Dead Rockstar (The Dead Rockstar Trilogy Book 1)

Chapter 11

We gotinto Boston around noon the next day and immediately stopped for lunch. I insisted; Phillip kept saying he”d spent enough of my money, but I reminded him that we were very near the home stretch now and besides, I was starving. Finding a restaurant that served vegan fare seemed impossible since I didn”t know my way around town and neither did Phillip, not anymore, so we stopped at a Philly Cheesesteak place and I ordered two large fries, a water and an apple pie and hoped none of it was cooked in beef fat. I was silent, still sullen about the night before, as he went to the counter and checked with the cook, but secretly, I was touched, despite my sour mood.

I kept busy, drowning my fries in sriracha, trying to ignore the looks Phillip kept giving me. He’d been trying to make me laugh, cracking jokes – he said there was a pasture nearby with some high grass, should I feel like a salad - but I wasn”t in the mood. We hadn”t said much since the night before when we”d argued out by the pool. I had gotten up early, visited the motel lobby, and poured us two cups of scalding, watery coffee and brought them back to the room as an olive branch. He was just sitting up in bed when I got back, his black hair a halo around his face, the sheets bunched up around him, shirtless and breathtaking. I tried not to look.

I handed him his coffee, and with an I mean business look, I”d told him, “I thought about what you said, but I”ve decided I”m coming with you anyway. And I don”t want to argue about it. It”s my decision. My days of doing whatever a man tells me are over.”

I had expected him to protest, but instead he”d just nodded, looking equal parts defeated and relieved. He”d sipped his coffee in silence, watching me as I rummaged through my bag looking for something to wear. If all went well, I”d be meeting Guthrie and who knew who else, and my faded old band t-shirts and jeans wouldn”t cut it. I”d retreated to the bathroom and come out wearing a long, pencil thin black skirt, black boots and a green flowing top that I hoped didn”t show too much cleavage. It had been a long time since I dressed up. As I was doing my makeup in the tiny mirror, Phillip had come up behind me, still shirtless, and wrapped his arms around my waist. He leaned down – he had to – and rested his head on my shoulder.

“I”m glad you”re coming with me,” he said in his low voice. “And I don”t like arguing with you. It”s best for us both if we”re not at odds, don”t you think? Especially since we”re heading into the danger zone.”

“I agree.” I finished applying my eyeliner and turned to face him, his hands still resting on my middle.

“You look beautiful,” he said, smiling at me. “Not that you didn”t before, but you clean up nice. I like the dark eye makeup.”

“If I”m gonna be a witch, I guess I”d better look the part,” I joked.

We had both kind of swayed there for a minute. Then he”d pulled back a little reluctantly. “I”ll go get a shower and get dressed, then,” he said. “So we can hit the road.” I had watched his retreating back as he went into the bathroom, wishing I hadn”t been in such a rush to dress. I was tempted to follow him into the shower and have my way with him. My body ached for him, longed for his touch, and I could tell by the way his eyes burned when he looked at me that he felt the same. We”d had so many false starts. But every time something almost happened, something else happened to ruin it. Maybe the two of us just weren”t meant to be. After all, who did I think I was, trying to get sexy with Phillip Deville? He was famous, gorgeous, six foot five of pure trouble. And who was I, but some lowly stupid librarian living in a singlewide in bumfuck? I didn”t relish the thought of being some discarded groupie who Phillip tired of and sent packing after one hot night. But then again… I thought of his huge, muscular arms, his strong, lean legs and the delicate hair on his chest and taut stomach and shivered. Whatever happened afterward, it would be worth it just to have him one time.

I”d stood in front of the bathroom door for a good five minutes, listening to the water run, deliberating. Should I slide into the shower with him and make up? But what if everything had changed now that I”d refused to release him and shut down his attempts to protect me? Despite the lust in those dark eyes of his, even a small chance that I”d be rejected made me hesitate. If he turned me down, I”d die a thousand deaths.

