The librarian and the ro.., p.1
The Librarian and the Rock Star, page 1
The Librarian
and the Rock Star
By Haley Travis
Copyright 2019 Haley Travis. All rights reserved. Cover design by Lexie Renard.
This book is intended for sale to adults only. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual people or specific locations is completely coincidental, or intended fictitiously. All characters are over 19, no sex partners are related, all sex is consensual. This is fantasy. In the real world, everyone practices safe sex at all times. Right? Right.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted or duplicated in any form whatsoever without express written permission of the author.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
W EDNESDAY
1. A Nice Girl in a Dirty Back Alley
2. Librarian Life
3. When Good Things Go Sideways
THURSDAY
4. Too Early for a Mid-Life Crisis
5. Phone Call
6. Going to a Secret Show
7. The Secret Show
8. A Note to Backstage
9. A Walk with a Rock Star
10. Late Night Diner
11. Strolling Home
FRIDAY
12. Very Good Morning
13. Pre-Show Weirdness
14. The Big Show
15. Backstage Chaos
16. Hotel Bedtime
SATURDAY
17. Abnormal Saturday, Band Life
18. TV Time
19. Strangely Empty
SUNDAY
20. Texting With Jack
MONDAY
21. Work Not Working
22. Work Changes
TUESDAY
23. Thumbs Flying
WEDNESDAY
24. Things Working Out
25. Dinner Plans
26. Sleepover
THURSDAY
27. Not So Bad
28. Shush
29. Another Diner Dinner
30. Another Hotel Room
FRIDAY
31. Photos and Coffee
32. Come Fly With Me
33. Hunter and Gatherer
34. Le Hotel
35. Start to a Strange Date
36. Thai Food and Promotion
37. Titles and an Alley
38. Not a Groupie, Regroup
39. Nuit D’amour
SATURDAY
40. Wake Up Call
41. Soundcheck
42. Blue Pills
43. Band Meeting
44. Spotlights
45. New Plans
Other Stories
– WEDNESDAY –
1. A Nice Girl in a Dirty Back Alley
I severely detest being a cliché, yet why shouldn’t I do what I want? So here I am, taking a long lunch, spending my time in an alley behind a bunch of stores on Queen Street West. Moving my camera in circles, I scanned for highlights shining in the chipped paint. The flat concrete creates wonderful contrast, allowing the colors to pop magnificently.
Yes, I’m taking photos of distressed walls, like 4,875 other ‘artists’ probably are right this second.
The mural itself isn’t particularly inspired, but this off-kilter corner with hot pink swirls gleaming against the dull blue and gray – I feel like it’s a slice of graffiti heaven on earth.
Perhaps it might seem a little obsessive compulsive, trying to get the perfect blend of natural and tropical colors out in the urban landscape. But it’s my meditation, my escape from a life that I’m not sure I’m comfortable in anymore.
Plus, I print a new photo every week and tape it outside the glass of my lizard’s terrarium so that Lizzie has new scenery. Her life in the pet store was pretty boring, I assume, especially since she may have been there a while. I figure since she only has three legs and two square feet of space to toddle around in, the space should look interesting, and change weekly. She deserves some variety in her life.
So does Keira , the back of my brain yelled at me. I had woken up this morning with a strange buzzing in my head, as if my soul were itchy. It had finally dawned on me that if I needed a big life change, I was going to have to actually change things. Be productive. Focus. Push myself. This morning I actually announced my intentions to my mug of tea. “New energy, challenge myself, bigger steps, break habits and come out of my shell,” I had told my steaming oolong. Taking a long lunch to take photos wasn’t a huge step toward change, but it was a start.
Wondering if I could crop the bit of mint green out of the photo, I noticed a tiny ant in the area I wanted to shoot. After taking a few snaps with my miniscule model as the star, I waited patiently for him to meander out of my way.
I shuffled closer, then got on my knees. I’d get back to work with alley grunge on my tights, but nobody would care. Their heads were all so far up their asses, I could be dripping blood and they wouldn’t notice. Stop thinking about work , I thought, as I focused my attention completely on the shot. Thanks for the hustle, little ant. Maybe there should be a more orange in this one.
