Stories about rock stars are huge nowadays. Massive. There’s just something about ordinary, everyday people meeting super-stars and falling in love with them that draws readers in.
As a reader, they sure draw me in. I’m a huge fan, and I reckon there are two reasons I love this theme so much:
1) It’s a fantasy we’ve all daydreamed of at some point – accidentally meeting a hugely famous star and striking up a conversation, or even better, a relationship!
2) It takes characters who are usually far out of our reach and makes them human. It makes them real
I think one of the things I enjoyed most about writing a series based on rock stars meeting everyday people, was tackling the responses of the everyday people they met. Putting myself in their shoes, and trying to work out what I’d say or feel in a similar situation.
Truth is, I’d probably be so star-struck and awed by the situation, I wouldn’t even be able to stutter out a simple hello. I once bumped into one of my sporting heroes, a South African cricket player, as he walked through the cricket stadium during a game. I was totally stoked to see him and opened my mouth, determined to dazzle him with my brilliance. But of course my brilliance failed me at the essential moment, and all I could manage to squeak out was a garbled and unintelligible “good luck, Brian,” as he strode past me. His response was a nod of thanks coupled with a confused glance in my direction, and then he was gone, never to be bumped into again.
There it was. One golden opportunity blown to smithereens.
I decided not to blow the next opportunity. Fortunately, as a writer, I had that opportunity three more times – with the books of the Speed series. Where three everyday women, like you or me, got to meet superstars.
So how about you put yourself in that same position? How would you react, if out of the blue a rock star walked up to you, called you beautiful and gave you two red roses?
I put Eve Andrews in that very situation in Rhythm Of My Heart. Jonah Speed, drummer from the band Speed, presents her with two red roses right after a live concert in Melbourne. This is her reaction:
Before a startled Eve Andrews had time to react to the drummer’s presence and unexpected gift, Jonah Speed turned around and headed back in the direction he’d come. He’d stared at her through his startling green eyes, called her beautiful, given her the flowers, blown her world clear off its axis and then walked away.
Just walked away.
Eve blinked through her surprise and stared dumbfounded at the roses. She didn’t see them. All she saw were those eyes, so incredibly green they didn’t seem real. So incredibly arousing, she suspected she’d seen the promise of fulfillment of a million carnal fantasies in them.
Her heart beat jaggedly. Just as well he hadn’t hung around to chat further. Breathlessness rendered her incapable of speech.
Jonah Speed had just called her beautiful.
Her. Of all people. The irony was enough to inspire hysterical laughter. It bubbled in her chest, but she bit it back.
Photographs and movie clips did Jonah little justice. On paper and onscreen he was criminally sexy. In real life, drop-dead gorgeous didn’t adequately describe him. Heart-stopping, breathtaking, toe-curling, goose-bump-inducing…
Nope. Even those words weren’t powerful enough. They didn’t capture the essence of his blistering appeal.
His aura still held her frozen to the spot. Frozen, but heating up with every second that passed. And it wasn’t just the fact that he was Jonah Speed.
Speed’s drummer, Jonah Speed. The man Rolling Stone Magazine had described as a rock legend, drummer extraordinaire and lethal lady magnet.
Hands-down the sexiest rock star in the world, Jonah Speed.
No, it wasn’t his superstardom that had her awed. It was just him. His very presence.
She raised her eyes to watch him walk away. He had his back to her, and his damp T-shirt stretched taut across shoulders broader than a football field. Even from behind, he oozed sex appeal. It radiated off him in waves.
Her stomach curled in around itself, capturing millions of tiny butterflies fluttering wildly about within.
The crewmembers milling backstage stopped to watch Jonah approach his brothers and their band manager. More than one audible intake of air echoed through her ears as he walked by, confirming they too were struck by his tangible sexuality.
Eve’s heart raced like a hummingbird’s wings.
For long seconds she held the roses, stunned. These flowers had been tossed to Jonah by his rabid fans. From her view in the wings backstage, she’d seen the face of one woman who’d thrown roses, seen the star-struck adoration in her expression, the desperation to be noticed.
Could one of these roses be from her?
Eve was pretty sure when the roses were first offered to Jonah, they’d been fresher than they were now. Although still striking, the petals had wilted, their edges turning black. When she raised the flowers to her nose to sniff their delicate fragrance, she found none.
Her gaze returned to Jonah. He stood with the band, listening to whatever Luke Struthers was telling them. At regular intervals one or other of the Speed brothers nodded, commented or looked in the direction Luke pointed.
Goose bumps erupted over her skin.
Even in work mode, Jonah stood out. His presence made Eve want to tug at her shirt—yank it over her shoulders and present herself naked to the enthralling sex god.
Stunned by her impulses, she ran a calming hand gently over the left side of her face, from her forehead down to her neck.
It calmed her not at all.
Her interaction with Jonah had lasted a minute, maybe two, yet it had left her with an unexpected hunger.
A desperate, greedy need for more.
Shaking off temptation and grounding herself firmly in reality—the same reality where she was just a regular person and she hadn’t been given half-dead roses by Jonah Speed—she turned back to the table behind her and finished packing her portable makeup box with trembling hands.