Falling for his ANGEL_A Rock Star Romance Read online

  Falling for his

  ANGEL

  A Rock Star Romance

  by

  Megan Hetherington

  Copyright @ 2018 Megan Hetherington

  All rights reserved

  ISBN 13: 978-1987606140

  ISBN 10: 1987606140

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to real events, real people and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organisations or places is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission.

  Acknowledgements

  To my husband and parents for believing in me. My precious children. My beta readers whose feedback is priceless. Ran at Designrans for a fantastic sexy cover. All you romance readers out there - you make the world a better place.

  Author Profile

  I’m a wife and mum who loves losing myself in romantic fantasy. Writing is my passion and I do it listening to music and drinking coffee (who am I kidding, more likely to be red wine). I also love to travel and places I've been often pop up in my books. When I've got a deadline to meet I can usually be found gardening or watching historical romance films. Reach out to me at [email protected] or find out more at https://www.meganhetherington.co.uk.

  Chapter One

  Jonny laid on the grass puffing smoke circles up towards the cloudless sky. It was just one of those cool things he could do. Like riding a bike no handed or blowing a huge gum bubble and it not splatting on his face. Even today he had out-sprinted the rest of the year in a one hundred metre race and not even broken into a sweat.

  Jonny knew he was cool. Knowing meant he didn’t play on it. Aware, but not bothered, that the look he pulled off so effortlessly was imitated around school.

  His girlfriend rested her head on his stomach, allowing it to move in rhythm with his deepening breath. It would be easy for him to drift off to sleep after another night working until the early hours. Only managing to make it to school today because his mother knocked on the bedroom door every five minutes in between getting ready for her day at work. His father was long gone, having left for a shift at the factory just after Jonny had got in. That’s the way it was in the Harrison household, someone always seemed to be on their way to or from work.

  “Come on Jonny, let’s go to class. I don’t wanna get detention tonight. I need some time to get ready before we go out, remember?”

  He opened an eye to register what was being said, recalling some mention about a new hairstyle being in order tonight. Making a mental note to compliment her later.

  Closing his eyes again he tried to remember the last time Helen had dressed up. She could easily pass for a twenty year old when she did and looked a lot like the pin ups on his bedroom wall. He thought she looked hot, but then he was nearly seventeen and all girls seemed to look hot right now. Helen would do anything for him and he liked that even more.

  Jumping up, she pulled on his arm. Leaning backwards so all her weight was leveraged into lifting him up. Being a good foot taller than her and having a muscular frame made it impossible. She gave up. His dead mass wouldn’t budge.

  “I know what will get you going Mr Harrison.”

  He heard her dropping to her knees and couldn’t control his body going into spasms as soon as the tickling started. Grabbing out, he pulled her down on top of him.

  “Think you’re clever, do you, Miss Martin? I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine.”

  Forgetting where they were, the tickling contest soon developed into a spectacle of teenage making out.

  “Jeez! What are you lot looking at? Piss off!” Helen spat out at the first year boys who had gathered near the goal posts to watch. They quickly turned away and ran off towards the school for safety.

  She buttoned up her white school blouse and smoothed down an overly tight pencil skirt.

  Jonny laughed. A taunting deep laugh.

  Glaring at him, she continued to make herself look respectable. Adjusting the metal clips that kept her unruly hair pinned back, and wiping off the green grass stains from her knees.

  Feeling the full force of her glare he rested back on his elbows and laughed some more.

  “What’s funny, assehole?” She let out a huff. Then tied his sweatshirt loosely around her neck and walked off towards the mammoth school building.

  Jonny cupped his hands around his mouth. “See you later sexy!”

  Pausing at the entrance she turned to give a cheeky wink and a flash of underwear.

  Laying back on the grass, he ran his fingers through his wavy dark hair, pushing it back from his forehead so he could enjoy the warmth of the early summer sun. The physical world started to disappear and the first couple of hypnagogic twitches came and went.

  “Hey!” Suddenly feeling a sharp pain in between his ribs. He winced and rubbed his side. Disorientated, he opened his eyes and realised it was Mr "Nobby" Noble towering over him.

  “Harrison, get to class, and take those filthy cancer sticks with you.” Nobby’s voice bellowed much louder than the three feet distance between them required. Jonny always thought he was like a drill sergeant. Probably couldn’t hack it in the Army so chose school kids to bully instead.

  Jonny leapt up, then immediately regretted being so obedient. It wasn’t in his nature to do just whatever anyone asked, especially teachers. Stuffing the cigarettes in a pocket, he sauntered towards the school before making a sneaky left behind the science labs and out the side exit of the school grounds. He couldn’t be bothered with this afternoon’s classes. School was for losers.

  ***

  Jonny had a rare night off work to take Helen to a Dire Straits gig. A warm up performance before the Nelson Mandela concert at Wembley on Saturday. The restricted sale tickets came from one of the barmaids he worked with. Dire Straits weren’t his favourite band but Eric Clapton was playing with them tonight and he was keen to see any guitarist with that amount of talent.

