Falling Down(3)

By: Anne Mercier



He reaches out to take the pen and paper from my hand and as he leans forward he whispers, "It's okay, Lucy. I won't bite. Well, unless you want me to, of course." He flashes those straight, white teeth and winks. Whiskey-colored eyes dance with humor and I sigh on the inside because I seriously can't snap out of this, whatever it is.

He signs the paper, taking his time. He caps the pen and places it and the paper in my hand, closing my hand around the items so I don't drop them. He doesn't let go of my hand and my eyes zoom in on that. Holy hell. Jesse Kingston is holding my hand--it was just for a few seconds, but he held my hand! His fingers are slightly callused, no doubt from playing his guitar and wow, am I starting to sweat?

"Are you going to be alright, Lucy?"

"Um…" Hey! It's better than unh.

Sera signs in exasperation. "She'll be fine. She's just had the biggest crush on you forever."

I register what she said and vow that as soon as I can move I'm going to kick her ass. And here it comes--the blush. It creeps up my neck to my face. I'm sure I'm a lovely shade of red right now and red is so not my color.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. She's been following your career since you went national your junior year in high school."

"Wow," he says with a smile at me. "That's a long time."

"Yeah, it is. She ran around screaming when your first album debuted and when your video came out she threw a party."

"That's dedication."

He's still smiling. I stare at those amazing lips. I want to lick them. Nibble on them and tug on that lip ring bit with my teeth.

I manage to blink.

"Hey, I think she's coming out of it," he says.

I shake my head. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry."

He flashes those pearly whites again--and those dimples. "No worries."

"I'm Lucy."

"Nice to meet you Lucy," he says, that callused thumb caressing my hand as he shakes it, sparks zinging up my arm, more moisture pooling at the apex of my thighs--I am a hormonal teenager and let me tell you this man makes them rage. He reaches out and tucks a strand of my brown hair behind my ear and I don't think my heart can take it.

"Nice to meet you too." I thrust the pen and autograph toward Sera who takes them.

"Let's walk and talk. I think my flight might be ready."

"No private plane today?" Ha! Look at me talking normal.

"Nah. Not for just me and the big guys," he says pointing to his body guards. "When the band travels then we take the jet."

I nod. God. To have a private jet. Better yet, to be on their private jet when they're all on board. Heaven.

"So you're a fan."

"Mhmm." We're walking super close, so close our arms are touching as we walk. When our hands brush against one another, he winks at me. Winks! He's seriously tall. I mean, I know from his bio and from going to the concerts he's six-three but compared to my five-three, he's a giant. His shoulders are broad and I swear I can see his muscles ripple in his stomach as he walks. Another place I'd like to lick. Is it hot in here?

I look at Sera out of the corner of my eye. She's grinning and she fans herself. Definitely hot in here. Like the body guards trailing behind us aren't going to tell him she did that? I just bite my bottom lip then grin wide.

"Where are you headed?" he asks.

"L.A."

"I'm headed back there myself."

"Oh, were you at the Comic Con?"

Jesse's involved with a company that makes comics, ones based on rockers, of course. He heads to as many Comic Con's as he can--I know this because I stal-, uh, follow him online. I would never stalk him. Okay, I do follow him closely sometimes. I sigh. Alright, alright, I follow him closely all the time. I've even got a Google alert. That doesn't make me a stalker. It just makes me a die-hard fan. That's all. I'm sticking with that so shush.

"Good guess. I was. There was a great turn out. It's part of what I love about the Midwest. People have passion and they're not afraid to go the extra mile to show their dedication."

"Hmmm," was all I could manage.

"Excuse me while I check in." He squeezes my shoulder gently, then walks up to the counter, the same counter we checked in at, and the airline chick all but puddles at his feet. Who can blame her? With his wavy, dark hair that touches his collar and those whiskey-colored eyes that had me captivated. Jesse Kingston is a walking, talking bundle of testosterone. A woman's equivalent to a man's walking wet dream.

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