So now here we were, at a diner in Boston, me shoveling too-salty fries into my face and trying not to look at the perfect specimen of man in front of me - those inky black lashes, the strong, almost square jaw, his impossibly white teeth, his chiseled nose. Trying not to undress him with my eyes or think any illicit thought that he might pick up. He had ordered coffee and a burger, and he was sipping the coffee slowly, savoring it, his eyes closed. He felt me watching, and opened his eyes, giving me a slow smile.

“You had no way of knowing, but picking this place was kind of funny,” he said, sitting his cup down, wrapping his huge hands around it, absorbing the warmth. “I used to come here all the time when I was a teenager. Before I joined the band and lit out of town.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I even worked here one summer. They have the best coffee in town.”

“You don”t usually hear that about diners.” Our local Waffle House served sludge that might as well be dirty motor oil.

“They have one of those old school machines, like a huge monster of a coffee maker, it”s all steel.” He took another sip. “They just use Maxwell House coffee, like the cheapest of the cheap, but that machine makes it just right.”

“The food looks pretty good,” I said magnanimously, gesturing to his burger, which was toasty with butter.

“Best in town,” he agreed, holding out his plate. “Want a bite?”

“Nope,” I groaned, but gave him a wink to show I wasn”t miffed. “Just because you crave something occasionally doesn”t mean you have to give in.”

“That’s true. But then, sometimes you should.” His lips curled into a huge smile before he took another long sip of coffee, his eyes boring into mine over the rim of the cup. My heart skipped in my chest. Fuck. I should have followed him into the shower. “Sometimes you should just give in to the impulse.”

“Phillip,” I warned, feeling my face warm.

His smile deepened as he put down his cup. “Hindsight is 20/20.”

“Get out of my head, you loser.” I gave him my best glare, determined not to let my cheeks flush, and wiped my hands on a napkin. “Where to first?” If I didn”t change the subject fast, we might end up back at the motel.

“You”re no fun,” he said in a mock pout, picking his cup back up. “First, I”m going to go get my money, if it”s still there. And I”m handing you a huge wad of it right off the bat, so find somewhere to put it in that giant bag of yours.”

Every time he mentioned that damn money it hurt my feelings, even though it shouldn”t. He”d told me right from the beginning that he wanted to pay me back, and I”d agreed. But it felt wrong to me; after all, I was the reason he was here. And I was happy to come with him on this journey, to help him make heads or tails of what to do now, and I didn”t need to be paid to do it. But I knew his pride and honor would never let up, and he wouldn”t rest until he”d given me my money back. I took a sip of my water. “Okay.”

“There”s a park across from my old place, or there was,” he said. “If it”s still there, you could hang out for a while, if you don”t mind, while I get the money. Probably best for you to be somewhere else while I do it. I have no idea who’s living in the house now, and it”ll be risky enough with just me. Two of us would be a really bad idea.”

“Had you considered that someone from your family might still be living there?” I asked.

He didn”t answer, but his look showed me that he had. Of course. He”d probably thought of nothing else. I imagined the wondering, the worry, had probably eaten him up with nerves. He took another long sip of his coffee and gestured to the waitress for another one. His face was sad, suddenly, and very tired. I didn”t think he had gotten much sleep the past few nights. Whether it was from worry, or something else, I didn”t know and was afraid to ask. Not that he”d answer me truthfully anyway. He had a very stubborn and annoying need to keep me “safe.” Something I planned to bring up to him again once all this madness was over - if he was in my life after that.

I”d release him, if that”s what he wanted. If he asked me again to do it, I would. He could be free to go on and live the life he wanted to live, now that he had another chance. I knew that just because I”d summoned him didn”t mean I had some claim over him. Just because I”d been his “biggest fan” in his other life didn”t mean that he was obligated to me in this one. For all I knew the attraction between us, at least on his end, was just part of the spell. What if he didn”t even really like me that much? Maybe I was just a means to an end, and he”d be glad to be rid of me.

I dug another fry into the puddle of sriracha on my plate – it almost looked like blood - and tried to push the thoughts out of my head. No point in worrying about it now.

“Don”t do that, Stormy.” His voice penetrated my dark thoughts. “You”re driving yourself nuts.”