  Helen ran down the garden path to where Jonny was leant up against a lamp post. Insisting he wait there so he didn’t have to endure the million and one questions her parents would have if he came to the door. Convinced they would tie him to the armchair in the front room and force him to drink their ghastly tea, before interrogating him about every intention he had for their supposedly sweet innocent daughter.

  Unlike Jonny, Helen was not naturally cool. She tried too hard. Only acquiring a modicum of coolness by being his girl.

  Going all out for him tonight there were three buttons undone on her blouse. The frilly collar and cleavage spilling out from a black jacket that she had bagged in the January sales at her favourite shop, Chelsea Girl. She had slept with the prize possession under her mattress ever since to try and make the leather look more worn.

  Helen’s shoulder length hair had been tamed by curling the ends with a hot styling brush, and she had put on more than her usual amount of eye make-up and blusher. The look copied from an article in a magazine. Amazed she had nailed it the first time around.

  No lipstick tonight though, otherwise Jonny would complain about having to constantly wipe it from his mouth and neck. She’d learnt that lesson.

  Jonny stubbed his cigarette out on the lamp post just as Helen reached him. Without any greeting, she grabbed his hand and steered him away from the twitching net curtains.

  “How are we getting there? Bus, I s’pose. Oh no�
��I should have worn jeans. Everyone will gawp up my skirt if we go upstairs. Can we sit downstairs Jonny? I know you don’t like sitting with all the old fogeys, and you can’t smoke down there, but…”

  Jonny looked down at her skirt, his eyebrows raising when he noticed how the frayed edge took the hem up to an indecent length at the back.

  They turned the corner, away from prying eyes, and he silenced her ramblings with a hard and unexpected kiss. Satisfied her nerves had been calmed, he released her.

  She took a deep intake of breath, as if she had been underwater for several minutes, and looked up to him. Recognising the lust in his eyes she wondered if he thought about more than just sex when he looked at her. She desperately wanted him to feel the same way as she did. He was her everything. Convinced they were destined to be together forever.

  “We’re getting a lift.”

  “Oh… who’s giving us a lift?”

  She couldn’t hide her disappointment. They never seemed to go anywhere on their own; there were always others involved. As much as she liked Jonny’s friends, he did have a habit of getting wrapped up in their banter and not giving her enough attention.

  She winced when she recalled their day trip to the beach at Canvey Island last summer. Having packed a picnic for two, she envisaged a romantic day frolicking in the sea, walking along the beach hand in hand and tossing skimmers into the waves. Daringly, she had worn a skimpy bikini underneath her jeans and t-shirt. Planning on revealing it in a sexy way at the appropriate moment. Probably, when he drew ‘Jonny loves Helen’ in the sand with a pebble. However, unbeknown to her, he had invited three friends along. They rudely ate all the sandwiches she had prepared before even getting to the beach. Once there, she spent most of the day watching them play football from the sanctuary of a beach towel. Mortified when she eventually plucked up enough courage to venture into the sea, only to emerge with white bikini bottoms full of brown sludgy sand. Certainly not the Bond Girl vision she had in mind. Simon, one of Jonny’s friends, made a lewd remark which the rest of them, including Jonny, laughed at.

  Yeah, she didn’t need any of his friends tagging along tonight.

  “Christine,” Jonny replied.

  “Christine? Christine from your work?” Helen tried not to sound whiney; but failed miserably.

  “Yeah she got us the tickets.”

  A tear pricked at the corner of her eyes, threatening to make the mascara run down her cheeks. Quickly blinking it away, she felt her confidence melting.

  Christine was so pretty and more experienced with men than her. Then there was that incident. The one a friend had gleefully passed on the gossip about.

  She could feel the jealousy and hurt burning inside. The questions and confusion starting to surface. She couldn’t hold it in.

  “What the hell, Jonny? Did you think it was going to be some cosy threesome?”

  “What? She got us the tickets! And for your information she’s meeting some mates there and asked if she could give us a lift so she didn’t have to go in on her own. But never mind! We’ll get the bus instead.”

  “Oh. It’s ok we’ll get a lift with her. Sorry Jonny, I didn’t mean to …. we’ll get a lift, if you want.” Quickly trying to track back to a point in the conversation before he was upset with her accusation.

  “Nope!” He crossed his arms. “We’re getting the bus.”

  Sat at the bus stop, in silence, Helen took a deep breath; looking up at the roof in the bus stop to stop the tears that had welled up from trickling down her over made up face.

  When would she ever learn not to be so jealous?

  Both his arms and legs were crossed now.

  She wondered how the situation could be retrieved before the night was totally ruined. He was probably questioning why he had even bothered to arrange the night for her. No doubt he would hit the bar as soon as they got there and stay there all night.

  Christine had spotted them at the bus stop and pulled up in her battered Vauxhall Astra. Leaning across to the passenger seat, the handle squeaked furiously as she wound down the window.

  “Hey, Jonny,” Christine called out.

  To Helen it looked like he skipped across to the car; eagerly sticking his head and arms through the open window. His tight 501 clad backside stuck out and one of his feet tapping to the tune on her stereo. Straining to listen to what they were saying, she could only hear Christine laugh and flick her country and western style blonde curls over one shoulder.