Suddenly a crunch and gasp came from right behind me. I jumped, falling forward hard on my left hand. I heard myself shriek as my palm ground into the gravel. Thank goodness I had the camera on a neck strap, so it was saved.
“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!”
I turned to look up into a beam of light. It was a man, but the sun was behind his head so I couldn’t see his face. A hand appeared before me, and I instinctively took it to stand.
“Are you okay?” The voice was low, gritty, but so rich that he sounded like a movie trailer announcer. Once I blinked twice, I could see him. Then I had to blink twice again.
There was too much to take in. His huge eyes were too dark. His skin was a bit pale. His dark hair was short and styled, but his face was half covered in a scruff of unkempt three-day beard. He was quite tall, well over six feet, lean and fit, with sturdy shoulders, and those full, kissable lips called to me like a magnetic pull.
He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life. Although the original glow around him was a trick of the light, he had that… thing. That movie star quality that made people on the street stare. And he was speaking to me. I felt it deep within me, stirring something that I’d nearly forgotten about. Desire.
“Are you okay?” he repeated, concerned. He was still holding my hand and that simple touch was electrifying.
“Yeah, sorry. You startled me.”
He smiled, lighting up the dirty alley. “I almost tripped on you. I’ve never seen anyone taking such intense pictures of a filthy wall.”
I smiled back, and shrugged. “It’s weird, but I adore crumbling paint and stone.”
He nodded. “I get that. The weathered look. I like architecture that has just a bit of crumble to it.”
“‘Just a bit of crumble’ sounds British,” I laughed.
He shrugged. “My Nana is British. Maybe I picked something up.” He looked down, concerned. “Did you hurt your hand?”
I checked my left palm, which was definitely scraped, with a few drops of blood. Focused on this gorgeous stranger, I hadn’t even felt it.
I began brushing off the dirt to examine the abrasion, but he dropped my right hand to take my left with both of his and take a better look. It was an innocent gesture, but the contact of his skin on mine instantly made my heart race. Reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, he took out tissues and hand sanitizer. He wiped off the dirt, then said, “This will sting like hell for a few seconds, but you don’t want to get infected. Can you handle it?”
The strangest feeling of wanting to prove myself to him overtook me. “Go for it,” I said. Then I grit my teeth.
The cool liquid was soothing for a split second before it turned to fire and stung like dancing shards of glass. My sharp intake of breath conveyed my pain. He threw the bottle back in his pocket and took my other hand. “Ten seconds. It fades fast. You can do it.”
Sure enough, as I silently counted to ten, it felt much better. An unusual tingle overtook me as I realized he was still holding my hands. It was odd to be feeling it in the base of my spine.
“Thanks,” I said, the sting subsiding enough for me to speak. “I certainly don’t want to get alley disease.”
We laughed together for a moment, as I studied his perfect cheekbones, perfect teeth, dark, dramatic eyes. Maybe he was a model.
A giant crash rang through the alley and I squealed, nearly jumping out of my skin, spinning wildly to see what was happening. Suddenly I was being held, with strong arms wrapped around me, instinctively stroking my back as if I were a frightened child.
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s one of those huge industrial trash bins.” I tried to pull away, feeling myself blushing fiercely, but he held me for another few seconds. “Are you alright?”
Tilting my head up, I realized that he had been leaning in at the same moment, and we both froze. Our lips were nearly touching. I could see the darker flecks in his irises, his breath was warm against my cheek. I was paralyzed for a heartbeat, then forced myself to step back. “Fine, just ju mpy. Um, thanks.”
He looked like he wanted to laugh, but didn’t want to offend me. How did anyone walk around casually looking like a movie star all day long, even in a dirty alley? Breaking off my inappropriate staring, I looked around. “Where did you come from?”
He pointed to the big red metal door that said, ‘Steve’s Deliveries’.
“You work at the music store?” I asked.
His large, intense eyes regarded me strangely. “No, I’m doing an interview there.”
“Oh, a journalist then?”
His lips twitched. Apparently, I amused the hell out of him. “Nah, I’m the sucker getting interviewed.” I looked down, slightly embarrassed, then it got worse. Naturally, the day I run into an unbelievably gorgeous musician, I’m wearing a brown and orange floral dress, with my long auburn hair a mess, looking every bit the nerd I’ve always feared I was.