I nodded, but didn”t look up at him, content to keep shoveling in fries. If I looked at him, I might cry. “I told you before to get out of my head.”

“I”m not in your head. Anybody looking at you could see it.”

“And you”re not worried? At all?”

“A little,” he said. “Mostly for you. Once you”ve been dead, everything else just seems kind of unimportant. I guess it puts it—life—in perspective.”

“You”re like a Goth Dr. Phil,” I said with a laugh, wiping at my eyes, getting salt in them, and beginning to cry in earnest.

“Who is Dr. Phil?”

“Like a self-help guru, psychologist guy,” I said. “He”s on TV. He’s bald and has an obnoxious southern accent. He gives wayward people the tough-love thing and convinces them to turn their lives around.” He looked so affronted I started to laugh. “Dr. Phil Deville, Scare-apist.”

The air was crisp,slightly cold, and there was a smell on the light breeze – the faint acridness that only came from old, well-used wood stoves. I smiled, recognizing it as one of Phillip”s signature smells– woodsmoke from his home town. The sky was a bright, sun-drenched blue, not a cloud in sight. But straight above, I saw the silver-white needle point of a jet slowly streak across the sky, leaving its fine pen line behind it, growing fainter as it moved. I sat down on a park bench and pulled out a magazine and my cell phone, planning to pass at least an hour, if not more.

Phillip said the house was near this park, but he figured it”d take him a while to case the place, make sure nobody was home, get into the backyard and dig. It was going to be tricky. Regardless of who lived there – whether it was his family, strangers or nobody at all – it was breaking and entering, and he could get in big trouble if caught. He would eventually be recognized if he was. This was Boston, his hometown, and he was more famous here than anywhere else. He”d tucked all his dark hair up under a military style green cap and thrown on a royal blue hoodie over his signature black shirt and jeans, but he still looked like Phillip Deville. I”d given him my glasses – 80s style aviators with mirrored lenses- but even that hadn”t helped.

I flipped idly through the magazine, scrolled through my cell phone, and was bored after ten minutes. I sent Sloan a text – my phone seemed to be working okay, now that Phillip wasn’t nearby. “Just checking in. What”s going on with you? Haven”t heard from you in a while. We just got into town. Phillip is taking care of biz.” I checked my voicemails and looked through Facebook and Twitter. But all the while I was worried about Phillip. I hoped he”d make quick work of this.

Sloan pinged back after a few moments. “Same old shit here. Jealous of you and your guy, sexing up in a hotel.”

Ha. If only. I wrote back. “Motel, not Hotel. Big difference. Just a biz trip. I told you that.”

“Whatever you say. Liar.”

“How”s Dan?”

“Dunno.”

Uh oh. And things had been going so well.

“Trouble in Paradise?”

After five minutes she hadn”t responded, and I knew I”d pissed her off. I shouldn”t have been so flippant, I should have been more empathetic. Sloan could dish it out but couldn”t always take it. I sent another text.

“Sorry, bad attempt at humor. Are you guys ok? Are YOU ok?”

Five more minutes and nothing. I put the phone back in my purse with a frown. I didn”t have much battery left and Phillip might try to call me if there was an emergency, but I didn”t like leaving things like that with Sloan. I hadn”t talked to her in days, and now I”d pissed her off. I bit at my fingernails, worried.

Another twenty minutes went by, and finally an hour, and after an hour and thirty minutes I started to get anxious. I”d read the magazine cover to cover, people watched, surfed the web and for the past twenty minutes I”d been staring at a squirrel scurry along a fence post. Phillip needed to hurry up before I died of nerves or old age. Didn”t he know how frantic I”d be?

The sun was directly overhead, bathing me in welcome warmth on the cool day. My hair was pulled in a side-pony and lay on my left shoulder, catching the rays and seeming to glow like white-fire. The ends tickled my chin and I looked down, momentarily captivated by the little white tips of my hair and how they seemed to glow, until I realized that I was staring at a mess of split ends. Ten minutes later, and I was still hunting through them with disgusted determination, pulling each one apart with the fervor of a serial killer.

