Rock My World/ A Jordan Knight FanFic✔️

17

Nora

The next day we said goodbye to Maggie and Brody. They flew home to Vancouver, and I was sorry to see them go. I liked them both, and since the two of them were the business end of this whole thing, I figured I was safe with them around. Safe from what, I wasn't sure.

Having my underpants charmed off by Jordan Knight?

Um, too late. I'd already stumbled over that line with my strip tease and now dangled precariously on the precipice over the danger zone. I feared, as the minutes ticked by, that there was very little keeping me from diving pussy-first off that cliff.

As if reading my hormones, Maggie's parting words to me were, "If you value your sanity keep it in your pants. He won't." Then she hugged me, kissed me, and left me standing on the curb in my overpriced new clothes with Flynn, my ever-present, muscular shadow.

Then I flew with the band from Montreal to Toronto—first class; the tour trucks had made the drive last night to set up for tonight's show. When we landed, we were whisked to a TV studio where Jordan did an interview with a live audience, in which he answered a bunch of questions about his new girl—me. Which was surreal, for me, though he handled it with incredible professionalism. Somehow he kept it light and mysterious, giving up little detail about our personal life while confirming that yes, he and Elle were a thing of the past, and yes, he was head-over-heels for one Nora Elvis.

Crazy.

I watched from backstage as he signed autographs and generally got pawed by a hell of a lot of adoring women, which he handled with incredible ease. He seemed pleased with how they were taking the news. According to Devi, #JordansGirl was trending on social media, which was a good thing, I guessed, since Maggie had also told me that a big-ass spike in song downloads was reflecting the fans' excitement about Jordan's new love.

Though it didn't keep them from throwing themselves at him.

On the way into a signing and meet and greet at a record store, I saw a chick, in broad daylight, peel up her shirt, shoving her perfect, braless boobs in Jordan's face and asking him to sign them. Which he did with a big black permanent marker. The girl couldn't have looked any more pleased if he'd just planted his lovechild in her womb.

I tried to pretend it didn't bother me. Because as the girlfriend of a sexy-as-fuck rock star, you probably had to get used to that sort of thing. Fast.

When I failed at pretending it didn't bother me, I went ahead and let it bother me, so I could process it and let it go. But I failed at that, too.

#

That night, after another massive, sold-out show, there was no clubbing, which was probably a good thing. The last thing I needed was another night of slow, steamy making out in public to really fuck with my head and leave me with a raging case of "blue clit," as Devi so aptly called it when I texted her to recap the previous night's events.

While Jordan went to sound check in the early evening, I'd let Devi convince me to take her shopping—keeping her on speed-text while I picked out a vibrator.

So at least I'd gotten that taken care of.

After the show, we piled onto Jordan's tour buses and drove for the Canada/U.S. border, heading to Buffalo. Jordan and I were sharing one of the enormous buses with Jude and Raf, the tour manager, Mick, and Kenny, our driver. Flynn, Letty, Pepper, and a bunch of crew guys were on another bus that had a ton of bunk beds. Ours had four bunks for the guys and a big bedroom in the back, which belonged to Jordan.