There she was
again. This time, on the far side of the Irish pub that was hosting
tonight's after party.
He was starting to
think she was following him.
Tony Bongiovi
carelessly tipped up his beer bottle, pretending as though it were perfectly
normal to be stalked. In reality, it was freaking the hell out of
him. He’d been down this road before and wasn’t fucking impressed.
It was a little different last time, though, since it was mostly online and the
girl had been telling everybody they were engaged for God’s sake.
Nonetheless, it was
enough to make him regard the fairer sex with a heavy dose of wariness.
Not all of them.
There were the one-night-stand exceptions.
But those women made their intentions clear right off the bat. They
wanted to fuck Jon Bon Jovi. If they couldn’t, one of his brothers would
do. It was one of the few scenarios in which Tony didn’t mind hitching a
short ride on Jon’s coattails.
Fact One, he was
single. Fact Two, he got horny. Courtesy of his brother’s fame, he
occasionally found a woman who didn’t have an interest in changing Fact One to help him out with Fact Two.
He took another deep
swallow and absently nodded his head at the two women offering him a subtle
wave. One of them might even be such a woman, given the opportunity, but he wasn't in the mood.
Fan club gigs and VIP
after parties were… not his thing. When he wasn’t on the clock taking
pictures and video, he tended to keep to himself in the corner of the bar and
quietly drank a couple of beers. He preferred to stay detached and watch
everything from a distance.
The lenses of his
glasses shielded his eyes enough so that he was able to inconspicuously check
out his ‘friend’ again. This was her first VIP after party, as far as he
knew.
Looks like she’s
getting brave. She’s moving closer.
The lady looked
perfectly nice. Average height, average build, average brown hair.
Normally, he wouldn’t have given her a second glance, and he hadn’t in Munich,
Oslo or Edinburgh. If she didn’t have a web of scars on one side of her
neck, he probably still wouldn’t have noticed her.
Once he finally did
take note, Tony was surprised to realize she’d been at every European stop so
far, and, in Manchester, they’d even briefly crossed paths on the backstage
tour. On that particular occasion, he recalled being surprised that the woman hadn’t taken the
opportunity to speak. She just checked out his computer monitor on her
way through the business side of the stage, barely sparing him a glance.
He ultimately figured
out that, during the show, she could be found somewhere near the front of the
crowd, on stage left. Alone. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t
traveling with anyone, and, most of the time when he spotted her, she had her
camera up snapping pictures of… him.
Tony didn’t like being
on the focused end of a camera lens.
With a hesitant smile,
the mystery woman situated her denim covered butt onto the stool next to his, putting her
half-empty drink glass on the bar. Thick brown hair flipped over her
shoulder when she swung around, hand extended. It was then that he saw
that the scars on her neck weren’t the only ones she bore. The back of right hand
and wrist carried the same random scarring as the right side of her neck.
Tony idly wondered what happened to her.
“Hello,” she drawled
quietly, eyes fixed on his chin, detracting him from his curiosity. The
lilting Southern twang surprised the hell out of him. For no particular reason, he assumed she
was a native European. British. Maybe Irish? Definitely not American. “I’m
Lilah.”
Rolling the lazy
“Ly-luh” over in his mind, he accepted her hand, and her trembling fingertips
stilled in his grasp. She was nervous. It wasn’t an unfounded assumption, either, because the scooped neck of her sunshine yellow top showed
red splotches all across her upper chest.
Those splotches made him feel a little sympathetic, so he didn't waste time toying with her. He cut right to the chase.
Those splotches made him feel a little sympathetic, so he didn't waste time toying with her. He cut right to the chase.
“Lilah. I see
you finally got up enough nerve to come talk to me.”
His bluntness only
made the splotches spread wider, until they were creeping upward to mingle with
the scars on her neck. He’d wager that it was embarrassment now, instead
of nerves.
“Can I get you another
beer?” she offered, ‘another’ sounding more like ‘a-nuth-uh’. French
manicured fingers folded together in her lap, and she awaited a reply without
looking at him.
Checking out the empty
bottle she had nodded to, he shook his head. “No, thanks.” Women didn’t
buy him drinks. Label him a male chauvinist pig if you wanted, but that
wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. Men bought women drinks, not the other way around. Stalkers were no exception.
There was a definite
look of discomfort in her pinched smile as she dared to dart a glance his
way. Her drink offer having been declined, she circled back and responded to his initial observation. “I didn’t realize you knew I’d been followin’ the band.”