“What in the fuck are you doing, picking for lice?” I heard a familiar laugh, and saw a figure running toward me, holding a plastic bag. He was still wearing the blue hoodie and his dark green military cap was askew, black hair streaming from it.

“Jesus, he”s shit at disguises,” I murmured to myself, but I was standing up and running to him before I knew it, split ends forgotten.

“I got it.” He gave me a triumphant look and handed me the bag, almost shoving it at me, like he was afraid of it. Then he pulled me into a clumsy hug. He was out of breath, but his face was full of glee. “It was all still there, after all this time, can you believe that?”

“Wow,” I said. I didn”t know why he was handing it to me. I pushed it back at him. “I was beginning to get really worried, you were gone so long. I was scared you ran into trouble. Was it hard to get in there and get it?”

“No. I just walked around back, dug it up and took it. The reason I took so long is a whole other – well...” He hesitated and looked around the park. “Can we go somewhere? To the car? I don”t want to stand here and tell you the story. Somebody might recognize me.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I parked the truck right around the corner.” I followed him to the parking lot, got in, and buckled up without a word. I wasn”t sure why my heart was pounding so hard. He was obviously okay. He had gotten the money. He had achieved one of his goals, and now we could move onto the second without the specter of his poverty hanging over him.

“How much money is that?” I asked. “If you don”t mind telling me.”

“I don”t even know exactly. I don”t remember. I was high as hell when I buried it, and I collected it over the course of several months. But it”s at least thirty grand, maybe closer to fifty.”

“Wow,” I breathed. I had never been in possession of even a quarter of that much money all at once. “And that”s just from a few months?”

“It was during our heyday, when I was still young and hot enough to make a few coins.” He laughed. “That”s a lot to me now, but I have to say, it wasn”t back then. It”s a drop in the bucket compared to what I used to be worth.” He shook his head. “All in other hands now, though. That”s what happens when you die.”

“I just can”t imagine,” I said in awe, staring down at the bag. “The life you lived...”

“It wasn”t all that great, Stormy,” he said quietly. “Even with the money. It was a lot more hassle than it ever was good, I can tell you that.” I noticed his hands on the wheel shook a little; something had upset him.

“Still, you have to feel...nostalgic, if nothing else, being here,” I said. “It must have been hard, seeing your old house. I imagine you must miss this place, and the people you loved.”

“Yes,” he said, growing even more quiet. “Yes, I do.” Then he was silent.

He didn”t say much else until we were at the motel. He seemed to be lost in thought. We pulled round to the room, parked, and Phillip followed me inside, the cash tucked under his arm like a bag of groceries. He pushed it under the double bed and sat down on it, wiping his brow.

I sat beside him silently, giving him a minute. He seemed really rattled; all his triumphant excitement from before had disappeared. But he still didn”t speak, only stared at the wall, silently brooding, his hands working over themselves in his lap. He hadn”t taken the bait before in the truck, so I decided to just be direct.

I put a hand on his leg. “Let me guess,” I began. “You saw someone from your family and that”s why you”re so shaken.”

He shook his head and put his large hand over mine. “No, but it”s a good guess. I didn”t see anybody in my family, but I did see someone I knew.” He swallowed. “I saw Jason.”

“What?” I gasped. “Jason Langley?”

“The one and only.”

I gaped at him, and he sighed.

“My family...they all moved out of the house. They”re long gone. I guess after I died ownership passed to Barb, and she in turn gifted it to my youngest brother – you know I owned that house, I had bought it from my parents when I first came into money – and he didn”t want it, so he sold it to Jason. And he”s lived there all these years.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked. “And how did you happen to see him?”

“I did more than see him,” Phillip said. “And I know all of that because...well, he told me.”

“What?” I looked at him in surprise. “I thought you were going to lay low!”

“I did, I swear. I cased the place from the truck, I was inconspicuous, I took my time. Didn”t seem like anybody was home. I”m a fuckin” idiot. He was in the backyard the whole time, on the back porch – I didn”t see him because he was slumped over in the chair, half dead. I come walking around back with my shovel and bag, and I didn”t even see him. Just started digging. No idea the man was there until he said, ‘Phillip.’ And I stopped digging and my blood just ran cold and I almost passed the fuck out. I knew his voice without having to turn around.”

