I thump him on the arm, as he turns to the side, frowning a little. “This is no laughing matter.”
He sighs, losing the snarky humor. “Vivien Grace.” His fingers sweep along my cheekbone. “I promise I will take care of you. I will go slow, and I won’t make any risky moves. I’ve been riding for three years, and I’ve never had an accident. You can trust me. I swear.”
“Trust isn’t easy for me.”
“I’ll bet.” He drops his hand, and his pinkie hooks in mine. “I’m guessing you’ve never been on a bike.”
“I haven’t.”
“Then you’ve got to do this. It’s Saturday. The sun is shining. We’ll hit the open road, and as soon as you feel the wind on your back, it’ll blow all the troubles from your mind. There is nothing as exhilarating as this.” He wraps his hand around mine. “C’mon, Hollywood. Take a risk with me.” He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Live a little,” he whispers.
His words could be construed as condescending, but I can tell it’s not. “Okay, but don’t make me regret this.”
“You won’t.” He looks over my shoulder, frowning.
“What?” I whip my head around, spotting a man dressed in jeans and a navy jacket leaning against the wall by my building. He’s wearing shades while he whistles under his breath and scrolls through his phone.
“Is that guy familiar to you?” Dillon asks.
I shake my head, peering into Dillon’s eyes. “No, why?”
“I thought I saw him outside Whelans last weekend.” He shrugs. “Must be my overactive imagination at work.”
Alarm bells blare in my head, and I swallow back bile. Dillon smiles while I cast a shaky glance at the guy, but he’s gone. Prickles of apprehension wash over my skin. I haven’t noticed anyone hanging around, and I sincerely hope Dillon is mistaken. If the paparazzi have discovered my location, I will legit cry. Especially since I already told my parents I’m staying here until August and Moira is in the middle of extending my rental agreement.
Dillon helps me to put my helmet on, and I climb onto the motorcycle behind him, jumping when he kick-starts the engine, and it roars to life. He grabs my hands, pulling my arms tight around his waist. My body is flush against his, my core pushed up against his ass, and his spicy scent swirls around me when I press my helmet against his back.
Slowly, he inches out into the traffic, carefully weaving in and out of busy city center traffic, until we hit the M50. We pick up speed, and I hug him tighter as we drive toward our destination, enjoying the thrill of being this close to him. I never did get to ask him where we’re going, but it doesn’t matter. I’m enjoying this a lot more than I thought I would, and apart from fleeting nerves at the start, I’m relaxed and comfortable. Dillon has stayed true to his word, pulling no dangerous maneuvers, and I no longer fear for my life.
Sun beats down on my back, heating me through my jacket, and it makes a welcome change from the cold and the rain. Now we’re into April, the weather is definitely more pleasant though still a lot cooler and less predictable than I’m used to.
After a while, Dillon takes an exit off the highway, and we fly down smaller tree-lined roads, passing through a couple of towns, before we hit a sign for Killiney. He slows our pace as we ride over speed bumps in the road before turning right between stone pillars, entering a park. Driving past open fields on both sides, we reach an open-air parking lot at the top, and Dillon slides into a vacant space, killing the engine, and parking the bike.
I ease my helmet off as he does the same. Strands of hair have come undone from my ponytail and I swat wispy hair off my face.
“Surprise. You’re alive,” he drawls, and I laugh.
“That was actually fun.”
“Told ya!” He tweaks my nose, helping me off the seat. He unzips his black leather jacket, revealing a wrinkled U2 shirt.
“You love your band shirts,” I tease, unzipping my own jacket.
“I’m a rocker.” He shrugs. “And I like shirts.” He lifts the seat up, removing a Nike backpack. “Bono lives near here.”
“Really?”
“Yep. If it’s not too late when we leave, I can drive by his place, if you like.” He slams the seat down, and it clicks into place.
I shrug, because I’m not really fazed.
A wide grin stretches across his mouth. “I keep forgetting you’re not bothered by celebs.”
“One of the things I love about Ireland is how relaxed people are about fame. It’s a refreshing change.”
Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he takes my hand, leading me toward a path. “I hate the thought of fame,” he admits, as we walk.
“That surprises me.” I admire the gorgeous scenery as we walk up an incline. “Because you own that stage. You have real stage presence. The natural kind. Not contrived. I think that’s why you have the audience eating out of your hand. They can’t help but be drawn to you.”
“When I’m up there, I feel like the truest version of myself, if that makes sense.”
I smile at a couple holding two toddlers in their arms as they pass by us. “It does,” I tell him, as we walk up gray stone steps. Everywhere I look, I see green. Grass. Shrubs. Gorse bushes. Trees. Plants. No flowers, but it’s still beautiful. “I can tell you’re happy. Your passion oozes from every pore when you’re entertaining a crowd.”
“I can’t reconcile that with the other side of fame.” He pulls me to one side to let an elderly couple pass, draping his arm around my shoulders. On instinct, I lean into his side, pressing my face into his neck, inhaling the citrusy scent of his shower gel. His lips nuzzle my hair, and I can’t get over how natural it is being with him like this.
“Is that why you’re not keen on moving to the US?” I surmise, when we commence walking again. His hand is solid and warm in mine, and quiet contentment blooms in my chest.
“That’s part of it.”
I’m quiet for a few beats as I think of how to respond. “I think you’re right to seriously contemplate what it’ll mean for your life. It would be a shame if you couldn’t make it work, because I think you’re extremely talented and the band is going places.”
“Is it possible to have success on the worldwide stage and hold on to your integrity, do you think? Can you have all this fame but still be yourself? Or is it too easy to get sucked into the machine?” He looks deadly serious as he casts a glance at me. “I know you’ve seen the nasty side of the industry, so I value your opinion.”
Wow, this is some heavy shit for a first date, but I’m glad he’s opening up to me. I’m quiet for many seconds as I work out how to explain my thoughts. “It is possible. I’ve seen it with my parents. There’s no denying their love and support kept them true, but as individuals, they are both strong.”
He nods, listening intently to my words as we ascend the hill.
“I think you can hold on to your integrity, but you need to be really strong-willed. You’ll have people pulling you in all kinds of directions, and if you don’t know your own mind, and you can’t stick to your resolve, you’ll get sucked in. It’s that easy.” I gnaw on the inside of my mouth, as bile churns in my gut. “Reeve swore he didn’t want the spotlight. That it was all about the acting for him. He promised nothing would change, and I believe he meant that. I believe he started out with those lofty aspirations, but it didn’t last long. I always thought he was strong, but it all unraveled so fast.”
“And he grew up in the business,” Dillon says after a few awkward beats of silence. “What hope do a bunch of na?ve Irish boys from County Wicklow have?”
“If you ask me, I think it might be easier for you to hold on to your principles. You have a loving family who will help you to stay grounded, and you’re going in with your eyes wide-open. The fact you’re hesitant because you don’t want that side of fame is half the battle. The rest is down to how resilient and dogmatic you can be.”
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