swaying from side to side. My toes set to tapping.

With an understated nod of his head, Ash began. “I’ve got you under my skin.” He was looking straight at me. “I’ve got you deep in the heart of me.”

Oh no. I loved this song. I was pretty sure my older parents had played me Frank Sinatra in utero, then over and over growing up until it was part of my DNA.

Ash closed his eyes, getting into the music, moving to the swing beat. “I’ve tried so, not to give in. I’ve said to myself this affair, it ain’t gonna go so well. But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well.” Looking at me again, he broke into a devastatingly sexy smile. “That I’ve got you under my skin.”

“He’s quite good, isn’t he?” his grandmother observed.

“Wow,” was all I could manage. I knew if you looked up ‘star struck’ in the dictionary you’d see a big old picture of me and I should pull myself together and all that, but not now. Now when Ash Black strutted around on stage in a tux crooning straight at me. What a voice! His songs were much harder-driving, with much more snarl and bite. He was famous for how he could belt it out, then pull it back into a restrained whisper, but here he just let it all pour out of him, honey gold and full, relishing every note. He had such presence, such charisma and swagger up there, owning the spotlight with his lean hips and long legs, his hand out to point at the crowd or gesture to the band. Wow.

“I would sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near,” Ash sang to me, the band crescendoing behind him.

Uh oh. I was in trouble. Big trouble. I knew right then and there, I’d have to avoid seeing him on stage. Like kryptonite with a mic in his hand, his voice working magic, his whole persona larger than life and sexy as hell. Those smoldering eyes, that lean, muscular frame, he was already dangerous enough. But once he became the lead singer? Forget about it.

I literally could not shut my mouth. I had to bring my hand up to it, covering my parted lips as I watched him perform. My heart beat, my hands shook, and my panties practically melted right off of me. The only way I stood a chance at keeping my cool this month was if I completely and totally avoided seeing him on stage ever again.

“Tuesday, he’s got a show in L.A. Thursday, Santa Clara.” The next day, 8 a.m., Lola woke me with a call to discuss my itinerary. I’d made it back to my apartment the night before. Ash had been surprisingly gentlemanly, insisting on a limo taking me all the way home. Not back with him. Slightly disappointed, I’d still slept like a rock.

“He’s flying out today and you’re heading out Monday. You’ll have dinner in Malibu.”

“Monday, Malibu.” My head pounded in my hands. I hadn’t gotten super drunk last night, but I did feel hung over. The fourth glass of bubbly that had me feeling so light and giggly last night now sat like a lead weight on the back of my skull. I needed some water.

“They went for it, you know. They love you.”

“Good, good.” Who was she talking about, exactly?

“Great job last night. Lay low today. They’ll probably be outside your apartment.”

“Outside my apartment?” I realized she meant paparazzi, waiting with cameras to try to photograph me. That sounded creepy and implausible. “Are you sure?”

“We released your information to all interested parties, so, yes, I’m guessing they’ve staked you out.”

“Like a press release?” What would the headline on that be? Boring, average girl exactly as boring and average as she looks?

“Something like that. Now remember, you don’t want to talk to them.”

“I don’t.” I didn’t need to be coached on that point. Those guys barreling in after Ash into the library had resembled a pack of hyenas.

“You don’t want to seem too eager or it’ll look fake. Today, Ana, the most important thing is you’ve got to stick to the script. Everyone you’ve ever met is going to get in touch and ask what’s going on.”

I sank down into the bed. This was going to be complicated.

“You have to remember to stick to the script. Keep it brief. You’ve met a great guy and you’re falling hard for him. That’s all anyone gets from you.”

“OK.” Truthfully, that storyline wouldn’t be too hard to manufacture. Ash had pretty much knocked me over last night. I hadn’t had to fake a thing. Every smile, every flutter had been real for me. That was the problem. It wasn’t supposed to be.

“I’ll send a car around for you tomorrow morning eight o’clock. Don’t worry about packing anything, we’ll take care of all that.”

“When will I come back?” I’d let my boss know I’d be gone this week and she’d sounded relieved more than anything else due to the financial squeeze, but I had to tell my roommates, my parents. Oh my, my parents. They were going to be a challenge.

“Friday. You’ll have the week of Christmas in the city, tons of opportunities for exposure. This is off to a great start.”

I groaned, sinking back into my pillows. She’d told me to lay low today. My head still killed. That wouldn’t be a problem.

