How to Reprimand Your Rock Star (DommeNation #2) by Mina Vaughn Page A
Authors: Mina Vaughn
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campus way before people noticed we were missing.
Then there was Keaton. Why was his good-bye so cold? How could he just move on to his concert after the most passionate and amazing kiss ever?
Probably because he does this sort of thing daily, my conscience grumbled.
I worried as Callie snored next to me. Of course Keaton was able to get up and get over it fast—he was the heartbreaker of the century, as Callie so kindly told me.
Pulling my phone from the side table, I googled the term. There, of course, were hundreds of pictures of Keaton with women. Tall ones, short ones, girls of all hair colors and styles, each and every one looking moon-eyed at him. And Keaton with his rascal grin in each and every shot. He looked like he didn’t care about the ladies draped all over him. I sighed. Was this going to be me? Was losing credibility with the team worth being just another broken heart?
Just then my phone buzzed. A text from Keaton.
I had great difficulty focusing on the show tonight , it read.
Play it cool, play it cool. And why is that?
Because songs don’t feel as good on my tongue as you do .
And whoosh went the air out of my lungs. Keaton, you devil. If your songs sounded that good, I’d have listened to your band years ago .
He texted back a smiley face, I returned with a winky, and then promptly decided texting was very juvenile for conversations like this. These words were meant to be whispered, with loaded silences, breathless sighs, and stifled laughs.
I want to see you again , he wrote. I can’t stop thinking about you .
I wanted to continue this, but I also had to keep my distance. He was a rock god and I was a basketball star who didn’t want to get her heart destroyed. Especially during tournament. Same .
Do you like surprises? he asked cryptically. Always with the cloak and dagger, this one.
Depends .
Maybe I’ll see you at your next tournament round? he asked.
I hope so was all I could manage. I wanted to write so much more, but I knew in reality I shouldn’t get my hopes up. He was a rocker with a crazy schedule and I was devoted to the team, and we were also pretty much under lockdown when we were there.
For a moment, neither of us said anything else. I didn’t know what to add, and all I heard from his end was silence. Then one final text.
Curious to see what you pack, Goddess .
Once Callie and I had returned to school, I stared at an empty duffel bag, ignoring the fact that I had two weeks to pick things out. I mean, just in case I see him.
I wouldn’t know what to pack in that situation, I realized. Other than tape, of course.
I rarely gave any thought to packing.
Away games just meant throwing together a few shirts and shorts and maybe some textbooks. That’s not packing, it’s just routine. Packing, at least packing for this, would require strategic decisions.
Decisions involving underwear. Panties , even! That is, if Keaton’s cryptic suggestion meant what I think it did, and that we’d be alone again. I knew meeting again would be up to our crazy schedules and fate, but I wanted to make it happen. Maybe if I strategized, I could figure something out. But for now, it was a different kind of strategizing: the undergarment variety.
My bag sat opened on the floor, ready to be stuffed and kept under my bed for two long weeks. I had nothing to feed it. I opened my drawer and found sports bra after sports bra. Nothing lacy, nothing shiny. Shit. If I really was going to hook up with Keaton, I was going to need to look the part.
Black, I decided.
I needed a black bra. He wants me to be in charge, right? What says I’m going to dominate you like black lingerie?
Again, an image of the Red Devil flashed through my mind.
Red. Red’s possibly more intimidating.
Maybe now isn’t the best time to pack , I thought. I left the bag on the floor and wandered down the street toward the captains’ multi-unit home. I wanted to see the team and for them to see that I was both on
Then there was Keaton. Why was his good-bye so cold? How could he just move on to his concert after the most passionate and amazing kiss ever?
Probably because he does this sort of thing daily, my conscience grumbled.
I worried as Callie snored next to me. Of course Keaton was able to get up and get over it fast—he was the heartbreaker of the century, as Callie so kindly told me.
Pulling my phone from the side table, I googled the term. There, of course, were hundreds of pictures of Keaton with women. Tall ones, short ones, girls of all hair colors and styles, each and every one looking moon-eyed at him. And Keaton with his rascal grin in each and every shot. He looked like he didn’t care about the ladies draped all over him. I sighed. Was this going to be me? Was losing credibility with the team worth being just another broken heart?
Just then my phone buzzed. A text from Keaton.
I had great difficulty focusing on the show tonight , it read.
Play it cool, play it cool. And why is that?
Because songs don’t feel as good on my tongue as you do .
And whoosh went the air out of my lungs. Keaton, you devil. If your songs sounded that good, I’d have listened to your band years ago .
He texted back a smiley face, I returned with a winky, and then promptly decided texting was very juvenile for conversations like this. These words were meant to be whispered, with loaded silences, breathless sighs, and stifled laughs.
I want to see you again , he wrote. I can’t stop thinking about you .
I wanted to continue this, but I also had to keep my distance. He was a rock god and I was a basketball star who didn’t want to get her heart destroyed. Especially during tournament. Same .
Do you like surprises? he asked cryptically. Always with the cloak and dagger, this one.
Depends .
Maybe I’ll see you at your next tournament round? he asked.
I hope so was all I could manage. I wanted to write so much more, but I knew in reality I shouldn’t get my hopes up. He was a rocker with a crazy schedule and I was devoted to the team, and we were also pretty much under lockdown when we were there.
For a moment, neither of us said anything else. I didn’t know what to add, and all I heard from his end was silence. Then one final text.
Curious to see what you pack, Goddess .
Once Callie and I had returned to school, I stared at an empty duffel bag, ignoring the fact that I had two weeks to pick things out. I mean, just in case I see him.
I wouldn’t know what to pack in that situation, I realized. Other than tape, of course.
I rarely gave any thought to packing.
Away games just meant throwing together a few shirts and shorts and maybe some textbooks. That’s not packing, it’s just routine. Packing, at least packing for this, would require strategic decisions.
Decisions involving underwear. Panties , even! That is, if Keaton’s cryptic suggestion meant what I think it did, and that we’d be alone again. I knew meeting again would be up to our crazy schedules and fate, but I wanted to make it happen. Maybe if I strategized, I could figure something out. But for now, it was a different kind of strategizing: the undergarment variety.
My bag sat opened on the floor, ready to be stuffed and kept under my bed for two long weeks. I had nothing to feed it. I opened my drawer and found sports bra after sports bra. Nothing lacy, nothing shiny. Shit. If I really was going to hook up with Keaton, I was going to need to look the part.
Black, I decided.
I needed a black bra. He wants me to be in charge, right? What says I’m going to dominate you like black lingerie?
Again, an image of the Red Devil flashed through my mind.
Red. Red’s possibly more intimidating.
Maybe now isn’t the best time to pack , I thought. I left the bag on the floor and wandered down the street toward the captains’ multi-unit home. I wanted to see the team and for them to see that I was both on
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