FALLING FOR THE ROCKSTAR (#1 ROCKSTAR SERIES)

♪ twenty-one ♪ 🔥

Strange that I was suddenly more lucid. Had I fallen asleep? My phone was in my hand, halfway through a text to Cameron, "sorry for not responding sooner, I was—"

I'd gotten side-tracked, or I had passed out.

No clue where Leo had gone, or if he'd been there at all. The curtains were drawn, setting me in absolute obscurity. I yawned and exited from the message to see that Cameron had answered my earlier texts, while Leo held my phone hostage.

Cameron: Yes, they can afford better smelling shit, but they'd rather stink of circus cotton candy.

Cameron: I hope you're doing okay. I know this is around the time they break out the drugs. Steer clear of those if you can.

I blinked at the screen. None of my memories had showed me partaking in the drugs, and I didn't feel any different from the usual wooziness after drinking too much. I made a mental note to check with Leo tomorrow; he knew I wasn't one to do that stuff, and he'd have stopped me if he saw it happening.

The next text was underlined with worry.

Cameron: I got a text from Leo. He said you were pretty wasted, and that as part of your game, you'd be spending the night there. I'm glad he let me know. Sleep well, babe.

Guilt and anger washed over me. I hadn't told Cameron all this myself, and Leo had taken my phone to prevent me from doing so. Yet, I was thankful—he was looking out for me. He'd guided me to this room, tucked me in, let me doze off my booze.

Me: I'm so sorry. I put my phone in my purse and then got swept up in everything. The guest bedroom is beautiful. I'm safe, snug, and will call you tomorrow.

I didn't expect him to respond; it was two a.m. and he'd be sleeping. Which meant I should have been sleeping, too. I smiled, thinking of him, of the next time I'd get to be in his arms. Tonight was a whirlwind, a confusing mess of emotions and sexual tension, and too much alcohol to think clearly. Had I come on to Leo? Had he come on to me? Were those visions of us getting dirty on the dancefloor real, or exaggerated because of the liquor?

The phone slipped from my grip, and my eyes fluttered, closing, my mind drifting off...

A buzz startled me out of my trek towards slumber. I pulled the screen up to my face, noticing a new message. Cameron?

I gasped. No, not Cameron.

Leo: Come to my room.

The harder I squinted at the screen, the blurrier the words became. They might have said, "how is your room?" or "it's a nice room," but I couldn't be sure. Even the name, Leo, was smudged and confusing and unclear.

As if I'd summoned him—or blacked out for five minutes—he was beside me. Laying sideways, holding himself up with an elbow propped on the mattress. Smirking, sexy as ever.

"Hey," he said, his voice raspy, his hair ruffled over his face, curling around his ears. His chest was bare. I'd never seen him topless up close, and the urge to touch him grew. I was fuzzy, unclear of my surroundings; but my lust for him was there, hard to resist.

Was he real? Was I dreaming?

The only way to be sure would be to pinch myself, so I sat up, squeezed my skin between my index and thumb—

"No, you're not imagining this," he said, licking his lips as he scooched closer. That spicy breath of his swarmed me, heating me up as if I'd taken a bite of a hot pepper. "I'm here, I'm real, and I want you, Emma."