Free Blue Shoes #1: New Adult Rock Star Erotic Romance (Morris Music Book 6) by JJ Knight Page B
Authors: JJ Knight
number for our land line. We don’t use that number much, and we keep it mainly for running the fax machine.
That phone has a loud ringer, and could wake the dead. If Dylan’s home, he’ll hear it.
That call goes to voicemail as well. It annoys me to hear my own chirpy voice on the message.
I try his cell phone again and go straight to voicemail. My heart jumps up. He must be trying to call me right now. I leave him a short message and then clear the line so he can call me back.
Fifteen minutes pass, and neither my cell phone nor the hotel room phone ring.
My stomach growls. I’m actually glad I’m hungry. It almost makes me feel normal.
I call down to the front desk and order the most familiar-looking item from the room service menu. The girl sounds disappointed that I just want simple pasta, and not anything with truffle oils.
The food arrives, and Dylan still hasn’t called.
At least there are some messages coming in from Amanda and Riley, telling me how they wish they were in Rome right now with me.
I flip through the television stations while I eat. All the stations are in Italian. Finally I see some familiar CW network shows and stop. All the voices are dubbed in Italian. It’s actually disconcerting. Some of the actors sound similar to the Americans, but some are completely wrong.
Dylan still hasn’t called. It’s late. I should sleep, but I’m too wired. Part of me is hoping he’s quiet because he’s at LAX, boarding a plane so he can be here in the morning.
I walk out onto the balcony. The city below me is lit up with lights. I can hear cars and horns as hundreds of people drive by. Rome seems huge, bigger even than Los Angeles. I use my phone to do a trivia check and discover L.A. is bigger by about a million people.
I’m in another city full of millions of people.
And I’m alone.
The sky is dark except for a thin crescent moon. Are the millions of people in L.A. seeing the same thing? No, it’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon back home.
I go back into the room, close the doors, and crawl into bed. I try calling him again, but just get his voicemail. He sounds so far away.
I set the phone on the pillow next to me and try to get comfortable. A minute later, the phone lets out a ding I haven’t heard before.
I turn on the screen and see a message.
Alert: New article about Dylan Wolf.
I don’t remember turning on alerts for articles about Dylan. I get enough of these things without going looking for them. I used to have alerts, so maybe some settings reverted when my phone downloaded updates.
My hotel room is dark and quiet. I shouldn’t click this link if I want to sleep tonight.
“Oh, what the hell,” I mutter to myself.
I click the link. A popular trend blog, Music Mayhem, pops up. The headline reads, Wolf Is Bad Boy In Sheep’s Clothing .
There’s a photo of Dylan. The picture is grainy, because it’s been taken in the dark, but it’s definitely him. He’s backstage somewhere, by the looks of the equipment around him. The caption says he’s at the Avalon Hollywood.
I smile at the picture. It’s a good one of him, capturing his rebellious bad boy attitude, with just enough of a smile to draw you in. Now I miss him even more.
I start reading the article, expecting it to be another fluff piece about him. I wouldn’t be surprised if Morris was behind this publicity.
I scroll down the page, and everything shifts around on the screen. There was another photo at the top that didn’t load right away. I guess my internet connection is slow here at the hotel.
At the top of the page is a different lead photo.
It’s Dylan, at the Avalon, and he’s kissing a girl.
I’m so shocked and horrified, I drop the phone and jump out of the bed.
Chapter 15
My first night in Rome is a sleepless nightmare. I wish I had one of Riley’s pills to calm me down.
It’s a long night, but when the sun rises and fills the room with golden light, I do feel better.
I try not to
That phone has a loud ringer, and could wake the dead. If Dylan’s home, he’ll hear it.
That call goes to voicemail as well. It annoys me to hear my own chirpy voice on the message.
I try his cell phone again and go straight to voicemail. My heart jumps up. He must be trying to call me right now. I leave him a short message and then clear the line so he can call me back.
Fifteen minutes pass, and neither my cell phone nor the hotel room phone ring.
My stomach growls. I’m actually glad I’m hungry. It almost makes me feel normal.
I call down to the front desk and order the most familiar-looking item from the room service menu. The girl sounds disappointed that I just want simple pasta, and not anything with truffle oils.
The food arrives, and Dylan still hasn’t called.
At least there are some messages coming in from Amanda and Riley, telling me how they wish they were in Rome right now with me.
I flip through the television stations while I eat. All the stations are in Italian. Finally I see some familiar CW network shows and stop. All the voices are dubbed in Italian. It’s actually disconcerting. Some of the actors sound similar to the Americans, but some are completely wrong.
Dylan still hasn’t called. It’s late. I should sleep, but I’m too wired. Part of me is hoping he’s quiet because he’s at LAX, boarding a plane so he can be here in the morning.
I walk out onto the balcony. The city below me is lit up with lights. I can hear cars and horns as hundreds of people drive by. Rome seems huge, bigger even than Los Angeles. I use my phone to do a trivia check and discover L.A. is bigger by about a million people.
I’m in another city full of millions of people.
And I’m alone.
The sky is dark except for a thin crescent moon. Are the millions of people in L.A. seeing the same thing? No, it’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon back home.
I go back into the room, close the doors, and crawl into bed. I try calling him again, but just get his voicemail. He sounds so far away.
I set the phone on the pillow next to me and try to get comfortable. A minute later, the phone lets out a ding I haven’t heard before.
I turn on the screen and see a message.
Alert: New article about Dylan Wolf.
I don’t remember turning on alerts for articles about Dylan. I get enough of these things without going looking for them. I used to have alerts, so maybe some settings reverted when my phone downloaded updates.
My hotel room is dark and quiet. I shouldn’t click this link if I want to sleep tonight.
“Oh, what the hell,” I mutter to myself.
I click the link. A popular trend blog, Music Mayhem, pops up. The headline reads, Wolf Is Bad Boy In Sheep’s Clothing .
There’s a photo of Dylan. The picture is grainy, because it’s been taken in the dark, but it’s definitely him. He’s backstage somewhere, by the looks of the equipment around him. The caption says he’s at the Avalon Hollywood.
I smile at the picture. It’s a good one of him, capturing his rebellious bad boy attitude, with just enough of a smile to draw you in. Now I miss him even more.
I start reading the article, expecting it to be another fluff piece about him. I wouldn’t be surprised if Morris was behind this publicity.
I scroll down the page, and everything shifts around on the screen. There was another photo at the top that didn’t load right away. I guess my internet connection is slow here at the hotel.
At the top of the page is a different lead photo.
It’s Dylan, at the Avalon, and he’s kissing a girl.
I’m so shocked and horrified, I drop the phone and jump out of the bed.
Chapter 15
My first night in Rome is a sleepless nightmare. I wish I had one of Riley’s pills to calm me down.
It’s a long night, but when the sun rises and fills the room with golden light, I do feel better.
I try not to
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