Several hours later, I stirred again, this time due to Jillian’s knocking at my door.

“Ana!” Her voice finally broke through my fog. “You’ve got to see this.” She thrust her phone under my nose and snapped on my lamp. Wincing at the intrusion, I blinked and tried to focus. On her screen, I saw a limo and a glittering silver gown. Ash Black looked devastatingly handsome as he took the hand of a lovely lady. Me.

“You’re everywhere!” Jillian sounded hushed with awe. “There are photos of you guys kissing under mistletoe. Video of him singing Frank Sinatra.”

Oh man, that had been staged as well? I mean, of course it was. It was my problem if I listened to him sing Cole Porter’s lyrics and felt them deep in my soul as a personal expression of affection just for me.

“Look at his face when he sees you!” Jillian clicked replay and a video clip started again, the blinding flash of camera bulbs, the jostling and calling out. But someone had captured Ash at exactly the right angle. When he first saw me stepping out of the limo, he looked gobsmacked, his eyes wide with admiration and amazement at my beauty.

“God, I hope someday some guy looks at me like that,” Jillian sighed.

I wanted to tell her it was all an act. She shouldn’t feel bad. None of this was real. But I couldn’t, I’d signed a NDA. And part of me wanted to believe the fairy tale for a minute, too. She clicked play again and it was like a drug, watching his reaction. He was so good at it, so practiced and coached he really looked like he was honestly thrilled, struck with wonderment at the sight of me. I was really going to have to watch myself.

And stop watching Ash fake it so good. I rolled over back under the covers. “I’m hungover,” I groaned. “Let me sleep.”

I managed to spend most of the rest of the day in bed, sipping water, heating up a can of chicken noodle soup around four p.m. I ignored my phone and fielded questions from Jillian and Liv with more ease than I’d feared. A pounding headache and no good sense of what I could honestly say helped me stay super evasive. And my parents, thank goodness, were completely unplugged from social media or pop culture in general. I’d already begged out of our weekly Sunday night dinner, guessing correctly that I wouldn’t be up for it, so I got off easy with a phone call. They’d never heard of Ash Black and at least when we spoke late that afternoon they hadn’t heard a word about their daughter dating a celebrity. But I had to lay some groundwork.

“I did have a nice date last night.”

“You did? Tell me! Was it that boy you just met? What kind of a family is he from?”

“I met his grandmother at a family get-together last night.” That seemed a good lead-in. “She was very friendly. She asked me to have tea with her next week.”

“A boy who respects his grandmother is a good boy.” Ash Black was not a good boy. “Is he Russian?”

“No, his grandmother’s British.” Royalty, at least it seemed to me.

“That’s too bad. What does he do for a living?”

“He’s a musician.”

“Piano?” She assumed he was a classical performer.

“He’s ah…He’s a vocalist. And a string instrumentalist.” Translation: leather-pants-wearing, shirtless, tattooed rock god. This was complicated. I wanted my parents to like him enough to not panic, but not like him enough to start working on the wedding invitations. Russian Orthodox to the hilt, my mother had a full set of little religious icons arranged in my honor, praying for love and fertility, in that order of course. How was she going to react in two weeks when we got engaged? And then two weeks after that when I broke it all off? I supposed I could take a chance and not tell her any of it, but with all the gossip magazines she was bound to see something. Ash Black news wasn’t just on a few online fan sites. Ash Black news made People magazine headlines. My mother shopped at the grocery store, she went to the dentist. She’d see People magazine.

I put it on the list of things I’d manage when I had to. I’d just have to find a way of not yanking my parents around too hard on this roller coaster ride I’d signed up for. It was only one month, after all, and it wasn’t as if they’d ever meet him.

I somehow made it through the rest of the conversation without giving her a heart attack, but it took a lot of evasion and half-truths. I had to tell her I was leaving town for a few days and it made her apoplectic, as anticipated, missing all that time from work and staying at a hotel with a strange man though of course in separate rooms I promised her. Would we be in separate rooms? There was so much of this that I had no idea how it would play out. Last night I’d been a little surprised when he’d packed me safely into a limo and sent me on my way. But I should have been relieved that he was keeping his word, honoring the terms of our agreement. But also pulling me into dark hallways and giving me intense orgasms. I was confused already and we’d only just begun.

