I’m here tonight for Cora.

I’m here to help my friend.

I will not, I repeat, NOT, get distracted by the crazy hot man walking towards me.

Okay… maybe I can take a little peek.

I’m only human after all.

* * *

When Cora invited me to the Say Yes show, it was to help her not freak out over the fact that she was going to see Ian Brooks for the first time since high school.

He’s a big-shot musician now and she’s intimidated.

I’ve lent her my favorite red dress, which I only hope I’ll get back in one piece, and gave her both my famous, patented Cora, you are a boss bitch and you can get any fucking man you want pep-talk and a firm smack on the ass.

My girl’s got this.

I’ve settled on tight black jeans, a halter top, my favorite leather jacket, and studded spike heels for the evening. My cat-eye makeup and pink lips work with my now silver-blue hair. I feel ready to take on the world.

Or at least, I do until I see six feet of sun-kissed skin, tattoos, and muscle walking towards us.

God, he has the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen.

I feel like I’ve been hit by a ton of bricks.

I’m flushed. Frantic.

I’m fluttering like a hummingbird. I’m lightheaded. My knees are getting weak.

I know this feeling.

It’s pure, unadulterated, fucking lust.

I haven’t felt it in forever.

Good thing too. It almost ruined me….

Cora says something awkward. I don't hear it. I’m too busy staring like an idiot.

“Who’s your friend?” I hear the handsome stranger ask.

“This is my friend,” Cora says, not really answering the question. She’s too star struck. Well, too love-struck. The famous Ian Brooks is here.

“Does she have a name?” he asks.

I pipe up. I’m not shy. I might be a little struck too. But, I’m not shy.

“You could just ask me,” I tell him, “I’m Aya Park.”

I give him my hand.

We shake.

Then I shake a little more as he gives me the most thorough eye-fucking of my life.

It should be creepy. I should feel like he’s violating me from head to toe. Seeing through my clothes. Exposing me.

But, I don’t.

It’s hot as all hell.

He’s looking at me like he’s trying to picture me naked.

Which is all well and good because, as we’re shaking hands, I’m totally picturing him naked.

Lying on a bed.

With his fist around his hard dick.

“Shawn Kinney,” he says.

Shawn Kinney. Well. Now I have a name to go with this beautiful face.

Cora and I are escorted to our spot, front and center, in a room full of Say Yes fans at the Anonymous Bar.

The lights go down.

The energy rises.

The girls scream.

The guys scream too. Everybody fucking screams.

Ian Brooks takes the drums and the crowd roars. And I’ll bet anything that Cora wets the panties I told her not to wear.

Then Shawn Kinney takes his place on stage and, for me, the world goes into technicolor.

The guitarist and singer take their places and the band launches into Her Name in Stars. God, that song is golden. I love the words. I love the flow. I love the energy.

But, mostly, I love the power.

When I teach my dance classes, or when I’m alone in the pole studio rehearsing my own performance material, I want to feel the floor vibrating. I want to feel the energy. I want to feel the power. So, what do I do?

As I look up at Shawn, I remember the answer.

I turn up the bass.

* * *

Say Yes is amazing. The show rocks.

The crowd wants more and more.

Two encores later, Cora and I head back to meet the band, passing scores of insanely jealous fans. Well, some are jealous. Which is totally understandable. Others glare at us with that what does she have that I haven’t got? why is she so special? look.

I ignore it.

Cora and I hit the bar and wait while the guys make their way backstage.

“You okay?” I ask her.

She’s shaking. But she nods yes anyway.

I don’t know what she’s so nervous about. Even from the stage, the connection between Cora and Ian was palpable. His eyes were on her. He was totally fantasizing about what he wanted to do to her later.

The audience was intruding on one long, private moment between the two of them.

I’m jealous.

Not of Cora and Ian and their relationship.

I just… I want someone to look at me that way.

I want to me the star of my own damn story for once.

Suddenly, the temperature rises and I feel eyes on me.

The same beautiful green eyes from before. Attached to the same beautiful man.

Shawn.

He’s talking to me, but I’m not hearing a damn word of it. I’m just watching his soft lips move and reveling in the attention he’s giving me.

“Aya?” I hear him ask. “Do you want to come?”

Aya? Earth to Aya?

“What?”

“Do you want to come to a party tonight?” he repeats.

“Oh, um…” I bite my lower lip. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Great,” he says, “Meet me at the valet in a few minutes. I’ll give you a ride.”

“Great,” I tell him.

I’m nervous. I never get nervous. Not when I’m teaching. Not when I’m on stage. Not with a guy.

Never.

But Shawn Kinney just… does something to me. Something I can’t articulate.

He smirks. He can tell.

Way to play it cool, Aya.