  “Flirt!” Helen murmured. “Bitch! Flirt!”

  As a bus indicated to manoeuvre into the stop, the Astra pulled off into the traffic. Christine waving good bye to Jonny and Dire Strait’s "Money for Nothing" pumping out of the stereo.

  After an overly long, overly quiet, journey up the Fulham Palace Road she could finally see Hammersmith Odeon, the venue for tonight’s gig, up ahead.

  “Come on.” Jonny stood up a couple of stops before the Odeon.

  Glad they didn’t have to get off the bus right in front it with everyone watching, Helen followed his command down the stupidly small and steep staircase.

  “Jeez!” she exclaimed as they lurched forward when the bus braked to a sudden halt. Catching herself just in time on one of the overhead hand rails.

  Joining the throng of eager fans waiting outside for the doors to open, Helen took hold of Jonny’s hand and gave it a small squeeze. It didn't matter how much of a bad mood he was in; she didn’t want to lose him when they surged forward into the foyer.

  He turned toward her and reciprocated with a wink.

  Fireworks went off in her stomach.

  He had forgiven her.

  Inside it was alive. Everyone buzzing around whilst the ushers made last minute adjustments to the auditorium before allowing the doors to be opened.

  Jonny had been to the Odeon a lot of times to see various rock bands but it was Helen’s first. He had told her about Guns and Roses last October; in fact, it was one of the few times Jonny had gone on and on about something to Helen. Jonny’s band, Crash, had played a couple of GNR songs at each of their gigs ever since.

  They made their way to their seats near the front; not that anyone sat down.

  Jigging about with nervous excitement Helen shouted up to Jonny. “Have you brought anything to drink?”

  He pulled out the half bottle of vodka stashed in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “Here” he offered it to Helen.

  “Wow!” She choked and spluttered on the first gulp. “That’s strong.” Persevering she took several more sips.

  The band ran on stage and took their positions. The crowd erupted, applauding and whistling with appreciation. Deafening out anything the lead singer was saying to them.

  Every time Helen looked at Jonny she could see he was studying the three guitarists. She thought Clapton looked cool and business like in his all white billowy suit; Knopfler confident and the bassist geeky. Helen was sure he wasn’t nearly as good as Jonny. But then what did she know?

  She was so into it. Bouncing up and down with anticipation between the songs; swaying with her eyes shut during them. When they played "Romeo and Juliet" she sang along, word for word. Mouthing the lyrics to Jonny. He smiled down at her but she still couldn’t read him.

  Those blueberry eyes of his never seemed to give anything away.

  Chapter Two

  The summer of 1988 was important for most sixteen year olds and Helen and Jonny were no exception. Teachers were constantly harassing them to revise for final year exams. Parents adding to the stress with curfews. Everyone forcing them to make decisions about sixth form, college, or God forbid, work.

  Really, all Helen and the rest of the school year wanted to do was hang out with friends, go shopping for new clothes and stay out late at parties. Teachers and parents could go to hell.

  The youngsters had to decide what look to go for; to perm or not to perm; what music to listen to; and whether to go past first base with their current date.

 
Keeping up with the latest music scene in NME or Melody Maker was way more interesting than wading through the annotated handed down revision guides. Watching Old Grey Whistle Test on TV was far more important than getting an early night. Saturday mornings were made for lying in bed, not getting up and going through another load of senseless mnemonics. Nothing would stop the Sunday evening ritual of listening to the chart countdown show on Radio 1 and recording a compilation cassette to play during the week. Fretting about Monday morning’s exam wasn’t going to ruin that.

  Helen was being as diligent as she could without losing Jonny. Her parents had designs on her being a doctor; although Helen more realistically envisaged being a nurse. Hoping to get good enough exam results to allow her to stay on at school and do A levels. University seemed like a pipe dream. All of this required effort, but so did Jonny.

  Jonny and Helen were the "it" couple at school and were watched closely by most of the students; whether they were making out or not. Jonny was the perfect mix of good looking and intelligent, with just a hint of bad boy. Helen was no good girl neither. She was the right side of puberty and revelled in it.

  The fact Helen had been his girlfriend for over a year now made Jonny even more attractive to the opposite sex. An unattainable bad boy was always more of a challenge.

  She knew he could be easily distracted and was such a cool catch. Any of the girls in her year, the year below and probably the sixth form for that matter, would jump at the chance to go out with him. They had been dating since the beginning of last year, but it still didn’t mean he was off limits to other hormone driven, boy obsessed, girls. So much so, Helen had distanced herself from many, so called friends, when she thought they might be a threat.

  There were even a couple of teachers she detested because she swore they flirted with him. Miss Svensson in particular. Sitting on the teacher’s table at the front of the class she mesmerised every single pubescent boy by slowly swinging her naturally tanned bare legs. Every one of them needing a couple minutes after the bell had rung to stand up safely from their desks. She always seemed to make a beeline for Jonny. Crouching down at the side of his desk so her ice blue eyes were in line with his and her yellow poker straight hair tickled his arm. “She’s just giving me extra help. You know how I need it.” Jonny would justify to Helen if she mentioned it. Yeah right. More like some teacher-student fantasy going on.