“Smoky embers.” A girl who couldn’t have been much older than 19 applied eye shadow to my lids while another stylist gave me a blowout with a round brush and a diffusion hairdryer.

“Are you sure about the Hyacinth shimmer?”

“You think matte?”

“I mean, if you’re going with glisten on her cheeks.”

It felt impolite to just sit there, making no conversation, while these two ladies styled me into L.A. perfection, but I had no idea how to enter into the flow when they were speaking another language. They didn’t seem too interested in chatting with me, anyway. They’d bustled into my hotel room with boxes and bags of tools and products, unceremoniously telling me to strip down so they could begin their work.

I’d arrived two hours earlier, a car taking me from LAX to the Sunset Marquis Hotel in West Hollywood. I’d never been to California before, and the palm trees and bright sunlight in December looked gorgeous but disorienting. Checking in, I thought I saw Steven Tyler from Aerosmith, a big feather wound into his long hair poking out from underneath a wide-brimmed white hat. But he’d been heading out of the lobby while I’d been heading in, and I guessed if I was about to start hanging out around celebrities it wouldn’t do to ask every one of them for their autograph.

Ash was picking me up at seven thirty. I knew because Lola had texted me. In my past experience, getting picked up by a guy to take me out to dinner meant he’d pull up in a Honda Civic and hastily brush off some old fast food wrappers from the passenger seat so I had somewhere to sit. I figured it might be different this night with Ash.

The stylist put me in a glittery black top, sleeveless, held up by a mere string around my neck. My skirt was short, black and streamlined, and my heels were about a foot high. Nearly naked in the middle of winter, before I headed out I reached for my New York coat.

“No!” the stylists screamed in horrified unison. Walking out through the glossy, open-aired lobby into the balmy evening air, I realized they were right. No snow, no sleet, no rain, I was in L.A., baby.

A driver hopped out of a limo as I emerged onto the street, welcoming me into the back of the car. No fast food wrappers there. My heart in my throat, I stepped in. I hadn’t seen Ash since Saturday night, the night he’d sung Sinatra and introduced me to his grandmother and pressed me up against a wall, talking dirty and making me love it.

“Welcome to L.A., Ana.” Lola, the PR queen, sat there in a red silk shirt and skin-tight jeans. We had company. Ash sat next to the window looking slightly uncomfortable and dressed all in black.

“Hey.” I settled in the empty seat next to Lola. She tossed a magazine into my lap. Ash and I were on the cover.

“I’m pissed about the corner,” Lola complained.

“Nobody puts Baby in the corner,” Ash murmured. As a Dirty Dancing fan, I had to appreciate the reference.

“I mean, how many times can we hear shocking news about Charlie Sheen?” Front and center, the latest issue of Us Weekly featured Charlie Sheen in black sunglasses looking haggard and exhausted. Up in the right corner, Ash and I stood beaming together at the Waldorf Astoria.

I turned to page 32, feeling like I had to be making all of this up. “Just Like How Matt Damon met Lucy!” read the headline, describing how Ash had met me ducking into the library where I was working to avoid the paparazzi. They had all kinds of quotes from me, too, about how amazing Ash was and how it was love at first sight. I’d never said any of it. I was right. It was all made up.

Hustled out of the car at a restaurant, Ash put his hand around my waist as our picture was taken again and again. I didn’t know if Lola had arranged this or if the restaurant was star-studded enough it got regularly staked out. Smiling, taking our time, we let them get us from all angles, then headed in to our pole-position table right at the window. No sooner had Ash smiled at me and started to ask a question when someone interrupted, asking if it was OK to take a selfie with him.

Then, before I had a chance to even glance at the menu, his agent Joel came over.

“Here’s the It Girl!” He kissed me on both cheeks. “Get up and give me a twirl.”

I glanced quickly at Ash. Was this man joking? He wanted me to spin around so he could take a good look at me? Ash didn’t meet my eyes. He looked like he’d just taken a sip of something he found distasteful. I stood and turned around quickly, Joel taking in my figure as if appraising a new toy he’d purchased.

Ash ordered for us as Joel kept on talking, and then someone else joined us as soon as he left. A boney, bitchy woman strutted by, her hips jutting out, her eyes shooting daggers at me. She leaned down to Ash and talked exclusively to him for a little while. I thought I saw a Kardashian over by the bar and an actor whose name I couldn’t remember, but I’d definitely watched him shoot a lot of zombies in The Walking Dead. Every single person in the place was over-the-top gorgeous, from the wait staff to the bartender to each and every patron. Ash fit right in.