“Oh shit,” I said. “What did you do?”

“What could I do? I went up to the porch and sat down. Asked him how he was.” He shook his head. “He wasn”t good, Stormy. He”s so strung out –he smelled like shit and I”d be shocked if he weighed a hundred and thirty pounds. He looks like he”s a hundred years old. But he knew me. And he was glad to see me.” He shook his head. “Weirdest part is that he didn”t seem surprised at all.”

“He didn”t freak out when you told him?”

“Nope, I was the one who was freaked,” he said, running a hand nervously through his snarled hair. “I started gibbering like a parrot, I told him that I”d faked my death all those years ago to get away from the fame and drugs and that I”d been living down south all this time, but I”d hit a run of bad luck and needed my money. I thought I was doing pretty good, too, but he just fixed one glazed eye on me and laughed. I said what was so fuckin” funny and he was like, ”I know I”m strung the fuck out and it”s been twenty goddamn years, but don”t think for a second that I forgot Guthrie or that damn spell in the liner notes.’”

I didn”t know how to respond.

“And I just kinda went white and was like, ”Don”t be stupid, man, magic and spells aren”t real.” And he says, ”I knew this was going to happen long before you ever stepped foot out of the grave.’ He says, ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’”

“What did he mean by that?”

“No fucking idea. I couldn”t tell if he was just that high, or if he was serious. I was so freaked I didn”t ask him to explain.” He put his head in his hands. I squeezed his leg, and rested my head on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. His body was tense. “I tried to convince him that he was just hallucinating, how dumb is that? That it was all some drug induced mania. But he saw me, and he”ll remember.”

“I”m sorry,” I said quietly, stroking his arm. “I”m sorry you had to see him like that. I know it must have been horrible. But I”m glad you at least got your money. And you know he”s alive. That”s...something, right?”

“He said that to me,” Phillip said, shaking his head. “That”s what he said – ”I”m still alive, and now so are you.” I didn”t know what the fuck to say. God, he was the last person I expected to see. He”s living in my house now. It”s too much.”

I rubbed his arm. His skin was warm and soft. I ran a finger over his ”7” tattoo and pressed against him. “I”m sorry,” I said again. “I wish I knew how to help.”

“You already are,” he said, looking at me. “More than you know.”

I pulled him backward, and we both laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I nuzzled into the crook of his arm, and it felt as natural as if we”d been doing this for years. He smelled so good. His silky hair brushed against my face, a sensation I was starting to get used to.

He made a move to rise. “Let me get you that money-”

“If you say one more thing about that damned money, I”m going to put my studded Doc Marten in your ass,” I said irritably. “Phillip, for the last time, I couldn”t give a fresh fuck about the money. Are you trying to piss me off on purpose?”

“I don”t like owing you,” he said stubbornly. “It makes me feel like we aren”t on even footing. It makes it hard to-”

“By that logic we”ll never be square,” I said petulantly, poking him in the chest. “Since you owe me your life.”

“Believe me, I know it,” he said. “Why do you think I want to at least give you back a couple hundred bucks?”

“I don”t want it,” I said. “It means nothing compared to what I”ve gained.”

I laid there and waited for the inevitable stubborn, pigheaded argument that was sure to follow, or a steady stream of cuss words, but he shocked me by propping himself up on one elbow and planting a sweet, slow kiss on my lips. His dark green eyes bored into mine, a question in them. I reached up and smoothed his hair behind his ears and smiled. “That”s better,” I said. “Kiss me again.”

Leaning down gingerly, he pressed his lips against mine, and made a soft humming sound. His voice was like velvet. I ran my hands behind his head, pushing them into his hair, tugging it a little, as his mouth opened on mine. He still tasted like coffee. He was bearing all his weight on his propped-up arm, so I pulled him onto me, wanting to feel him crushing me. He made another sound in his throat and I could feel his teeth against my lips, his hands on my neck, the delicious warm weight of him on my chest and legs.