He gestured for
another beer from the bartender, leaning his forearms on the bar. “I
don’t get a lot of fans taking pictures of me.” One dark eyebrow arched
over the frame of his glasses. “I prefer it that way.”
“I’m sorry. I
didn’t realize my photography was gonna be a problem.” She thoughtlessly
scratched at the base of her neck, making the hives even angrier. “There
are just so few pictures of you out there.”
“You say that as though it was a bad thing. Did you ever stop to think it's intentional?”
Her glass came up off
the bar and she sipped what was left of the fruity drink through the little
cocktail straw. Tony thanked the bartender for his beer and enjoyed the
cold brew sliding down his throat. He waited, undeniably curious about
what this woman wanted from him.
“No. I don’t
suppose that I did. I was more inclined to believe that folks just didn’t
take the time, or didn’t realize…” The words trailed off uncertainly.
This was a weird
fucking conversation. “Didn’t realize what?”
“That someone would
like to see them, I guess.”
Why in the hell would
she ‘stalk’ him like the paparazzi and then, once she finally got within speaking distance, not even look at him? This was all too bizarre
for his liking. It was time to make a graceful exit before Tony found himself in an awkward situation with one of Jon's fans. He took a deep swallow of the beer and put one foot on the
floor in preparation to stand.
“Listen, lady, I’ve
got to admit, you’re creepin’ me out a little bit. Is there something you
wanted? Because if not, I should be shovin' off.”
She immediately
whipped her head up and, for the first time, her eyes directly met his. They were
just your average shade of blue, a lot like his own, but there was something mesmerizing about them… It was almost like she was looking inside his head and seeing
things that he preferred to keep hidden. The notion was unsettling
enough for him to wish she’d never lifted her gaze past his chin.
“I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean to be creepy. I just wanted to talk to you.
Well…” Now the all-seeing eyes slid away, and his discomfort eased, even
though he still couldn’t wait to get away from this woman. Lilah. “I
can’t really say that’s all I wanted.”
Words that should have been fairly simple and straightforward took on a suggestiveness that had his Spidey-sense tingling.
Words that should have been fairly simple and straightforward took on a suggestiveness that had his Spidey-sense tingling.
No way. The
Bashful Stalker is gonna proposition me?
Could he see himself
sleeping with this woman? The answer was a quick and resounding
‘no’. His Fact Two wasn't in bad enough shape to want to take that kind of chance. She had some kind of ulterior agenda, and she wasn’t Playboy hot enough
to overcome his reservations about what that agenda might be. He stood,
not bothering with the rest of his drink.
“I hate to cut this
short, but I need to get back to the venue and make sure everything has been
stowed.”
She stayed rooted to
her seat, for all the world looking like he’d kicked her damn puppy. “Of
course. I understand completely. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Fuck. Her feelings were hurt. Tony kept his distance from the fans, but if he found himself in
close proximity, he was never rude. He just wasn’t that guy. With a quick glance at his phone, he
decided it wouldn’t kill him to give her five minutes.
Stifling a sigh, he
forced out, “Nah, no bother. I have work stuff to take care of, but I
just got a text telling me it’s under control right now." He was going to regret this. He’d bet his Harley on it. "You were saying
that’s not all you wanted?”
Lilah extracted the
little straw from her cocktail so that she could tip the highball glass and
drain it of any remaining alcohol. The ice cubes clattered together when
the glass met the bar once again with a heavy thunk.
“Yes. I was
saying that.” Blue irises, focused sharper than any camera lens he’d ever
owned, came to meet his again. “I also wanted to offer you sexual
favors. Oral sexual favors.”
A moment ago he expected her to
insinuate something about sex. Or, hell, even come right out and ask to
fuck, but the roundabout way she’d offered to suck him off threw him for a
loop. So prim and proper. Clinical, even. The long, flat
sound of the ‘a’ in ‘favors’ and the blending of syllables in ‘sexual’ – it
sounded more like ‘sex-yull’ – made him wonder if he’d even misheard.
Never one to be called
shy, it took him all of a heartbeat to ask for clarification.
“Did you just offer to
blow me?”
The red splotches
swallowed her entire neck and had moved up to consume the underside of her
jaw. “Yes.”
This was getting
weirder by the minute.
“Wanna clue me in as
to why? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, the way you say it, it seems more like a
business proposition than… anything else.”
The first genuine
smile dawned on her face, transforming average features to well-above average.
She was actually quite pretty when she smiled.
“I believed you to be
a smart man, Mr. Bongiovi. It’s good to know I wasn’t mistaken.”
