Title: A Sticky Situation
(#7 of Awkward Love)
Author: Missy Johnson
Genre: Rock Star Romance
A sexy rock star walking into your hotel room?
It sounds like a dream come true.
When you’re in the middle of some serious self-pleasure like I was
It’s a freaking nightmare.
It gets worse.
What I thought was my hotel room…was actually his.
I’d just given last year’s hottest new talent a performance worthy of my own Grammy.
Now everyone is talking about the girl who got her rocks off in Brix Wilson’s hotel room.
Nobody knows I’m that girl and it’s going to stay that way.
It’s not like I’m going to run into him again, right?
Excerpt . . .
What the fuck?
His head cocks sideways and his lips twitch into an even bigger grin that I’d probably find sexy—if I wasn’t two knuckles deep and showing him more of me than any guy has seen of me in a long time.
“Well, I have to say,” he drawls in a low, husky voice, “women do a lot of shit to try to get my attention, but this is definitely up there as the most original.”
I can’t even comprehend what he’s saying, because I’m frozen on the spot and trying to work out what the hell he’s doing in my room. Is this some kind of sick joke? Is he planning on attacking me? My eyes dart to the phone on the wall, but they switch back to him when he walks closer.
He steps out of the shadows, giving me a better look at his face and--
What the heck is the lead singer of The Vision doing in my hotel room?
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, so my body decides to do both. I can’t think straight, but I’m doing my best to stop freaking the fuck out so I can try to figure a way out of this mess. I’m so unbelievably embarrassed. And naked, apart from this flimsy sheet. I should probably get dressed. The problem is, doing anything at this point feels impossible.
“So, do you speak?” he asks, jolting me out of my thoughts. “I mean, we’ve established that you can moan quite well.”
“I had a friend once, who was mute,” he muses, “we drifted apart because our conversations were always very one-sided.”
“I am not mute,” I snap, glaring at him.
“Great, then you can start by telling me what you’re doing.” He laughs and rubs his jaw. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious what you were doing, I’m just not sure why. Not that I didn’t appreciate the show,” he quickly adds. “Trust me, I did.” His dark eyes flash with amusement. “It’s refreshing to meet a girl who doesn’t mind opening herself up.”
What the ever loving fuck…?
How can he casually crack jokes like he isn’t the slightest bit embarrassed about walking in on me? I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just glare at him.
“Can I get you anything, like a drink?” he offers. “Or maybe offer you a hand…?”
“You could offer me some privacy?” I suggest, my body shaking with rage.
“Privacy, huh?” He grins at me. “Sure. I’ll turn around.”
He’ll turn around?
“Or you could leave, the same way you came in?” I retort.
“You seem pretty agitated over there. I’m guessing I interrupted the finale? Have you thought about trying some relaxation breathing?” he suggests, “it’s supposed to be great for relieving tension.”
“Are you done?” I growl.
“Are you?” he asks. “Maybe you should be the one leaving?”
A surge of anger hits me. Why the hell should I be the one to leave when he’s the one in my room? I wrestle myself up so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, my knuckles white from clinging onto the sheet so tightly. While I’m at it, why am I the one who’s embarrassed?
If I can’t get myself off in the privacy of my own room--
I stop, mid-thought as I look around, an uneasy feeling creeping into my stomach. The clothes scattered outside the bathroom. The freaking guitar leaning against the couch that I somehow neglected to notice. The champagne. The note…there was no upgrade.
I’m the one in the wrong room.
And I was seconds from climaxing all over Brix Wilson’s bed.
My heart pounds as a trickle of sweat makes it’s way down the back of my neck. I swat it away, while trying hard to think up an excuse for being in his room that sounds even half plausible.
Who am I kidding? There’s no getting out of this. Not without me looking like a complete fuckwit. Sure, they gave me the wrong key, which makes this whole mess not my fault, but as if he’s going to believe that.
I take a deep breath and reach for my clothes, somehow managing to dress myself while showing minimal skin. Not that he hasn’t seen everything already.
God, he’s seen more of my than I have.
I stand up, nearly losing my balance. My legs feel like jelly, so even walking feels like a hard task, but I have to get out of here. And the longer I wait, the harder escaping is going to be.
“I have to go,” I mumble.
“So soon? You went to all this trouble of getting in here and performing for me, and now you’re leaving? Where’s the harm in hanging around for a little longer?” he presses. “I was looking forward to seeing how far you’d go.”
I stalk over to the door, avoiding all physical contact with him. He can’t wipe the smirk off his face, but I can’t let myself think too hard about what just happened, or I’ll lose control. As I close the door behind me, I hear his voice call out after me;
“What, I don’t even get an encore?”
About the Author . . .
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