He felt so good, tasted so good. He didn”t seem real. His hair too soft, his skin too warm, those eyes too dark and beautiful. But he was. Real and here and I didn”t want the moment to end. Nothing was going to interrupt us this time; I didn”t care who knocked at the door, we were not answering. I tugged at his shirt, pulling it upward and over his head, and ran my hands over his warm chest, savoring the feel of him. His breathing was hard and fast.

“Let”s see how you treat groupies in hotel rooms, then,” I whispered, giving him a devious look.

“No way.” He shook his head, grinning. “For one thing, I”m stone cold sober. And I”m glad that I am. I want to remember this, to remember you.”

“I”m not going anywhere,” I said, looking into his deep green eyes.

“Good.” He placed a rough kiss on my bottom lip, his hands roaming over my stomach. He inched my shirt up, his skin warm and rough on mine. “I plan to be a Boy Scout, on my best behavior.”

“Don”t do that,” I said, nibbling on his ear. “I think I like you just a little bit bad.”

“Don”t worry.” His hands were still moving upward under my shirt. “That guy”s still in there, too.”

“I”m looking forward to meeting him,” I said, and let my hand trail downward, touching him lightly, then harder. He groaned.

“I want you,” he whispered in my ear. “So bad. I don”t think I can hold out any longer, Stormy.”

“Me, either.”

“So many false starts,” he said, brushing against my cheek with his thumb, a tender, innocent gesture that made my skin erupt into flame. “Are we really going to do this now? I need to hear that you really want it – that you want me.”

“Yes,” I said firmly, placing a hot, messy kiss on his lips. “I want you, Phillip.”

I didn”t have to tell him twice. His mouth brushed against mine as he helped me tug off my own shirt and his long, graceful hands toyed with my bra. His lips trailed down my neck and to my collarbone, and he was making low, gruff noises in his throat that were better than anything he”d ever done on an album. I thought I might combust from the sound.

My brain could always be relied on to poor cold water on any good moment, and it didn”t disappoint. As his lips trailed down my collarbone to my chest, a little voice in my head said, You”re about to have sex with a dead guy.

Shut up, I told it. I don”t care. It”s Phillip Deville and he”s wonderful and he”s mine, and we could literally be rolling around in a coffin and I wouldn”t give a flying fuck.

I could feel his lips curl into a smile against my skin and he emitted a low chuckle, his hands still roaming over me, making me shiver and moan. Get out of my head, I thought with a laugh, and he chuckled again and nibbled at my neck.

Every inch of him was alive and warm under my hands. The places where his lips had touched felt like scorched earth; hot and aching. I pulled at his belt buckle, needing him to be free of his jeans, needing to touch him all over. He shook out of them, and instead of removing my skirt, he pushed it up around my waist. His hands were caught up in the material. “Silky”, he murmured against me, and I wasn”t sure if he was talking about the fabric or me.

I tugged off his black boxers and ran my hands tentatively up his thighs, feeling the coarse dark hair there, enjoying the sighs of pleasure in my ear. I took him in my hand, gently, then a little rougher, and he drew in his breath sharply. “Jesus,” I said, unable to stop myself. “I figured you were big all over, but...”

He laughed, his breath tickling my ear. “Flatterer,” he said, his tongue darting out and touching my earlobe. “If you keep touching me like that, I might not be able to contain myself. It”s been a long time.”

“I don”t want you to contain yourself,” I whispered. I guided him down between my legs, where I was ready for him. With a quick movement, he pushed his way inside me, and I gasped; so did he. I had expected a little pain, but there was none. He moved in me with delicious thrusts, looking into my eyes, his arms holding mine above my head, but not in a show of dominance; rather a surrender to me, let me serve you.

No awkwardness like there had been with Tess, that furtive, almost embarrassing sort of bump-bump and me lying there with my eyes closed, wishing it were better. No, this felt right and perfect and like it had been written in the stars. Maybe it was the spell, maybe there was some invisible, mystical cord attaching us, and the attraction between us would be severed once I released him. But right now, it didn”t matter, because all I could focus on was how good he felt between my legs, warm and full and lusty, his thighs rough and strong against my own, the weight of him strong and alive and heady. I bucked my hips against his, unable to lie still, unable to let him fully take control, wanting to dominate him as he was dominating me. His hair fluttered against my face, his rosebud lips placing kisses on my cheeks, my eyes, my forehead, making my entire face feel ticklish.

