Rock My World/ A Jordan Knight FanFic✔️

08

Nora

When we arrived, the club was already packed.

About a thousand bouncers were waiting to escort Jordan and his entourage into the venue. Jude and another one of Jordan's personal security guys, Flynn, had met us at the hotel, and along the way we'd managed to accrue a number of other big, leather-clad dudes with tattoos. I had no idea if they were Jordan's buddies or his bodyguards or both. He'd given me his hand and I clung to it with both of mine and didn't ask questions, just tried to take everything in.

The club was in an old but renovated building, original, hundred-year-old stone outside, glass and steel inside. We went in through the lobby of an adjoining building, through the bar's staff entrance. I could make out Hugo's "99 Problems" thumping through the glass wall that looked into the bar and I could tell it was pretty dark, people crowded at least three deep up to the two long bars. Over the stage an illuminated backdrop featured the image from the cover of Jordan's solo album, Sunday Morning: a pair of men's dirty leather boots, discarded on the floor next to what was obviously a woman's bed.

There were a bunch of people waiting to talk to Jordan in the narrow staff hallway. He spoke with a few of them, briefly, but didn't introduce me. I hung back with Flynn, who seemed to be hovering near me, but Jordan never let go of my hand. So far, he was a pretty classy date. I just hoped I didn't disappoint him. I had no idea what to do or say to all these people, so I just smiled—enough that I looked like I was happy to be here, but not so much that I looked like a weirdo. As soon as Jordan was done talking, Jude gave the nod and the bouncers whisked us up a flight of stairs into the VIP room. Which was cool, because I'd never been a VIP before.

It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. There were candles burning in glass bowls on low tables with cushy blood-red seats grouped around them. A web of tiny lights like stars filled the ceiling. The room was surrounded on three sides by a low wall with a railing that overlooked the club floor below and had an incredible view of the stage. Two giant screens, one to each end of the room, played the video for the first single off Sunday Morning, "Come Lately," which was mostly footage of Jordan playing the song in an empty field while his hair blew around his face and he played his guitar so hard sweat ran down his body... which, if you asked me, was all you really needed to put in a video.

I tore my gaze away from the giant image of Jordan to follow his lead through the dark room. We headed straight for a giant party booth in the middle with a bunch of tables clustered inside it. There were a lot of people there already. Men, mostly. I recognized Jordan's bandmates, Zane and Dylan, right away, and his hot manager, Brody, who rose to meet us when he saw us coming.

I scanned the group but I didn't see Elle.

"Hey, brother," Brody greeted Jordan, but his eyes were on me. A smile spread across his face. I wondered if he knew yet about the proposal Jordan had made me, which was kind of embarrassing, but I'd just have to deal with it. "Nora. Nice to see you again." He took my hand, though Jordan never let go of the other one.

"You, too," I said.

Dylan greeted us next. He towered over me, sweeping his dark auburn hair back out of his green eyes as Jordan introduced us. Then the big drummer gave me a huge grin and pulled me in for a quick hug. Thank God he was wearing jeans this time. When I'd met him at the video shoot he was wearing his kilt, and he'd put one booted foot up on the couch while talking to me, showing so much muscular thigh I'd almost choked to death on my water.

Zane was next, greeting Jordan and giving me a thorough once-over. He noted my hand in Jordan's and his blond eyebrows rose.

"Where the fuck do I know you from?" he said, and his tone was so dripping with innuendo, I swore for all he thought he might've fucked me on some distant, drunken night he couldn't remember.