As soon as it had begun, it was over, with Ash holding my hand and playing the part of adoring boyfriend. But after I climbed into the limo, he pulled away with a brief, “See you tomorrow.” Then he shut the door and the driver took me back to my hotel, alone.

I told myself the good news was that the next month should be really easy. I was like a puppet. All I needed to do was let them style me, smile pretty, and they’d take care of everything else. The next day as I walked around, I kept telling myself how lucky I was. I took a taxi down to Venice Beach, people-watching and poking around in smoothie bars and t-shirt shops. I told myself that this was a great development! Now I didn’t have to worry about things getting messy.

That night, the makeup artist and stylist arrived again and painted me and teased me and dressed me up in true ‘I’m with the band’ fashion. All in black with long boots and a short dress, my hair was big and my lingerie tiny. A limo took me straight to an unmarked, back door entrance. A roadie led me down hallways underneath the Nokia Center, tapped twice then let me in to see the band.

The first thing I saw were breasts. Big ones, naked, with a man’s head between them. My step forward froze, like someone had pressed pause on a remote. The man had reddish hair so it wasn’t Ash, but, still, I’d clearly stepped into the wrong room.

“Hey.” A guy who looked vaguely familiar gave me a heavy-lidded nod. He had a girl on his lap, too, though she wore some clothes. Not much.

“Ana!” Ash stood up. He’d been over in the corner strumming his guitar. Chillaxing. With his bandmates and the boobs and the coke, I realized as the red-headed man stood up with a loud sniff, gave his head a quick shake and wiped his nostrils with the back of his hand. He’d been snorting coke off of her naked breasts.

“I didn’t realize they were bringing you down here.” Ash ran his hand through his hair looking somewhat unsettled by my arrival.

“I can go.” I rewound my steps, taking myself back toward the door. Angry little eyes followed me, from two gorgeous women who’d been sitting on either side of Ash. They willed me away with their evil groupie mojo.

“Hey! Is it the librarian?” The red-haired coke-snorting guy strode toward me, quick and full of purpose and enthusiasm. Now I recognized him, the bass player for The Blacklist. “She’s hot!” he declared to Ash as if I weren’t there.

“This is Ana,” Ash confirmed. “Ana, I’d like you to meet Connor.” So formal. But Connor wasn’t. He wrapped his arms around me, his hands going right down my back to the top of my ass.

“You get tired of this jackass, you let me know.” He pulled away, but only to get a better look at my rack. “I’ve got some overdue library books. You might need to punish me.”

Before I could tell him to get lost, or see what Ash thought of all this, Lola burst in the door. “There you are!” She clutched my bare arm, then wrapped her fingers around Ash’s bicep. He wore a fitted black t-shirt and I could see some of his trademark tattoos dipping and swirling down his muscle. This would all be so much easier if he weren’t hotter than hell.

“Photos!” she declared, and a couple more people came in the door behind her. The naked, coke-dispensing girl simply slipped her dress back over her head, unfazed, nonchalant. This clearly wasn’t the first time people with cameras had walked in on her naked.

We posed. I got shuttled away with the rest of the groupies, up to the dark recesses beside the stage. I half-wondered if I shouldn’t simply take a car back to the hotel. My purpose had been served.

But then the show began. And I could see it all from backstage, only a few yards away from the action. Smoke, pyrotechnics, these guys didn’t shy away from any of it. If anything, they embraced all the excesses of 80s hard rock with gleeful abandon. Why the fuck not, when you were that badass?

“Are you ready to rock, Los Angeles?” Ash strutted onto the stage, owning it, and the stadium erupted into a deafening roar. Tongue out, fist up in the air, he dialed the crowd up to instant frenzy at the sight of him, his long, lean body all in black. A roadie handed him a guitar and they were off, pounding directly into one of my favorites, an adrenaline-pumping, hard-driving anthem.

“Do you want it?” he snarled out the refrain, and the entire stadium answered him with the chorus, “Hell, yeah!”

“Do you need it?” He held out the microphone for the response, not even needing to sing the “Hell, yeah!” himself.

I couldn’t help it. I brought my hands up, cupping them as I hollered for more. A huge smile breaking out over my face, adrenaline surged through my body. It was Ash Black! The Blacklist! And I was backstage!

