Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Part of me is happy he hasn’t tried to sleep with me. I mean, yeah, it’s great that he’s been getting me off and fun and all that, but for some reason I feel like taking that next step would be terrifying with him.
I mean, look at him. He’s all muscle and brawn and… god, he’s a man. He’s totally unlike all the guys I normally hang around with. He’s the kind of guy I was told to stay away from when I was younger, at least back when people cared about me and not just my image.
I finish signing and wave as I head into the venue again. It’s ten minutes until showtime and I felt like being nice to my fans, if only to get the pre-show jitters out of my system.
“I still don’t get it,” Graham says to me, walking by my side as I head to the stage.
“What, the autographs?”
He just frowns, looking puzzled.
I smile at him, not sure why he’s so hung up on the autographs. I mean, it’s part of what I do. It’s my job. I know I could ignore them and everything would be fine, but it doesn’t hurt to sign a few. It makes people happy and I honestly like making people happy.
“If you think that’s the weirdest thing about me, I guess I’m pretty great,” I say to him as we stop near the stage.
“Good point,” he grunts. “You’re plenty weird besides that.”
“Oh, yeah? How?”
“You call your bodyguard Daddy.”
I gape at him and he winks at me as he walks off, leaving me alone there, ready to head out in front of thousands of my screaming fans.
That fucking asshole. He didn’t need to throw me off like that, but he did it just because he could. That fucking sadistic motherfucker.
The music comes up and I stride out with my backup dancer, hitting the stage and dropping into my routine.
But I can’t shake that moment back there. Somebody could’ve heard, and although they didn’t, it was still a stupid risk. I don’t get why he’d do that, just teasing me like that, throwing me off my game, all right before a performance.
Maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but I kind of doubt that. I think he knows exactly what he’s doing. Everything about him is calculated and controlled, and sometimes he just likes to tease me.
God, does he like it. He was right when he said I needed a new Daddy. I just need a man to give me some of that hurt…
Too much sweet, he said. All the sweet and none of the hurt. Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing from my life.
Things have been good, almost too good. I’ve been floating from one record to the next, making hits, selling millions of copies, making stupid amounts of money that I don’t even see most of the time, it all gets invested. People love me on social media, I have a great team around me, I have a great family, I have some good friends.
I even have a perfect fake boyfriend, and although I’m sick of him, even he’s pretty nice to me.
Graham’s right. I have all the sweet and none of the hurt. Everyone treats me so good, they’re so nice to me. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to be a normal person. I mean, nobody is always nice all the time. Most people go through life getting shit on constantly.
Not me though. I’ve been so lucky, so freaking lucky and blessed, and maybe I need some of that dirt. Maybe I need the grime, the hurt. I need a man like Graham to show me how.
Oh, god, I need a man like Graham. I stare out at the crowd as I go through the routine, falling into the rhythm of the show, but I’m looking for him. I’m trying to spot him in the sea of faces. I want to see him lingering on the edge of the show, smirking that stupid cocky smile of his, thinking about what he wants to do to me next.
And I want it to hurt, oh, god, I want it to hurt, just a little bit. He gives me plenty of sweet, but it’s better when there’s just a little pain to make it all that much more real.
I go through the show, flustered and frustrated, and I can’t get him out of my mind. It’s a decent show in the end, not one of my best, but everyone seems happy about it. I come off stage and into the back, sweating a little, out of breath. I’m congratulated all over, like I just did all the work.
“I just sing and dance,” I say to Norah. “You know what I mean?”
She gives me a look. “You’re the face. It doesn’t matter.”
I sigh. I know she’s right. But I really wish it did matter.