This is the email I sent Eryn: We ALL have dirty secrets that we store away in hopes of no one ever finding out. I would like for you to write a fictional journal entry of a time you and your friends got caught doing something wild by a boy you wanted to date.
Eryn's Response: I know you will enjoy it as much as me. It was like reading a novella.
There was only one time in my life where I could call myself “bad girl”. It was the last half of the year, 1999. I was out on my own for the first time and freedom was my friend. Though there was never a time I was out of control or incapacitated, I still let my guard down…especially when it came to –the band.
They were a local group in Los Angeles, California and each one of them was pretty damn hot. But one member, the lead guitarist, was smokin’ hot and sexy as hell with tosseled black hair and smoldering brown eyes. His name was Luke. He exuded confidence, talent and an undeniable sex appeal. He had these muscle-sculpted arms and always wore sleeveless rock band t-shirts, faded jeans and worn leather boots.
The first time we met I was at my cutest, too. With curling auburn hair and a bright warm smile. I weighed just over 110 lbs, my body was taut from exercise and that night I had worn a strappy black dress and heels. I knew the drummer from emailing him all summer and he introduced me to Luke and the rest of the band. Luke was the one who took his time and treated me to a juicy glance that started at my shoes and worked its way up to my eyes. I never felt sexier in my life. From then on, Luke called me Sunshine. A fitting name since I loved that I was now officially a California Girl.
Unfortunately, though, the shows the band performed were always in filled bars with girls sidling up to them like groupies to rock stars. I wasn’t going to be one of them. It wasn’t my style. Besides they knew me better than those slutty girls.
Finally, one night in December when it was cool and overcast outside, I went to one of their shows in Newport Beach an hour outside of LA and it was fairly empty inside the club. Only a few patrons danced along to the band’s music and the rest sat nearby at the bar. This time I was dressed in a pair of form fitting black capris, white tank top and a light button-down sweater the exact shade of blue as my eyes so they’d stand out.
My girl friend and I danced alone to the music, enjoying the break from the usual claw-happy losers clubs have to offer and just take in the beats and rhythms on our own. The song was Fly Away by Lenny Kravitz which starts out with that incredible guitar intro. Luke stood on the stage; his Gibson slung around his shoulder and rested on his hipbone as he cranked out the notes. He took my breath away and started a surge of desire flooding through my body. He stared at me from the stage, his eyes undressed me while a wicked grin spread on his face.
Watching him, my dance moves became more liquid like molten lava undulating down a fiery mountainside. I could practically see him salivating from where he played. The feeling was mutual as he caressed the strings of the guitar like he would a purring kitten on his lap.
When the song was finished Luke sauntered off the stage and over to me. Sweat glistened off his forehead from the hot lights and he wiped it away before leaning in for a friendly hug. A hug? That’s it?
Convinced all the sexiness up there was just for show, I slumped in disappointment. Well, that is until Luke’s lips touched my ear lobe and he whispered, “I was watching you.”
His deep, gravelly voice sent shivers up my spine and I embraced my inner seductress and replied, “I know. I was watching you, too.”
Without pause, Luke slid his string-calloused fingers down my arm until he reached my hand and dragged me away from the dance floor. We made our way to the dark, secluded hallway between the dressing room and the bar’s office. There, Luke pressed my back to the wall and lavished my mouth with the kisses I’d yearned for. One right after another, grazing his tongue against my teeth and lips, making me moan in response. All the while, I ran my fingers through his sweat-damp hair, pressing my breasts against his solid chest. That must have spurned him on because his hands ran down my sides to grasp my hips, forcing them closer against his. I locked my leg around one of his denim clad ones he had anchored between mine.
The air around us was heated, filled with the hot breath we omitted through gaping mouths the more we kissed and explored each other in and under our clothes. When we were about to move along to something more, a handful of voices headed in our direction. We broke away from each other, lips swollen from use. It was the rest of the band, probably making their way to the dressing room.
In a flash, I pulled down my rucked up tank top and skewed sweater. Wait, were those bite marks on my shoulder? I captured my plump bottom lip between my teeth Yeah, they were! I stifled a giddy-school girl giggle while Luke adjusted his jeans and let his t-shirt fall loose over his bulging erotic evidence we had yet to set free.
He kissed me once more, chastely on the cheek and smiled. “Another time, love,” he said just in time for his band mates to round the corner and for me to walk away with a Cheshire cat grin.
“Hey, dude whatcha doing,” I heard from behind me as I entered the ladies room.
I turned and caught one last glance from Luke and a wink, as he said, “Nothing, just taking a breather.”
I closed the door, leaving him to his friends and bit my lip at the prospect of the “next time” Luke promised before we separated.
And to read about another hot guitarist, pick up your very own copy of The Blue Lute ~ and meet Brandon Crowley and Lilly Charles and their remarkable story.
The Blue Lute
A doctoral candidate in history, Lilly Charles lives in a modern-day treasure trove of 1920s architecture—Manhattan’s St. Jean Apartments. The former hotel was once in the center of New York City’s jazz scene, and holds secrets Lilly is only beginning to discover.
A musical star in his own time, Brandon Crowley lived in an age of prohibition and gangsters, surrounded by the glamour of old Hollywood and the comfort of true friendships. As co-owner of the notorious speakeasy, The Blue Lute, he poured his life and love into his business—as a storm fueled by passion, liquor, murder and money was unleashed. And in the midst of it all, Brandon simply … disappeared.
When Lilly sees Brandon in a nearly 80-year-old photograph from the basement of the St. Jean, her reality comes undone. Could he be the same man she just saw arrested for breaking into the building? As Lilly is drawn deeper into the mysteries of Brandon’s life, a new storm of desire and danger begins to brew. Beneath the silvery moon and glitter of Times Square, an epic love story across the decades is about to unfold.
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What is a secret (not explicit) you will hide in a journal for your kids to find?