“Aren’t they amazing?” One of the groupies next to me grabbed onto my arm.

“I love them!” Swaying and singing along with every word, we became BFFs for the whole set. I didn’t know how they did it, cranking up the energy and adrenaline for the entire show, but each song seemed to take the crowd higher. They didn’t have dancers or costume changes. They didn’t have special guests or surprise performances, and they certainly didn’t break ever for a slow ballad, Ash sitting on a stool in the spotlight to get contemplative.

None of that. They were AC/DC in the 70s, Bon Jovi in the 80s, Nirvana in the 90s, The Strokes in the 00s. And they owned this decade, no one could compare to them, the raw power and attitude and wild surge when they locked into a beat or ripped through a chorus that every single person in the arena knew by heart.

And in the middle of all of it, the rock, the magnet, was Ash Black. Strutting, snarling, messing around with his band mates, yelling out to the people in the back, dedicating the next one to all the ladies in the house not wearing panties, he put on a crazy show. I’d seen some bands, some solo artists perform, but nothing like this. Nothing even came close to his gorgeous, sexy, fuck-me voice, suave then rough, a whisper then a rock yell worthy of the greats. No wonder he’d been on the cover of Rolling Stone and Spin and People and you name it. No wonder he had paparazzi chasing him everywhere he went. He was the fucking bomb.

After about an hour and a half, the band finally took a break, coming backstage to drink water and high-five and towel off. Ash sat down nearby and took off his shirt. It instantly disappeared into some woman’s hands. She clearly had the backstage pass of a crew member, but I had to wonder if that shirt would ever make it back into his wardrobe. Somehow, I doubted it. I kind of wanted to steal it, myself.

“Having a good time?” Ash rested on the edge of a chair, his long legs outstretched. He looked straight at me with those killer eyes, his full lips curved into a smile aimed right at me, but I still had to look around to make sure. Was he really talking to me, Anika Ivanov from Wallingford Falls, NY, population 5,500? But he continued, “You enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, it’s a great show.” I took a tentative step forward, feeling much more shy around him after the visceral reminder. He was famous for a reason. It wasn’t just that he was gorgeous and rich, and that alone seemed to be enough for tons of celebrities these days. Pop them in a reality show and you’d never see the end of them.

But Ash Black was more. He was crazy talented with musical ability, a uniquely amazing voice and the kind of presence you couldn’t teach, you either had it or you didn’t. And Ash Black had it, on and off the stage. I suddenly felt more than a little star struck.

“Anything you want to hear me do next?” he asked.

“Every song is so good.” I wasn’t even sucking up to him. I meant it. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. A stiff strand. They’d put a lot of spray up in my ‘do’. “But, there is a song I’d love to hear. I’ve always loved ‘Tonight.’”

“Yeah?” He looked at me, seeming pleased. It was from their first album and it had never been released as a single, never got much radio play but it was a go-to for me walking at night. It captured the restless action, that sense of promise you felt before going out. You never knew what would happen next.

“But you probably already have it worked out, what you’re going to perform for your encore.”

“Perform for my encore?” He arched an eyebrow. “Do you think they’ll shout ‘bravo’?”

I blushed. “Sorry, I’ve only performed classical music. So, you know, bravo, encore, that’s what I know.”

“I’d love to hear you play some time.” Why did it suddenly feel like we were the only ones there backstage? He looked deep into my eyes, his finger toying with his water bottle. Shirtless, a few thin leather bands wound around his neck, one with a small cross resting right at the start of his hard, defined pectoral muscles. We stood close enough that I could reach right out and trace them, run my fingers along his ridges and planes.

“All right, let’s do this!” a man called out from behind me.

Ash dropped his head down, as if he didn’t like the timing of the announcement. Then he nodded and drew himself up to his full, imposing height. He stood much taller than me and I took a step back, forcing myself away from his magnetism. Everyone felt that way around him, I reminded myself. It wasn’t that there was anything between us. I felt a crazy pull toward him because everyone did, me and millions of other fans around the world.

But I had to admit, it still felt like something more than that when he got back out on the stage and dedicated the next song to me. I knew it was part of the plan, that he was merely executing as dictated by his PR firm and his agent. He was fueling the fire, giving the bloggers and vloggers and columnists and commentators a good quote.

But I still felt a tingle down my spine as Ash looked backstage at me, smiled, and then told the thousands of people screaming for him, “This next song is for my girl, Ana.”