Tracks (Rock Bottom) (6 page)

I take a few steps, and it's so eerily quiet that my footsteps almost echo. I look behind me to see if big man- uh, Rich- is there, but he must have not followed me in. My heart beats faster. "Hello?" I say
, my voice again almost echoes.

Quietly I hear soft rock music begin to play, a guitar solo that gets louder, as if someone was turning up the volume on the store's speak
er system. I look around again.

From above me, I hear a smooth deep voice say, "Up here."

I
stop walking and slowly look up towards the loft. I feel my heart hit my throat. He's there, leaning nonchalantly on the railing. He has a white, long sleeved, button down shirt on with some black jeans. The shirt was unbuttoned a little too far, exposing some of his chest. I can see green ink speckling part of what was exposed. I wonder how many tattoos he has. 

He grips the railing with his strong white hands, some fingers dawned with black nail polish, and leans over a bit and smiles at me. "Dylan," he breathes my
name. My whole body gets tight.

"Mr. M
ason," I breathe.

He smiles a crooked grin
and turns to the stairs. I still haven't moved. He slinks down the steps and walks gracefully towards me. He stops in front of me, but only a few feet. I smell his scent- spicy and intoxicating- and see the rosiness of his pink lips. I think I stop breathing.

"Jeremy," he corrects
me. "I'm glad you came."

He stares into my eyes. His blue eyes are kind and calm, like the sky after a storm. "Sometimes," I choke out, "I'm not sure I have a ch
oice with your security guard."

He smiles "I'm not sure you do either. He doesn't like to disappoint me. But I guess that's his job."

I smile and finally disconnect myself from his gaze. I look around the room again. This store is definitely an up and running store, and it's a Thursday afternoon, yet there’s no one else here but us. "Why are there no people here?"

"The owner is a friend," Jeremy explains. "Sometimes I pay him to shut the store down for me. So I can come here and be alone. Browse the records." He walks
over to the nearest row of vinyl.  I turn towards him, but I don't move from my spot.

He picks out a record and holds it up. "Jimi H
endrix. This album is amazing."

I nod. "My dad has the CD."

He shakes his head. His messy, dirty blonde hair moves. "No, no. That ruins it. You have to have that on vinyl. The static in the vinyl is magic." He suddenly and gracefully runs up the stairs carrying the Hendrix record, and I hear the soft rock music stop. There’s light movement during the silence, and eventually the new music begins. A guitar, sad and long, crescendos from the speakers.

Jeremy
appears at the top of the stairs, gracefully descending towards me at the bottom. His movement reminds me of a cat. He slinks. Each step he takes down the stairs looks graceful. It reminds me of the old rock-and-roll singers: Mick Jagger or maybe Steven Tyler.

He
walks up to me and stands, once more, three feet in front of me, smiling. I’m relatively sure he stands so close to me because he can somehow detect how it makes my heart race. “Do you hear the static?”

I must admit, I like the sound of vinyl. It’s
almost sexy in a way. “Yes. I like it very much.” His eyes trail up my body again as his face turns serious. He has beautiful, black eyelashes. My cheeks flush red.

His eyes finally meet mine and, reali
zing that I’m blushing, he cocks a smile. He motions with his graceful arm towards the carpeted area in the back of the store. “Let’s sit a while.”

I nod and follow him onto the gray carpet and sit with him on the floor. He lays himself down on his side, like it was completely natural to him to lay here. I sit
straight up with my knees bent, hugging them to me with my arms. I feel vulnerable with him, and I’m still not sure why. Feeling vulnerable really bothers me.

“So, let’s see. I know you’re in Boston for Law School. You never told me where you were from originally,” he says, peering up at me with his blue eyes and pla
ying with a pull on the carpet.

“I grew up just outside of Philadelphia. My
Dad still lives there. Harvard has always been a dream of mine.”

“What do you parents do?”

How is this possibly interesting to him? “My Dad’s a college professor.”

“Mom?” he asks.

Ouch.

“…No mom,” I’m able to stammer out. I see pity in his eyes, but thankfully he d
oesn’t ask further, sensing I’m uncomfortable.

He smiles. “I pegged you for a
super-rich girl. How on Earth is he affording Harvard?” He adjusts his position on the rug. He stretches his arms behind his head and lies on his back, but turns his face toward me. His chest is super exposed this way, and I can see his abs, so defined and rock hard. I feel a tingling in my groin I haven’t felt in a long time.

“Uh,” I say, my eyes shooting back to his face. I don’t
think he seemed to notice. “He can’t. I’m paying for it.” His eyebrows go up in disbelief. “Sort of. I’m taking out loans. I was able to go to college for free where my Dad teaches, so I’m debt free as of right now. So I figure I’ll get out of school with a normal amount of debt since I didn’t have to pay anything for undergraduate.”

“It’s a damn lot of debt to pay back as a prosecutor,”
Jeremy says. My eyes narrow.

“Thanks.
So encouraging.”

He laughs. “No, I think
it’s good you’re following your dreams no matter what. And hey, you could always meet some rich asshole trust-fund baby at Harvard and marry him. He could foot the bill.”

The tingling in my groin is o
vershadowed by the burning anger building in my stomach again. He sure can play with my emotions unlike anyone ever has before. “Right, because I’m definitely the prostitute type. You really can be an ass sometimes.”

He laughs so hard I jump a little. He covers his eyes with his left hand. His teeth sparkle in the light. He looks so much like a happy little boy, it’s hard for me to remember I’m mad and not laugh wi
th him. “What’s so damn funny?”

He uncovers his eyes and composes himself. He lies on his side again and rests his head on his left hand. “I just like when I can get a rise out of you.
It makes your pretty eyes burn. It’s fantastic.”