Only a few blessed moments and it was over. He hadn”t been kidding. I supposed twenty-three years was a long time, even if he had been dead. I smiled into his shoulder as he groaned and muttered an apology and ran my hands up his back. He felt so good lying on me, a weight that I relished, that made me feel secure and calm. “Stop,” I said, laughing. “You”ll have other opportunities.”

“I will?” His face glowed in the moonlight, his eyes bright.

“What did you think?” I asked, tracing a circle on his cheek. “That I”d love you and leave you? That seems more your M.O.”

“Why?”

“You know, rock star and all...”

“Not all the stereotypes are true.” He leaned down and pecked my cheek.

“I”ve read a few interviews, my dear.”

“Well,” he said, having the decency to turn a little red, “I”d like to think I wasn”t quite as bad as some others. But anyway, that part of my life is over. That life in its entirety is over. I”m a different person now – truth be told, I was before I died.”

“So you”re not going to kick me out of your room to do the walk of shame now that you”ve had your way with me?”

“Never,” he said, then his face turned thoughtful. “I just thought...it”s blurry for me, you know, because of the spell. I didn”t know how much I was just assuming and how much you might actually – you know, like me.”

“Of course I like you,” I said, incredulous. “Fuck the spell. Phillip, for god’s sake, I had pictures of you on my wall when I was fourteen, standing around in nothing but tight purple underwear and combat boots. To say I”m attracted to you is the understatement of the decade.”

“Oh jeez, I remember that photoshoot.” He groaned. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, until I saw the magazine. There was one shot where they actually had me turned over, with my ass in the air-”

“Leaning up against the couch,” I finished for him. “With one hand tucked into your waistband, pulling it down.” I remembered it all too well. “Just one hint of butt cheek showing. It was pretty hot.”

He rolled off me and pulled me into his arms, nestling his chin in my neck. “It was humiliating, is what it was. The guys gave me shit about it for months. They called me pinup girl.”

“It sold a lot of records.”

“I guess it did.” He laughed. “I have to tell you, Stormy, it”s kind of nerve wracking, being with a woman who fell in love with your persona. You know, so much of that was just...”

“I know, smoke and mirrors.” I sat up. “You live up to expectations just fine. If anything, I like you even more than I thought possible.” I smiled and brushed a strand of his hair off his face, noting his pleased expression. “I might just keep you around.”

He kissed me gently on the lips, his mouth still pursed in a smile. “I like it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Touch my hair.” He bent down and nuzzled his face against mine. “I always used to hate it when people touched my hair. And it was always the first thing women went for.” He shrugged. “It”s weird – when you do it, it feels so good.”

I reached up and caressed his cheek, gently pushing his hair behind his ears. “I wonder why that is.”

“I don”t know,” he said, his face buried in my neck. “It just feels good, you touching me.”

His lips met mine again, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his face close to me, running my hands through his dark mane, letting my fingertips graze his scalp. He had so much hair – silky but tangled. I gathered it in my hands and pulled it back from his face as he kissed me. He made a noise in his throat as his mouth moved against mine. We were locked in place, our bodies a perfect fit, his weight surprisingly comfortable on top of me as he held himself slightly upright with an arm.

“Can I have another chance?” he murmured, pulling back to look at me. I still held his hair, pulled tight from his face, giving his jaw an angular, wild look. His eyes flashed in the dim room. “The first time was a fluke. I can do so much better.”

“I have no doubt,” I said with a slow smile.

In one quick motion, he was inside me again, moving against me in a glorious rhythm, while I held his hair back from his face, memorizing the lines of his jaw and chin. We cried out together and I let go, watching the strands fall around his cheeks, over his forehead, and down to his shoulders like black rain.

“I could usea glass of wine. You?”