He realized that he was still holding my hands, and gently let them go. They felt like they were still tingling from his touch. I noticed that his fingers were beginning to shake very slightly.
“I’m sorry that I distracted you.”
“Trust me, you’re a welcome distraction,” he said. “Interviews are… not my thing. At all.” His lips mashed into a straight line. He was filled with dread I could almost see – a dull cloak of despair holding him down. His fingers were obviously twitching now.
I had no idea why, but I was struck with the urge to take care of him. He was in crisis, he needed help, and he needed to regain control immediately. Normally I was incredibly shy, especially around strangers, but something inside me said that helping him was more important than my discomfort at taking charge.
“Plant your feet,” I said, as a polite order.
He looked at me, surprised, but he obeyed. “Breathe in from the bottoms of your feet, pulling air all the way through your body and up to the top of your head. Be an inch taller than you thought you were.” His luscious lips pulled to the side in a crooked smile, but he did precisely as he was told. He was quite graceful even while standing still, like a dancer.
“Feel your head stretching up to the sky,” I continued. “Feel your feet melting into the concrete. Your shoulders are dropped, your arms are long. Tip your shoulders back slightly so your lungs have plenty of room for air.” As he played along, the tension drained from his eyes and his body was noticeably less tense. His fingers stopped twitching.
“Be full of air,” I said, watching his lungs expand. “Be empty of air,” I continued slowly. “Be full. Be empty.” He breathed along, calming himself, clearing his mind, and gaining energy. His eyes closed as he concentrated. His breathing became very even, and his focus appeared sharp.
I stood in silence for several minutes while he breathed.
“What’s the interview about?” I asked softly.
“My band’s latest album.”
“What are your major talking points?”
He opened his eyes and looked at me as if I suddenly spoke another language and he didn’t understand. He tilted his head slightly like a confused puppy.
“You’re promoting the album, you’re supposed to talk about it. Talk about the singles, how you wrote it, where it was recorded and such, right?” He nodded. “Okay, what’s the most interesting thing that happened during recording?”
He stared at the alley wall behind me for a second. “When we ate way too much chocolate one night and changed a ballad into a super fast rockabilly tune.”
“Okay – don’t get distracted. Find a way to work that story into the interview. Answer their questions, but take off on tangents so that you get to talk about whatever you want. They want good stories. Give them what they want and you’ll get more time to talk.”
He was staring at me very strangely, and I found myself becoming self-conscious. I smoothed back my long auburn hair with my non-scraped hand and tried to remember if I had worn a little more than the basic amount of makeup today. I didn’t think so. I know I tend to look a little plain, although my friends have always said I had a pixie face.
He, on the other hand, was uncomfortably beautiful. Like how celebrities have that strange light from within, and their eyes are almost a little too pretty.
At last he nodded and smiled, greatly relieved. “Thanks.” He looked at me oddly. “Wow, I feel a lot better now that I know what my mission is. Seriously, thank you.” I just smiled, unsure of what else to say.
The door behind him cracked open, and a voice hollered, “Jack, get in here.”
“Coming,” he called behind him.
I didn’t want him to leave, but I couldn’t think of any reasonable reason for him to stay when he obviously had to get to work. He turned to go inside, then turned back. His eyes flickered to my hand a few times as if wanted to hold it again, but realized how odd that would be. “How do you know all this stuff?”
I couldn’t help but grin. “It’s my job to know everything. I’m a librarian.”
2. Librarian Life
Sometimes you work hard and get everything you want out of life. Sometimes you get what you deserve, or get what you need. And sometimes, Murphy’s Law kicks in like the insidious little bitch that it is. Then everything that can go wrong does, no matter how hard you’ve worked. No matter how much you’ve put your heart and soul into a project, you just keep getting kicked in the teeth.
It turned out that some of my dreams weren’t actually all I’d hoped for. And it turned out a few bits were actually part-time nightmares.
I’ve been fascinated with libraries my entire life. I grew up in a small town, and books were my whole world. I learned the days of the week because Saturdays were my own personal holy day – library day. I would read and reread every book in preparation for Saturday morning when I could turn them in and take out another batch.
