Page 41

Willow

T he floor of the arena shakes beneath my feet.

The bass coming through the speakers thunders through my chest.

The lasers and lights spin crazily through the darkness.

And the crowd? They’re absolutely feral.

Tens of thousands of people packed into this giant arena are screaming and singing and moving like one big wave that surges up over and over again.

And in the middle of it all, standing center stage, owning what feels like the universe, is BENT.

Hawkin may be singing, but it’s Rocket my eyes are trained on. Shirt drenched with sweat. Hair wild and damp. A complicated array of keyboards and synths constructed around him that he moves fluidly from one to another as needed.

His hips move with the beat. His mouth curls into a smirk when he joins in with the other guys and growls out the chorus. God help me.The man knowsexactlywhat he’s doing up there .

It’s not just music.

It’s foreplay.

Or at least that’s how my mind’s spinning it.

“Hello, Atlanta. How we doing tonight?” Hawkin asks when the song’s done. The crowd works itself into a frenzy replying.

“I don’t think they’re ready for us,” Vince says.

“No one ever is,” Gizmo joins in as he taps his drumsticks a few times.

“But we’re ready for you,” Rocket says. “Let’s get loud tonight, yeah?”

The crowd roars.

My stomach flips.

Rocket knows precisely where the camera crew is and winks directly into the lens, so it’s shown on the giant video screens that flank both sides of the stage.

A small part of me swears it’s at me.

Yes, I’ve fallen under Rocket’s charm.

I’m toast.

Beside me, Poppy bounces with her pink headphones snug over her ears. She looks absolutely adorable and strangely, as if she was meant to be here. She’s clutching her little rabbit and smiling so hard her cheeks might break.

I tap her on the shoulder and give her a thumbs-up sign.

She nods fast, curls bouncing, eyes wide, and grin growing. My heart squeezes at the sight.

We dance sillily as the song plays on, and with my eyes trained on Rocket.

This whole tour life? It’s absolute chaos. The different hotels and tour bus miles and different cities, but this right here, right now? It’s magic.

After the last encore’s played and the show’s over, backstage would not exactly be considered much calmer. The band winds down in the greenroom. They have towels over their shoulders, beers in their hands, and by their animated conversations, they’re still buzzing with adrenaline.

I sit on the couch, Poppy curled beside me.

Her headphones are still on, the crackers she was snacking on have fallen sideways onto the seat beside her, and her eyes are closed.

I can’t believe she lasted this long. No doubt this whole schedule thing will have to be adjusted as the tour rolls on, but in my opinion, it’s important she sees Rocket on stage.

For her to see what he does and who her dad is.

The guys playfully relive moments from onstage. Screwups or miscues that no one else would’ve picked up on except for them. It’s fun to simply observe them and their brotherhood, but just like Poppy, I’m fading from exhaustion too.

I shift in my seat, take a sip of my wine, and will myself to stay awake.

But when I look up, that problem disappears when I meet Rocket’s eyes.

His look? It’s not innocent. It’s dark. It’s heated.

It saysI remember how you tasted,andI haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

And I feel it. Everywhere .

The ridiculous relief I feel that he still wants me is chased away by something much stronger—desire.

We haven’t been on tour for more than a few days, but Poppy’s had a rough time adjusting to unfamiliar places and settling down at night. That means that even with adjoining rooms with Rocket, she’s been sleeping in the bed beside mine, and if I move in the slightest, she wakes up panicked.

Which means other than a few stolen kisses that tell me he’s still interested, there hasn’t been a single act of sex.

And while that might be a blessing in disguise because it forces us to take whatever this is, slow. It also creates one hell of a slow burn that I’m hoping will explode into a wildfire sooner rather than later.

That also means I’m currentlyone flirty Rocket smirk awayfrom combusting in public.

Hendrix slides in beside me. A week into the tour, she showed up and for the past few weeks I’ve come to find that Gizmo’s wife is bright and bold and completely unapologetic.

I love her for it. We’ve become closer over the last few days, in huge part because Poppy is infatuated with her, and I’m incredibly grateful she’s on tour with us.

She nudges me and talks quietly. “You look like you need a stiffer drink. Or an orgasm. Or both.”

I choke. “Jesus.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

I say nothing because the glance that Rocket just gave me is scorching.

She just laughs and leans over to brush a curl out of Poppy’s face. “She’s sound asleep.”

“The headphones help with that. Much easier to fall asleep when you can’t exactly hear the noise all around you.”

“True.” She pats my leg. “Want me to watch her for a bit? Give you a break? ”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. She likes me. Plus if she wakes up, I can ply her with snacks and screen time. I’ll convince her that Hendrix is a perfect name for that new teddy bear Rocket bought her today.

” She knocks her knee against mine. “Go. Rehydrate. Flirt with the rock star some more. I’ll text if you’re needed. ”

For a split second, I hesitate.

And then I close my eyes and nod. “You’re a goddess, Hendrix.”

She winks. “I know.”

With one last look at Poppy, I wander down the hallway looking for water or maybe just a second to catch my breath.

At home, I can leave Poppy to play in her room or watch shows in the great room.

Here, I don’t have that freedom, and Poppy doesn’t have that comfort to do so .

.. and so it’s been me, on call, twenty-four seven.

Yes, that’s my job, but a break every now and again is welcome.

Especially when that break means I might get some alone time with Rocket.

But before I even make it to the end of the corridor, a door opens, and I’mgrabbed.

“Hey!”

“Shhh,” he whispers as his hand closes over my mouth and he yanks me into a dressing room—his dressing room—and kicks the door closed behind us.

Seems like he was looking for the same thing I was. Thank God.

My back hits the wall, and then his mouth’son mine. Hot. Urgent. Starved .

His hands are on my hips, fingers digging in, his body flush against mine.

Rocket’s voice is gravel. “If you keep looking at me the way you were during sound check, before we went on stage, or in the greenroom earlier, I swear to God, I’m going to want to write a song about the things I want to do to you.”

“What do you want to do to me?” My words are breathless, but my body’s screaming.

“Everything.”

He kisses me again, teeth dragging over my lower lip, and one hand sliding under my shirt like hecan’t stand that there’s a barrier between us.

“I want you on this couch. Want your legs wrapped around me. Want you moaning my name like you need me to stop but will die if I do ... like you forgot you had rules. ”

I moan against his mouth, my hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re insatiable.”

Rocket kisses his way down the line of my throat.

“I’ve been watching you for days. Walking around like you don’t know how fucking hot you are.

” A nip against my collarbone. “Not seeing every goddamn person in the room turn their heads when you pass by.” He presses harder against me, and I feel all of him.

“Not knowing I jack off in the shower thinking about what you felt like, what you tasted like, because I couldn’t have you again.

” He slides a hand between my thighs and groans.

It’s a sound I’ll come back to in my naughty dreams. “I want you. Here. Now.”

I lean back and meet his eyes. I love how the green has darkened and how the roughness of his palms feel over my skin. “Then take me,” I whisper.