“Sure.” I felt drowsy and contented, and was halfway to falling asleep, but I would have agreed to anything. I lay in the crook of his warm, muscular arm, half dozing, my body pleasantly singing with the last dying embers of pleasure.

“Can I take your truck? I”ll run to the liquor store, buy us a bottle. There”s one on the corner.”

“Are you sure you want to risk it?” I asked lazily, tracing a pattern on his chest with my finger. “What if someone recognizes you?”

“I”ll wear the hat and that hoodie,” he said. “I”ll keep my head down. Hell, they might even have a drive through.”

“Sure you don”t want me to go?”

“No,” he said, planting a kiss on the tip of my nose. “You lie here and relax. I”ll just be a minute.” He pulled the shirt over his head. “You just be ready for when I get back.”

“Are you telling me that the third time”s the charm?” I asked with a lazy laugh. “Because the second time was pretty much perfect.”

“You have no idea what you”re in for, pretty lady.” He winked at me and turned to leave.

I was dozing off before he even got out the door, dreaming about what he had in store for me.

I wokeup a short while later to a gentle knock on the door, and groggily pulled myself out of bed. Phillip must’ve forgotten to take his motel key. I was still naked, and it was cold, so I threw a t-shirt on as I walked to the door. “Phillip, is that you?”

There was no response, just a sing-songy little “tap-tap” again. He probably couldn’t hear me through the thick walls.

I opened the door, still half asleep, with a dreamy smile on my face. Suddenly I was wide awake. It was not Phillip standing there, but Lee Courtenay.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demanded, putting my arms over my bra-less chest, wishing for once I’d used some common sense and hadn’t just opened the door like a foolhardy moron. “Jesus, Lee, again?”

“I saw him leave,” Lee said with an easy smile, as though he were an old friend just coming to say what”s up. I didn”t like the bulge in his pocket though. It looked like it could be a gun. And I didn”t trust that smile. “I”m not here to hurt you, Stormy.”

“You say that every time I see you,” I said. “Which is far too damn often. If I wasn”t 100% sure I could defend myself against you, I”d be concerned. You know – thou protest too much and all that.”

He laughed. “I just don”t want you to be ill at ease.”

“You said that you’d leave me alone,” I seethed.

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I don’t think you understand-”

“You always show up when Phillip isn”t around,” I said. “You”re scared of him.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“What do you want? I was asleep. I don”t appreciate being woken up or having to look over my shoulder every time Phillip goes to the bathroom.”

“What I warned you about – you didn’t listen,” he said accusingly.

I leaned against the door frame. “I passed the message along, Lee, but I”m afraid that Phillip didn”t give a rat”s ass. So why don”t you take your ugly hat and your beat-up car and go bother somebody who gives a damn.”

He winced. “Damn, you”re mean.”

“Yeah? Well, I don”t like being followed, or having weird guys prowling around my house, or threatening me and my boyfriend-”

“So you guys are ”on”, then,” he said.

“That”s none of your business.” I started to shut the door. “Now fuck off.”

“I had to try one more time. To tell you. You don’t seem to understand the gravity of this situation.”

“I understand just fine, Lee.” I moved again to shut the door, and he stopped it with his foot.

“Your life is in danger,” he said, then moved his foot. I slammed the door.

I sighed, leaning my forehead against the door. He was baiting me, and I knew it, but there was no way I couldn”t hear what he had to say now. I opened the door again and looked at him expectantly. “Spit it out. Ten words or less.”

“The man who gave Phillip the spell,” he said. “If he finds out what you guys are doing, he’ll kill Phillip.”

“That makes no sense,” I said. “He gave Phillip the spell. He obviously knows what it’s for. He knew that someone might use it.”

“Things are different now,” he said. “You”ll see. You don’t understand. Guthrie-”

“Thanks for the tip, Lee,” I cut in. “Now I”m going back to bed.”

“I don’t understand why you’re not listening to me.”

“Because you’re a stalker and a liar and I don’t know the first thing about you, maybe?”

“Surely that guy isn”t such a great fuck that it”s worth risking your life,” he said.

“That”s just it,” I said, rearing my arm back. “He is.” I slammed the door in his face for the second time.