Cora demands that I text her to make sure I get to the party okay. And that I text her when I leave. I wouldn’t normally get in a car with a guy I don’t know. I mean, come on, I know how to take care of myself.

But Shawn did go to school with Cora. And he’s friends with Ian.

That means he comes with a little bit of pre-screening, right?

I head outside towards the valet stand just as a cool black sportscar pulls up. The passenger side window lowers and I see Shawn’s face. He doesn’t say anything to me. He just winks.

I don’t think overthink it. I just get in.

He smiles.

“I like your hair,” he tells me.

I touch a long strand of silvery-blue unintentionally.

“Thanks,” I reply.

We’re quiet.

I’m never quiet.

Cora tells me I’m a ball of energy. Usually, I talk too much.

Ugh, I need to say something. Preferably something witty or amusing or smart. But nothing’s coming out.

Am I boring him?

Surely he has entertaining women around him all the time. He could replace me with someone more amusing with the snap of his fingers.

Well, wait… he hasn’t said anything either. Shouldn’t he be concerned with boring me?

God, this inner monologue is killing me.

“How do you know Cora?” he finally asks. His voice is even. Clearly, he isn’t having the struggle that I am.

“We work together at the Caspiar Club,” I reply.

“Were you working there the other night?” he asks. “We were out for Nikki’s birthday party.”

“Yeah,” I answer, “I was working that night. But my section is on the other end of the room.”

“Cool,” he says.

This isn’t going well. I’m not wowing him with my conversational skills. I’m really interesting. I swear. And I’m never this tongue-tied. God, he must really regret asking me to go out with him. I’m boring him half to death.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me, “I’m usually more talkative than this.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You make me a little nervous,” he says.

My eyebrows hit the roof in surprise.

“I make you nervous?” I ask.

He grins sheepishly. “Kind of,” he says.

That makes me smile. I mean… here he is, a fucking beautiful, ripped, specimen of a man. And a rock star, no less. And I’m just little old me…

And I’m not kidding. I’ve barely five-two. I’m twenty-six and I get carded everywhere.

“Get a couple drinks in me,” I tell him, “I’ll loosen up.”

“Good,” he says, “Me too. What do you drink?”

“Whiskey.”

“Woman after my own heart,” he tells me as we arrive at a palatial apartment in Hollywood.

“You live here?” I ask.

Shawn nods. “Me and Jack. He’s actually my step brother.”

“Oh. Interesting.”

“Yeah…”

This is the part where you add something to the conversation, Aya.

But… I got nothing.

When we enter, all eyes are on Shawn. A small party is underway. Nothing too out of hand. I recognize Jack, who has appointed himself DJ for the evening, fiddling with a laptop and ignoring a girl who’s clinging to his arm. Then there’s Dylan, holding court in the back of the room.

Shawn leads me to the makeshift bar, pours two shots of whiskey and hands me one.

“Cheers,” he says.

“Cheers,” I repeat.

We drink quickly.

“Another?”

I nod. He pours.

We drink.

Now, I’m starting to feel something. I like the way that whiskey burns, but I’m actually kind of a lightweight. Also, I’ve had a few beers at the show and I haven’t eaten much today.

But, still…

“One more,” I demand.

He raises an eyebrow, but pours me the shot anyway. I slam it back. Shawn abstains this round.

“Party pooper,” I tease.

He chuckles. “One of us has to be the responsible one.”

“Hey, I’m plenty responsible,” I say as I stumble. I reach out for something to stabilize myself. Shawn’s arm. “That doesn’t count.”

He helps me back to my feet.

“Thanks,” I tell him.

He smirks.

I still haven’t let go of his arm.

You have nice arms, I think to myself.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Oh, fuck, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

I have a tendency to do that. It doesn’t even matter if I’ve been drinking.

“You did,” he tells me, “But don’t hold back. Tell me everything. I have a feeling that Aya unfiltered is going to be pretty damn interesting.”

“Oh, she is,” I tell him, liquid-confidence hitting me full-force, “I’m hella interesting.”

“I believe you.”

“I teach pole dancing. Did you know that?”

He shakes his head no. “See? That’s interesting.”

“I know, right? Also, I have a dragon tattoo on my left tit.”

Shawn blushes.

“Why are you blushing?” I tease him, now completely at the mercy of my drunken self. “You wanna see?”

He blushes even harder. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I want to lick it off of him. I’ve made it my mission in life to get Shawn Kinney to blush more.

I look around.

“You should give me tour,” I tell him. I head towards a closed door and go to throw it open. Shawn stops me.

“That’s Jack’s room. Chances are we’ll walk in on something we can’t un-see in there,” he says, steering me towards an open door. “This is our practice room. It’s safer in here.”