I blush. It’s the first time he’s really ever said anything romantic to me at all. I realized I’m relieved he may be looking for more than friendship.
Oh gees. I feel like I’m involved in a really bad car accident on the highway, and it’s happening right now in slow motion. You know you want to stop it from happening, and it probably will end badly if you don’t, but for some reason you can’t make your mind or body to do what you need it to do to avoid it. And it’s stupid, because this guy’s a rock star, and I barely know him.

“How about your parents
?” I ask, shifting the attention off of me.

He smiles. “My dad is dead, but my mother lives locally. I see her from
time to time. Not very often.”

“She lives locally and you don’t see her very often?” I t
ry not to sound too suspicious.

He smiles wryly. “It’s so nice dating someone who doesn’t know everything about me already. Or think they do anyway from the tabloids.
Its…refreshing. It makes me feel kind of…normal.”

I hope he doesn’t think I’m so simple I didn’t notice him side step the last question, but I figured I’d let it go, as he had let my
mom issue go. Anyway, I was still allowing my brain to wrap around the word “dating.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” I say slowly, finally looking in to his eyes.

He shrugs. “I’d say so. I liked you the first second I saw you, in that crowd. I like your shyness. I like your spunk. I think you’re special, unique. So I asked you out. And here we are.” He says it so confidently, without fear. I wonder what it’s like to be that confident.

“I appreciate that, Jeremy,” I say, in a business way. I use that when I feel vulnerable. “But I don’t understand why you think those things. You barely know me. How could yo
u like me? Why do you like me?”

He looks confused. I continue, “I mean
, you’re a mega rock star. You’ve been with the most beautiful women in the world. You have big breasted naked bottle blondes in your bed nightly.” He rolls his eyes.

“First of all, let’s try to forget that portion of last night.” I smile and nod
, only too happy to oblige to that request. He sits up more and leans towards me. He speaks low and deep, resurrecting the effect he had on me the first night I heard him speak. “And I think
you
, Dylan, are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. You’re captivating. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

My whole body feels warm.

Time freezes for what seems like hours. He is inches from my face now. Inside, I’m melting. My heart is on fire instead of my stomach. It’s something I’ve never really felt before. I assume this is what desire feels like. It’s hard for me not to shake as stares at me, looking into my eyes, then at my lips. I decide that I’m not ready for this, so I smile and begin to stand. He seems disappointed and confused, but only for a second and then it’s gone. He stands up with me and grabs my hand. I feel the rough of his fingers curl around my soft skin. It sends a shock wave straight to my groin.

“Come on,” he says and smiles.

We spend the next few hours looking through records, talking music, and listening to different songs on vinyl. I discover that his inspirations include Mick Jagger, of course, but also Carlos Santana and Mozart. “Mozart?” I say, shocked.

“He was a misunderstood child prodigy,” he shrugs. “Sound familiar?
” he cocks an eyebrow. I laugh.

Finally
, after another hour or so, I look out the window. It’s starting to get dark. My stomach rumbles. I put my hand over it.

“Oh,” he says. “Hungry? I’m
sorry we’ve been here so long.”

I smile. I’ve had so much fun getting to know him I hadn’t even realized I was hungry.
“It’s ok, but we probably should get out of here.” And back to reality. I’m sad at the thought of leaving him, because in the back of my mind I doubt I’ll ever see him again. And the memories of last night that made me want to run from him have faded.

“I’ll take you home,” he says, running his hand down my arm. It’s a sweet gesture, not sexual, and I smile at him.
He takes out his phone and sends a text. He waits until his phone beeps, pauses a minute to read, and puts his phone back in his pocket. He grabs my hand again and leads me to the back door.

“Why this way?”
I question him.

He looks at me and shrugs as we walk. “Apparently
, there’s some press at the front. The back is pretty much clear.” We reach the back white door. Jeremy takes a key out of his pocket.

“
Pretty
much
clear?” I say as he opens the back door and we walk out into a sea of people and flashing lights. Jeremy holds my hand tighter as he turns quickly, locks the door with ease, and steps in front of me. I throw my hands up over my face to try and protect my eyes from the flashing.

“Jeremy! Jeremy!” people are screaming. Girls are grabbing at his clothes. Microphones are being thrown in our faces.
“Jeremy, who’s the girl? What’s your name, Miss? Is this your new girlfriend? What about the girl you were seen with last week in Texas? Are you going back to her house? Any updates on the new album?” We are pushing through the people. I hear a ripping sound. Hands are everywhere; all over me. I feel a hand tangle into my hair. The person pulls hard and I scream in pain and surprise. My head whips frantically as I try to shake their hand. Eventually, I’m able to wiggle out of their grasp and hop into the black car behind Jeremy. He leans over me and shuts the door quickly, but I’m in so much pain I’m not even able to enjoy his close proximity. The car speeds away and Jeremy sits back down in his seat.

I’m holding the top of my head wh
ere my hair was yanked. It hurt-really badly. Jeremy’s eyes are wide with concern. “Dylan? Shit. Are you alright, baby?” he grabs my hand on top of my head and holds it as he strokes my hair with his free hand.

“Yeah,” I whisper, still able to love
his hands on me. “But I’m starting to think you’re dangerous for my health.”

His worry fades and his icy eyes smolder. His hand pauses on my head. “Yeah,” he says deeply. We stay frozen like that, his hand on the back of my head, his other hand holding mine.
Somehow, it’s very sensual. I feel the electric charge between us increasing in power. Finally I can’t resist and place my other hand on his leg, running it slowly up towards his stomach. He closes his eyes.

I look down and realize his shirt had been ripped completely open, the buttons torn off and a sleeve half gone. His chest, white and hard, marked up with green tattoos, is inches from my touch. I almost want
to salivate.