When I woke up on the fourth day of his stay Evan was already dressed, sitting at the end of the bed, playing guitar and singing. I closed my eyes and took another deep breath as the sun began to wash over the bed with the melody of his unique voice. That was one of the reasons he had always been one of my favorite singers—he had a voice that no one else could imitate. It was high, with a whine, and although his range wasn’t amazing, the emotion within it and what he did with his talent was. I opened my eyes as the sun touched him, bathing him in a yellow light that backlit the scene perfectly. He was playing with his eyes closed and smiled as he felt me moving but stayed as he was while I grabbed the camera on my desk. I snapped one picture and put it back on down before crawling up behind him and wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
He turned his face so I could kiss him.
“Good morning,” he said as his hands came to a rest on the strings of the guitar.
“It really is,” I replied, kissing his neck. “I could think of no better way to wake up.”
He put the Ibanez on the bed and pulled me into his arms, his kisses telling me he felt the same. The sun warmed my skin just as his kisses did, and I waited for the dream to fade; fortunately, it didn’t.
“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” he sighed as his lips moved away from my neck and he buried his face in my hair.
“Your life isn’t that bad,” I teased, pulling away and looking into his face. The usual five o’clock shadow was there, but as I said the words I watched his vein which led to his tattoo covered collarbone pulse in irritation.
“This sort of thing isn’t supposed to work,” he replied with his voice muffled in his arm as he looked away from me.
“You mean you being famous and me being utterly and desperately normal.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Evan,” I climbed out of his lap and forced him to face me; “you’re doing what you love. Please, don’t let me spoil that. That’s the last thing I want…”
“You’re not spoiling anything…I just wish I could take you with me,” he answered with a shrug.
“I’m sure you’d get sick of me quicker than you think,” I teased, and he rolled his eyes in response.
“What worries me is what people say…in the media…the photo shoots…the music videos. I don’t want you to ever get the wrong idea.” He swallowed as his hand reached out to touch my cheek. “I want you to trust me.”
“You haven’t given me a reason not to.”
He retracted his hand and ran it over the stubble of his chin. “I know it must be hard for you, though.”
“And it’s not hard for you?”
He nodded. “You’re right.”
“Always…remember I’m always right,” I answered.
He took a deep breath and that coy, half-smile came over his face. “Just do me a favor?”
“Don’t watch the music videos.”
“I like watching you perform shirtless—you’d deprive me of that?”
One of his eyebrows arched and he stood, pulling me up and putting me in my computer chair before yanking his shirt off with a wink. He spun around, grabbed my hairbrush from the nightstand and jumped onto my bed. I gawked at him as he started to sing and gyrate his hips with a self-satisfied look on his face.
“What?” He paused. “You don’t have a video camera?”
I started laughing as he began to sing again, over exaggerating his movements as he sang the lyrics to the rather sexual song. I stood up, starting to sway my hips as I walked up to him, and his face reddened as he watched me. His voice remained even as I climbed up the bed and ran my fingers over his sculpted shoulders and chest. When I kissed his neck his voice faltered and he started laughing.
“You don’t have a video camera?” he teased and I bit him in response. “Hey, watch out—I like that sort of thing.”
I rolled my eyes and smiled up at him. “I do enjoy staring at you shirtless.”
He sighed as a thought struck him. “Does it bother you other women do too?”
“You had to mention that?” I retorted. I suddenly felt deflated.
He tilted my chin up. “You’re the only one I think of shirtless.”
I choked and shook my head. “You haven’t seen me shirtless.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I have an imagination.”
“It doesn’t bug me as much as I thought it would,” I explained. “I know none of them can do this.”
I leaned up and kissed him as I let my hands slip down the muscles of his smooth back and into his jean pockets.
“Mhmm,” was his mumbled reply through his lips.